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THE 


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TATLER, 


WITH 

NOTES,  AND  A GENERAL  INDEX. 


VaRESQUE  ACQUILET  EUNDO.” VIRG. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


BOmK  COTXMl  lilRlRT 

CH ESTNUT  mm  M A 8S. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

M.  WALLIS  WOODWARD  & Co.  11  MINOR  STREET. 

STEBEOTTPEI)  BY  t.  JOHNSON. 


1835. 


! SL 
1835 


CONTENTS. 


Historical  and  Biographical  Preface. 

Original  Dedications. 

Introduction— Character  of  an  absent  Lover 
— Betterton’s  Benefit — Continental  Intel- 
ligence-Death of  Mr.  Partridge  ....  Steele. 

The  Medicine Harrison. 

Continental  Intelligence — Raillery  on  the 

state  of  France Steele. 

Play-house,  a Poem,  by  Blackmore — Tapes- 
try-Continental Intelligence — Benefit  of 

Bickerstaff , . . 

Plan  of  the  Work— Characters  of  Chloe  and 
Clarissa— Dramatic  News— Strolling  Com- 
pany— Continental  Intelligence — Island 

of  Felicia  

Fallen  State  of  Love — Cynthia,  the  absent 
Lover— Project  for  the  Advancement  of 
Religion — Continental  Intelligence — Sto- 
ry of  Unnion  and  Valentine — Character 

of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough 

Visit  from  Sappho — Criticism  on  Homer  and  , 
Virgil— Journal  of  the  Iliad— Continental 
Intelligence— Characters  of  Alexander  and 

Cffisar 

The  Author’s  Will— Raillery  on  Marriage — 
Characters  of  a Coquette  and  a Coxcomb 
— Epsom  Wells,  a Comedy — Continental 

Intelligence 

Reformation  of  the  Stage— Continental  Intel- 
ligence— A Dream  of  the  State  of  England  

Congreve’s  Old  Bachelor 

Description  of  the  Morning Swift. 

Character  of  Timon— Fastorella  converted 

from  Coquetry— Continental  Intelligence  Steele 

Empire  of  Beauty — Continental  Intelligence  

A Similitude— On  Death- Modern  Prophets  

Genealogy  of  the  Staffs Twisden. 

Continental  Intelligence Steele. 

Corruption  of  Manners  and  Language — Bite 

A Winter  Piece Phillips. 

Verses  by Dryden. 

Adventures  of  the  Tatler’s  Guardian  Angel, 

Pacolet — Continental  Intelligence  . . . Steele. 
Character  of  Verus — Earl  of  Essex  and  Al- 
chymist— Dumb  Fortune-teller  and  Wi 

dow — To  Correspondents 

Story  of  Pacolet — Gamesters — Pleasure  . 
Characters  at  Bath— Letter  to  Castabella 
On  Panegyric — Naked  Truth  criticised  . 

On  Signs  : (probably) Addison. 

Distress  of  Newswriters 

History  of  Esquires — Busy  Body — A Trip  to 
the  Jubilee— Letter  from  Madame  Main- 

tenon  

Complaint  of  a Lady 

Dramatic  News  and  Criticism  ....  Addison. 

Continental  Intelligence 

Characters  of  a Gentleman  and  a Pretty  Fel- 
low—The  Fox— Dramatic  Writers  of  the 
last  and  present  Age — Letter  on  Mr.  Bick- 
erstaflTs  Prophecy  of  his  Death— Witch- 
craft— Continental  Intelligence  ....  

Cynthia  in  Love— Lindamira's Lovers — Cave 
Underhill — Young  Lady  in  Love  with  a 

Rake 

Cure  for  Fits  in  Married  Ladies— Letter  to 

the  French  King— Continental  Intelligence 

Character  of  a very  Pretty  Fellow— A Toast  Addison. 
Continental  Inteliigence-Lines  to  the  French 

King Steele. 

On  Duelling — Advice  generally  unwelcome 

— Continental  Intelligence 

Letter  from  a Pretty  Fellow — from  Louis 

XIV.— Duelling 

Character  of  a Rake— a Coquette— Verses  on 
a Parrot — Letter  from  Jeffry  Nicknack — 

Continental  Intelligence 

On  Duelling — Continental  Intelligence  . . 


Steele. 


No. 

29.  Letter  from  Tim.  Switch  on  Duelling— Cri- 

tics and  Wits — Continental  Intelligence  Steele 

30.  Character  of  the  Author’s  three  Nephews— 

Style  of  Love  Letters 

31.  Duelling — Letter  to  the  Author  on  his  being 

little  know’n  in  the  Country — Continental 


Intelligence 

32.  Platonic  Ladies— Madonella Swift. 

On  Punning Steele. 


33.  Mrs.  Jenny  Distaff  on  the  Treatment  of  the 

Fair  Sex— Attempts  to  seduce  her — Conti- 
nental Intelligence 

34.  Cures  performed  by  the  Author— Saltero’s 

Coffee-house 

35.  Snuff-taking- Cynthia’s  Courtship — Ham- 

let’s Direction  to  the  Players 

Family  of  X s : (probably) Swift. 

Continental  Intelligence Steele. 

36.  Mrs.  Jenny  Distaff— Characters  at  Epsom — 

Of  African  us Addison. 

Continental  Intelligence Steele. 

37.  On  the  Fox-hunter’s  Speech— Caesar  to  his 

Party  at  the  Rubicon Addison. 

38.  On  Duelling— Whisperers  without  Business 

— Characters 

Continental  Intelligence Steele. 

39.  Oxford  and  its  Almanack— Dialogue  on  Duels  

40.  Cure  of  Lunatics— On  Love  and  Marriage  

41.  E.xercise  at  Arms — Character  of  a (Question- 

er—The  Author  accused  of  Personalities  


42.  Lines  on  Bribery 

Character  of  .Aspasia Congreve. 

Inventory  of  the  Play-house Addison. 

43.  D'Urfey’s  Dedication Steele. 

New  System  of  Philosophy Addison. 

On  the  Sublime  . , Steele. 


44.  Esculapius  in  Love  with  Hebe — Sale  of  the 

Play-house  Articles — Humourous  Com- 
plaint of  Punch— The  Country  Gentleman 
who  cannot  bear  a Jest — Continental  In- 
telligence   

45.  Story  of  Teraminta— Puppet-shows— Scene 

of  bodily  Wit— Characters  of  Florio  and 
Senecio 

46.  Character  and  Gallantries  of  Aurengezebe — 

Lines  on  the  March  to  Tournay  without 
beat  of  Drum— Continental  Intelligence  

47.  Character  of  Sir  Taffety  Trippet— Cure  for 

the  Spleen— Passions  expressed  by  Shak- 
speare  

48.  Shades  of  Conscience  and  Honour— Genius 

of  Credit 

49.  Love  and  Lust — Florio  and  Limberham — 

Nocturnus 

50.  History  of  Orlando  the  Fair — Powell's  Pup 

pet-show 

51.  History  of  Orlando,  Chap.  2 — Pantomime 

Tricks— Powell’s  Puppet-show  ....  

52.  Use  of  Delamira’s  Fan— On  Modesty— Cha- 

racters of  Nestor  and  Varillus— The  mo- 
dest Man  and  the  modest  Fellow  . . . 

53.  The  civil  Husband — Dramatic  Criticism — 

Continental  Intelligence 

54.  The  Government  of  Affection — The  Wife  and 

the  Mistress — Complaint  against  Stentor 
— Death  of  Lisander  and  Coriana  . . . 

55.  Story  of  a Cure  performed  on  a blind  young 

Man — Continental  Intelligence  ....  

56.  On  Sharpers — Instances  of  Longevity  in 

France — Notices  to  C’orrespondents  . . 

57.  Emilia,  a Woman  too  humble— Sharping 

Extortioners — Satire  on  the  French  ap- 
plied to  the  English — New  (Joxcomb  . . 

58.  Continence  of  Scipio— Grammatical  Pedant- 

ry— Continental  Intelligence 

59.  On  Sharpers— Raffling  Shops— Character  of 

Actaion— Author  accused  of  writing  Non- 
sense   

:? 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


No. 

Family  of  Greenhats Swift. 

Continental  Intelligence Steele. 

60.  A Rake  reclaimed  by  his  Father’s  Liberality 

— Women  to  be  gained  by  Nonsense — 

Mars  Triumphant — Advertisement  . . . 

61.  Men  of  Fire  described — Use  of  Satire — Dis- 

tinction between  Goldsmiths  and  Copper- 
smiths— Stentor — Education  and  Beauty 
of  Women— Letter  from  the  Artillery 
Ground  

62.  Sharpers  described  as  a Pack  of  Dogs — On 

Wit — Women  the  best  Speakers— Sallust 
censured — Story  of  Dampier’s  Boatswain 
—Continental  intelligence 

63.  Of  the  Enjoyment  of  Life  with  regard  to 

others— Use  of  Ridicule 

Madonella’s  Platonic  College Swift. 

Continental  Intelligence  .......  Steele 

64.  Continental  Intelligence 

Character  of  Cleontes Hughes. 

65.  Character  of  a Battle-Critic— Conduct  of  the 

Bath  Sharpers Steele. 

66.  Eloquence  of  the  Pulpit  ....  Swift  and  Steele. 

Infelicity  of  Riches  to  one  who  is  not  a Gen- 
tleman— Sharpers — Continental  Intelli- 
gence   Steele. 

67.  Proposals  for  tables  of  Fame Swift. 

Continental  Intelligence— Skill  of  Transition  Steele. 

68.  Tables  of  Fame— Female  Sharpers  ....  Swift. 
Causes  of  Tears— Notice  of  a Sharper— Of  a 

Book Steele. 

69.  On  acting  our  parts  in  Life  well— Promotion 

of  Eboracensis — Letter  from  two  Ladies 
inclined  to  marry  the  same  Man — Bravery 
of  the  Allies — Various  Notices  . . . . 

70.  Eloquence  of  the  Pulpit  ....  Swift  and  Steele. 

List  of  Sharpers Steele. 

71.  Danger  of  Satirical  Writings 

Irregular  conduct  of  a Clergyman  ....  Swift. 
Betterton’s  Hamlet— Reformation  of  Man- 
ners at  Oxford Steele. 

72.  Story  of  Pcetas  and  Arria— Want  of  Ear- 

nestness in  the  Pulpit— Favonius— Deci- 
sion of  a Wager 

73.  Letter  from  Monoculus,  and  Answer  . . . 

Account  of  a Club  of  Gamesters  . . . Hughes. 
Election  for  Q,ueenhithe  Ward Steele. 

74.  Letter  from  a Lover— Letter  on  the  Tenden- 

cy of  satirical  Characters— Table  of  Fame 
— Continental  Intelligence 

75.  Miss  Jenny’s  Marriage— Choice  of  Matches 

in  the  Bickerstaff  Family  . Mdison  and  Steele. 

76.  Errors  of  Good  nature — Complaint  of  Love- 

well  Barebones  

Defence  of  the  Tatler Hughes. 

Continental  Intelligence — Notice  to  a young 

Gentleman Steele. 

77.  Affectation  of  Faults  and  Imperfections — 

Original  Letter  from  Marshal  Boufflers — 

Bath  Physicians 

78.  Letters  soliciting  Places  at  the  Table  of  Fame 

— Character  of  Hippocrates— Advertise- 
ment and  Notice  to  Correspondents  . . 

79.  Advice  to  married  Persons — Mrs.  Jenny’s 

Wedding-dinner — Notice  of  a Pamphlet  

80.  Exorbitant  Price  of  Books — Letters  from  a 

splenetic  Gentleman— From  a Limper — 
Continental  Intelligence 

81.  Vision  of  the  Table  of  Fame Addison. 

Taking  of  Mons Steele. 

82.  Story  of  the  Cornish  Lovers— Of  a Lover 

who  kills  his  Mistress 

83.  Remarks  on  the  Table  of  Fame— 3Iaria  de- 

clares a Passion  for  the  Author — His  An- 
swer— Advantage  of  being  able  to  say,  No 
— Continental  Intelligence 

84.  Censure  of  Ladies  who  attend  Trials  for 

Rapes— Case  of  Lucretia— Egotism  of  the 
French  Writers — On  giving  Advice,  a 
Fable 

85.  Matrimonial  Q,uarrel  and  Reconciliation — 

Character  of  the  Dappers— Death  of  Cyn- 
thio 

86.  Scene  of  Country  Etiquette Addison. 

On  Modesty Steele. 

87.  Humorous  Criticism  on  Serjeant  Hall’s  Let- 

ter— Glory  shared  among  an  Army  . . . 

88.  Of  Story-tellers  under  the  Names  of  Gunners 

andGunsters 

A Dancing-master  practising  by  Book  . Addison 


No. 

89.  Letter  to  the  Author— His  History  of  his 

Life— Evil  of  unreasonable  Visits — Play- 
ers saying  more  than  is  set  down  to  them  Stesie. 

90.  Unity  of  Sentiment  in  treating  the  Passion 

of  Love— Its  allegorical  History  . . . Addison. 
On  a Scene  in  Richard  III Steele. 

91.  Maria’s  Visit — A Case  of  Love  and  Envy — 

Impertinence  of  Nic  Doubt — Play-house 
— Scene  of  a true  and  feigned  Poet  . . . 

92.  On  Praise  with  Exceptions — Libellers — Re- 

commendation of  Charles  Lillie  ....  

93.  Letter  from  Switzerland— Remarks  on  Tra- 

velling— Fool-  not  to  be  exported — The 
Author’s  Precautions  against  Assaults  Addison. 

94.  Story  of  Clarinda  and  Chine — Recommend- 

ation of  Mr.  Lillie— Notices  of  an  Alma- 
nack, &c Steele. 

95.  Scene  of  Domestic  Felicity 

96.  Every  worthless  Man  a dead  Man— Pecu- 

liarities of  Dress — Game  killed  by  the 
French  King — Charles  Lillie  ....  Addison. 

97.  Hercules  courted  by  Pleasure  and  Virtue, 

an  Allegory 

98.  Letter  from  a Woman  in  Love — Impressive 

Tendency  of  Poetry Steele. 

99.  Advantages  from  having  but  one  Theatre 

— Attack  and  Expulsion  of  Divito — Re- 
monstrance of  the  Upholders 

100.  Goddess  of  Justice  distributing  Rewards  Addison. 

101.  Danger  of  Authors  from  Pirates  ....  

Notices Steele. 

102.  Continuance  of  the  Vision  of  the  Goddess 

of  Justice Addison. 

103.  Applications  for  Permission  to  use  Canes, 

&c Addison  and  Steele. 

104.  Happiness,  how  secured  in  the  married  State  Steele. 

105.  History  of  Will  Rosin — .Art  of  Knocking  . 

106.  Catalogue  of  Poetical  Stock — Criticism  on 

a Passag  ■ in  Hamlet— Surrender  of  Mr. 

Jeffery  Grograin 

107.  Case  of  a Lo  ver  tormented  by  a Coquette  

108.  Degradation  ofthe  Stage-Dimiity  of  Human 

Nature— Errors  of  the  French  Writers  Addison. 

109.  Fashionable  Visiting — Notice  from  the  Up- 

holders   Steele. 

110.  Court  of  Judicature  of  the  Dead  in  Reason 

Addison  and  Steele. 

111.  On  the  Prevalence  of  Irreligious  Principles 

Addison  and  Steele. 

112.  Amusements  and  Relaxations  of  great  Men 

— Misfortune  of  Idleness Steele. 

113.  Inventory  of  a Beau Hughes. 

Petition  of  William  Jingle,  Coach-maker— 

Notice  to  the  Dead Steele. 

114.  Death-bed  Scene Addison  and  Steele. 

115.  Squire  Nicolini — Taste  for  Puppet-Shows — 

Death  and  Character  of  Sir  Hannibal — 

Fable Steele. 

116.  Court  of  Judicature  on  the  Petticoat  , Addison. 

117.  On  the  Pleasure  derived  from  the  Deliver- 

ance of  the  Good  from  Danger — The  Au- 
thor's Dream 

118.  Irregular  Conduct  of  the  Dead — Letters 

from  Partridge,  &c. — Petition  of  Penelope 
Prim Steele. 

119.  Discoveries  of  the  Microscope — A Dream  Addison. 

120.  Vision  of  the  Three  Roads  of  Human  Life — 

Dogget’s  Benefit 

121.  Consultation  on  the  Sickness  of  a Lady’s 

Lap-Dog — Fondness  for  Animals  . . . 

122.  The  Author’s  Appearance  at  Dogget’s  Be- 

nefit-Virtuous feelings  of  an  Athenian 
Audience 

123.  Continuation  of  the  A^ision  of  the  Three 

Roads  of  Life 

124.  On  Expectations  from  the  Lottery  . . . Steele- 

125.  Proposals  for  a Receptacle  for  Persons  out 

of  their  Wits — 

126.  Characters  of  a Prude  and  Coquette— Story 

of  the  Gascon  and  the  Widow  ....  — 

127.  On  Pride,  as  affecting  the  Reason  . . . 

128.  Letter  from  a Fortune-hunter— From  a de- 

serted Female ■ • 

129.  Dutch  satirical  Pictures— Letters  from  Pas- 

quin  at  Rome 

130.  Superiority  of  Great  Britain  in  the  number 

of  eminent  Characters — Estcourt’s  Benefit  

131.  Trial  of  the  Wine-brewers Addison 

132.  Characters  of  the  Members  of  the  Club  at 

the  Trumpet Steele 


CONTENTS. 


No. 

133.  On  Silence— Instances  of  its  Significancy  Addison. 

134.  Tiansmigrration  of  Souls — Petition  of  Job 

Chanticleer— Cruelty  to  Animals  . . . Steele. 

135.  Distinction  between  Ancient  and  Modern 

Free-thinkers — The  latter  how  to  be  treat- 
ed—Anecdote  of  a French  Officer  . . . 

136.  History  of  Tom  Varnish — Petitioners  for 

the  Fardingal 

137.  Various  abuses  of  Speech — Swearing — De- 

parture of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  &c.  

138.  Deference  to  the  Opinion  of  the  World — 

Gyges’  Hing— Actions  of  Public  Spirits — 
Whetters 

139.  Women  more  improveable  than  Men — On 

Courtship— The  Author’s  Discoveries  by 

the  use  of  his  Ring 

140.  Letters  on  a charitable  Provision  for  poor 

Boys— Cicero’s  Defence  of  Archias — Use 
of  the  Term,  Madam — Indecorums  at 
Church— From  an  Inquisitive  Lady  . . 

141.  Education  of  Girls — Whetters — Noisy 

Neighbours— Letter  from  a Valentine- 
Petition  of  the  Inhabitants  of  Gotham  . 

142.  Political  Anxiety — Recommendation  of 

Charles  the  Toyman 

143  Sister,Jenny  appears  in  her  own  Chariot — 

The  Author’s  Letter  to  her  Husband — 
Provision  for  Pastorals — Public  Impostors 
— Joshua  Barnes 

144.  Prevalence  of  Extravagance  and  Show — 

Change  of  Manners  in  Scotland  ....  

145.  Complaint  against  the  Oglers — Angel  at  the 

Royal  Exchange 

146.  Various  Cases  of  Complainers — Dream  of 

Jupiter  and  the  Destinies Addison. 

147.  Juno’s  method  to  regain  Jupiter’s  Affection 

Trial  of  Wine Steele. 

148.  On  the  Diet  of  the  Metropolis— Pernicious 

Dishes— False  Delicacies Addison. 

149.  Ill-natured  Husbands— Three  Letters  of 

Pliny  to  his  Wife — Passage  from  Milton  Steele. 

150.  Matrimonial  Quarrels — Characters  of  an 

Affectionate  Couple 

151.  Effects  of  a general  Mourning — Passion  for 

gay  and  showy  Dress 

152.  Homer’s  Description  of  a future  State  . Addison. 

153.  Characters  in  Conversation  described  as  In- 

struments of  Music 

154.  Virgil’s  Allegory  and  Ideas  of  a future  State  

155.  -Character  of  the  Upholsterer — a great  Poli- 

tician   

156.  Visit  of  Telemachus  to  the  other  World  . 

157.  Account  of  a female  Concert— Matches  pro- 

posed between  the  Music  of  both  Sexes  . 

158.  Pedantry  of  Tom  Folio,  the  book-broker  . 

159.  Vindication  of  Marriage  against  the  Wits 

— Passages  from  Cicero’s  Letters  . . . Steele. 

160.  A Visit  and  Letter  from  the  Upholsterer  Addison. 

Letter  from  a Coquette,  and  from  Tom 
Folio  Steele 

161.  Dream  of  the  Region  of  Liberty  . . . Addison. 

162.  Duty  of  a Censor — How  performed  by  the 

Author— Subscriptions  for  the  Tatler  . . 

(163.  Critical  reading  of  Ned  Softly’s  Poetry  . . 

164.  Remarks  on  the  Author’s  various  Corres- 

pondents— Story  of  an  old  Soldier  . . . Steele. 

165.  On  the  Impertinence  of  Criticism — Cha- 

racter of  Sir  Timothy  Tittle  ....  Addison. 

166.  Rules  of  Visiting  —Character  of  Tom  Mode- 

ly — Notice  of  a Pastoral  Masque,  &c.  . . Steele. 
/167.  Funeral  and  Character  of  Mr.  Betterton  the 
^ Actor 

168.  Characters  of  Impudence  and  Absurdity — 

Education  of  the  Jesuits — Petition  of 
Sarah  Lovely 

169.  On  the  Evils  of  Drinking— Character  of  a 

Country  Gentleman — Letter  from  F.  Bick- 
erstaff 

170.  Vicissitudes  of  human  Life — Visit  to  the 

Lottery  Office — Advertisement  of  a Heart 
lost 

171.  Origin  of  Honour  and  Title— Behaviour  of 

the  Indian  Kings — Impertinence  of  Mi- 
nunclo 

172.  Mischiefs  arising  from  Passion— Story  of 

Mr.  Eustace 

173.  Errors  in  Education— Character  of  Horace  

174.  Various  species  of  mad  persons— Lady  Fid- 

get and  Will  Voluble  

175.  On  the  liife  of  People  of  Condition  . . . 


No. 

176.  On  Heroism  in  Sufferings— Eucrates,  the 

good-natured  Man— Characters  of  Mar- 
tins and  Aristaeus — Letter  from  an  Idle 
Man  and  his  Daughter Steele. 

177.  On  Dedications 

178.  On  Don  Quixote— The  Upholsterer  at  the 

Coffee-house 

179.  Letter  on  the  Construction  of  a Green -house  

180.  Injustice  of  not  paying  Tradesmen— Of 

Show  and  Extravagance 

181.  On  the  Death  of  Friends— Of  the  Author’s 

Father— Sale  of  Wine 

182  Pleasures  of  the  Theatre— Characters  of 

Wilks  and  Cibber 

183.  Decay  of  Public  Spirit— Character  of  Regulus 

184.  On  Marriage,  and  the  customary  Ceremo- 

nies— Impertinence  of  Wags 

185.  Cruelty  of  Parents  thwarting  the  Inclina- 

tions of  their  Children  in  love— Story  of 
Antiochus  and  Stratonice 

186.  Characteristics  of  Vanity,  Pride,  and  Ambi- 

tion— Correspondents'  Neglect  of  Postage  

187.  Pasquin  of  Rome,  his  Letters  to  the  Author 

— Coffee-house  Conversation  .....  

188.  Letter  on  a Green-house — From  Rustic — 

Character  of  Desdemona — Of  Bullock  and 
Penkethman 

189.  An  example  of  Judicious  Education — Cha- 

racter of  Sam  Bickerstaff  and  his  Family 

190.  Party  writing— Answer  to  Pasquin’s  Let- 

ter—A Law  Case— Letter  to  the  king  of 
France  

191.  Mischief  of  making  Vice  commendable— 

Character  of  Polypragmon — Lee’s  Alex- 


ander ....  

192.  Characters  in  a Stage-coach — Anecdote  of 

two  Ladies  and  their  Husbands,  Passen- 
gers in  a Packet-boat  . - Addison. 

193.  The  Author’s  Politics— Affairs  of  the  Stage 

— Letter  from  Downes  the  Prompter  . . Steele. 

194.  Passage  from  Spenser  transposed  ....  

195.  Letter  on  the  Author’s  Politics— Orders  to 

Quacks — Letter  to  Amanda 

196.  On  the  Behaviour  of  Patrons  to  their  De- 

pendents   

197.  Account  of  Epistolm  ohscuror mn  rirorum — 

Passion  for  bnng  thought  a Scholar  . . 

198.  History  of  Caslia 

199.  Remarks  on  the  same— On  Marriage  Settle- 

ments— Specimen  of  a Contract  .... 

200.  Letter  from  a Lady  in  doubt  between  two 

Lovers — Plan  for  raising  the  Fortunes  of 
Ten  young  Ladies 

201.  Faults  of  the  Women  attributable  to  the 

Men — Letters  from  Lovers — Benefit  Plays 
— Advertisement  from  the  Trumpet  . . 

202.  On  unreasonable  Exp^-clations— On  Heroic 

Actions  in  private  Life — Lottery  . . . 

203.  Account  of  the  Drawing  of  the  Lottery — 

Letter  from  the  owner  of  a Green  house  

204.  Improper  manner  of  Address— Character  of 

Tom  Courtly 

205.  On  Drunkenness Fuller. 

206.  On  Esteem — Character  of  Jack  Gainly,  and 

his  Sister  Gatty— Of  Flavia  and  Lucia  . Steele. 

207.  Conduct  of  the  Author’s  three  Nephews  to 

a Female  Visitor— Character  of  a Gentle- 
man— Letter  from  a Lottery  Adventurer  

208.  On  injudicious  civil  People— Character  of 

the  most  agreeable  Companion  ....  

9.  Scene  between  Alexander  the  Great  and  his 

Physician  proposed  to  a Historical  Painter 

210.  Visit  to  a Censorious  Lady  of  Quality — 

Letter  from  an  old  maid— Continental  In- 
telligence   

211.  Uses  of  Sunday— On  Devotion 

212.  On  Simplicity  of  Ornament— Letters  on 

an  Ass  in  the  Lion’s  Skin— From  a Vir- 
gin, &c 

213.  On  Dissimulation  and  Simulation— Tom 

Trueman,  a Hero  in  Domestic  Life  . . . 

214.  On  the  Rigid  and  the  Supple — Account  of  a 

political  Barometer 

215.  Account  of  a Flatterer— And  a common 

Jester— Case  of  a Widow— Petition  of  the 
Linen  Drapers .•  ’ • 

216.  Taste  of  the  Virtuosi — Legacy  of  a Virtuoso 

—Death  of  Mr.  Partridge Addison. 

217.  On  Scolds— The  Author’s  Notice  that  he 

means  to  be  much  wittier Steele. 

1* 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


No. 

218.  On  the  Names  given  by  Gardeners  to  Flow- 

ers—A Visit  to  a Garden Addison. 

219.  Impertinence  of  professed  Wits — Character 

of  Tom  Mercer— Letters  and  Petitions  . Steele. 

220.  Account  of  the  Church  Thermometer  . Addison. 

221.  Letter  from  the  Virtuoso’s  Widow — From  a 

Scold — Cure  for  Scolding 

222.  Riots  at  Nottingham— Midnight  Frolicks — 

Serenades  improper  for  this  Country  . . Steele. 

223.  Evils  of  Jointures  and  Settlements— Orders 

concerning  them 

224.  On  Advertisements — Quackeries — Washes, 

&c Addison. 

225.  On  improper  familiarities Steele. 

226.  Life  of  Margery,  alias  John  Young,  com- 

monly called  i)r.  Young  

227.  Case  of  an  envious  man 

228.  Letters  from  High  Church— On  Almanack 

Weather — From  a Writer  of  Advertise- 
ments   

229.  Remarks  on  the  Author’s  Enemies— Fable 

■ of  the  Owl,  Bats,  and  the  Sun  . . . Addison. 

230.  Improprieties  of  Phrase — Affectation  of  Po- 

liteness-Vulgarisms   Swift. 

231.  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew — Present  of  Wine  Steele 

232.  Letter  from  the  Upholsterer— Rage  for  Poli- 

tics   

233.  History  of  Joseph  and  his  Brethren  . . 

234.  Letters  on  Education Greenwood. 

Devotion  Steele 

235.  On  Parental  Partiality 

236.  Account  of  the  Migration  of  Frogs  into  Ire- 

land   

237.  Effects  of  the  touch  of  Ithuriel’s  Spear,  a 

Dream (probably)  Addison. 

238.  Description  of  a City  Shower Swift. 

Prose  part  of  the  Paper  Steele. 

239.  Remarks  on  the  Author’s  Enemies — The 

Examiner Addison. 

240.  The  Science  of  Physic— Quacks  of  the  Time — 

241.  On  Drinking-Improper  Behaviour  at  Church 

— On  By-words — Fee  at  St.  Paul’s  . . . Steele. 

242.  On  haiilery  and  Satire-Horace  and  Juvenal  — 

243.  Adventures  of  the  Author  when  invisible  Addison. 

244.  On  Eloquence — Talents  for  Conversation — 

Pedantry Steele. 

245.  Advertisement  of  Lady  Fardingale’s  stolen 

Goods — Letter  from  a Black  Boy  . . 

246.  On  a censorious  Disposition — Letters  to 

Defaulters — Characters  of  Plumbeus  and 
Levis 


No. 

247.  Letter  from  Almeira,  an  Edinburgh  young 

Lady — And  Answer  by  Mrs.  Jenny  Distaff  Steele 

248.  On  the  improvement  of  Beauty  by  Exercise 


— Lazy  Ladies — Very  busy  ones  . . . 

*2^.)  Adventures  of  a Shilling  .....  Addison. 

2^.  Institution  of  a Court  of  Honour  . . . 

251.  On  Virtuous  Independence — Where  true 

Happiness  is  to  be  found Steele. 


252.  Defence  of  Sober  Drinking — Letter  from 

Ralph  and  Bridget  Yokefellow  ....  

253.  Journal  of  the  Court  of  Honour  Addison  and  Steele. 

254.  Sir  John  Mandeville’s  account  of  the  Freez- 

ing and  Thawing  of  several  Speeches  . . 


255  Letter  from  a Chaplain— Thoughts  on  the 

Treatment  of  Chaplains Addison. 

256.  Proceedings  of  the  Court  of  Honour  . . . 

Addison  and  Steele. 

257.  Wax-work  representation  of  the  Religions 

of  Great  Britain  

258.  Letter  on  the  use  of  the  Phrase,  North 

Briton Swift,  Prior,  Rowe. 

On  ‘ A Person  of  Quality’— A Lady  invested 
by  several  Lovers — From  a Chaplain — Ta- 
li acoti  us — Bachelors Steele. 

259.  Journal  of  the  Court  of  Honour.  Addison  and 

260.  Essay  on  Noses — Skill  of  Taliacotius  . . 


261.  Plan  for  the  Encouragement  of  Wedlock — 

Instance  of  Public  Spirit— Celamico's  Will  

202.  Journal  of  the  Court  of  Honour  Addison  and 

263.  On  the  different  hours  kept  in  Modern  Times 

— College  Hours- Early  Hours  . . . 

2G4.  On  tedious  Talkers  and  Story-tellers  . . 

265.  Journal  oftheCourt  ofHonour  Add t son  and 

266.  Fantastic  Passion  of  two  old  Ladies — Sam 

Trusty’s  visit  to  them 

267.  On  appointed  Seasons  for  Devotion— Lord 

Bacon’s  Prayer Addison. 

268.  Petition  on  Coffee-house  Orators  and  News- 

readers, with  the  Author’s  Remarks  . . Steele. 

269.  Letters  on  Love  and  Friendship— Plagius 

preaching  Tillotson’s  Sermons  ....  

270.  Letter  on  the  Dress  of  Tradesmen— Petition 

of  Ralph  Nab,  the  Hatter — Of  Elizabeth 
Slender,  Spinster — Letter  to  Mr.  Ralph 
---  Incense,  Chaplain  

271.  Conclusion,  Design  of  the  work,  and  Ac- 

' — ■'  knowledgement  of  Assistance  ....  


GENERAL  INDEX 


ORIGINAL  DEDICATIONS 


VOLUME  THE  FIRST. 


TO  MR.  MAYNWARING.* 


Sir, — The  state  of  conversation  and  business 
in  this  town  having  been  long  perplexed  with 
Pretenders  in  both  kinds ; in  order  to  open 
men’s  eyes  against  such  abuses,  it  appeared  no 
unprofitable  undertaking  to  publish  a Paper, 
which  should  observe  upon  the  planners  of  the 
pleasurable,  as  well  as  the  busy  part  of  man- 
kind. To  make  this  generally  read,  it  seemed 
the  most  proper  method  to  form  it  by  way  of 
a letter  of  intelligence,  consisting  of  such  parts 
as  might  gratify  the  curiosity  of  persons  of  all 
conditions,  and  of  each  sex.  But  a work  of  this 
nature  requiring  time  to  grow  into  the  notice  of 
the  world,  it  happened  very  luckily,  that,  a little 
before  I had  resolved  upon  this  design,  a gen- 
tleman had  written  predictions,  and  two  or  three 
other  pieces  in  my  name,  whieh  rendered  it  fa- 
mous through  all  parts  of  Europe ; and,  by  an 
inimitable  spirit  and  humour,  raised  it  to  as 
high  a pitch  of  reputation  as  it  could  possibly 
arrive  at. 

By  this  good  fortune,  the  name  of  Isaac 
Bickerstalf  gained  an  audience  of  all  who  had 
any  taste  of  wit ; and  the  addition  of  the  ordi- 
nary occurrences  of  common  Journals  of  News 
brought  in  a multitude  of  other  readers.  I 
could  not,  I confess,  long  keep  up  the  opinion 

* Arthur  Maynwaring,  Esq. 


of  the  town,  that  these  Lucubrations  were  writ- 
ten by  the  same  hand  with  the  first  works  which 
were  published  under  my  name  ; but,  before  I 
lost  the  participation  of  that  author’s  fame,  I 
had  already  found  the  advantage  of  his  authori- 
ty, to  which  I owe  the  sudden  acceptance  which 
my  labours  met  with  in  the  world. 

The  general  purpose  of  tliis  Paper  is  to  ex- 
pose the  false  arts  of  life,  to  pull  off  the  dis- 
guises of  cunning,  vanity,  and  affectation,  and 
to  recommend  a general  simplicity  in  our  dress, 
our  discourse,  and  our  behaviour.  No  man  has 
a better  judgment  for  the  discovery,  or  a nobler 
spirit  for  the  contempt  of  all  imposture,  than 
yourself ; which  qualities  render  you  the  most 
proper  patron  for  the  author  of  these  Essays. 
In  the  general,  the  design,  how^ever  executed, 
has  met  with  so  great  success,  that  there  is 
hardly  a name  now  eminent  among  us  for  power, 
wit,  beauty,  valour,  or  wisdom,  which  is  not 
subscribed  for  the  eneouragement  of  these  vol- 
umes. This  is,  indeed,  an  honour,  for  which  it 
is  impossible  to  express  a suitable  gratitude ; 
and  there  is  nothing  could  be  an  addition  to  the 
pleasure  I take  in  it  but  the  reflection,  that  it 
gives  me  the  most  conspicuous  occasion  I can 
ever  have,  of  subscribing  myself.  Sir,  Your  most 
obliged,  most  obedient,  and  most  humble  servant, 
ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF, 


VOLUME  THE  SECOND. 


TO  EDWARD  WORTLEY  MONTAGUE,  ESQ*. 


Sir, — When  I send  you  this  volume,  I am 
rather  to  make  you  a request  than  a Dedication. 
I must  desire,  that  if  you  think  fit  to  throw 
away  any  moments  on  it,  you  would  not  do  it 
after  reading  those  excellent  pieces  with  which 
you  are  usually  conversant.  The  images  whieh 
you  will  meet  with  here,  will  be  very  faint, 
after  the  perusal  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
who  are  your  ordinary  companions.  I must 
confess  I am  obliged  to  you  for  the  taste  of 

* Second  son  of  the  Hon.  lady  Wortley  Montague, 
and  grandson  of  Edward  Montague,  the  first  Earl  of ' 
Sandwich. 


many  of  their  excellences,  which  I had  not  ob- 
served until  you  pointed  them  to  me.  I am 
very  proud  that  there  are  some  things  in  these 
papers  which  I know  you  pardon  ;*  and  it  is 
no  small  pleasure  to  have  one’s  labours  suffer- 
ed by  the  judgrnent  of  a man,  who  so  well 
understands  the  true  charms  of  eloquence  and 
poesy.  But  I direct  this  address  to  you ; not 
that  I think  I can  entertain  you  with  my  writ- 
ings, but  to  thank  you  for  the  new  delight  I 

* This  seems  to  amount  to  a declaration  that  E.  Wort- 
ley  Montague,  Esq.  was  himself  a writer  in  these  pa- 
pers. 


7 


8 


ORIGINAL  DEDICATIONS. 


have,  from  your  conversation,  in  those  of  other 
men. 

May  you  enjoy  a long  continuance  of  the  true 
relish  of  the  happiness  heaven  has  bestowed 
upon  you  ! I know  not  how  to  say  a more  affec- 
tionate thing  to  you,  than  to  wish  that  you  may 


be  always  what  you  are ; and  that  you  may  ever 
think,  as  I know  you  now  do,  that  you  have  a 
much  larger  fortune  than  you  want.  I am. 
Sir,  your  most  obedient,  and  most  humble  ser- 
vant, 

ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF. 


VOLUME  THE  THIRD. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  WILLIAM  LORD  COWPER,  BARON  OF  WINGHAM. 


My  Lord, — After  having  long  celebrated  the 
superior  graces  and  excellences,  among  men, 
in  an  imaginary  character,  I do  myself  the  ho- 
nour to  show  my  veneration  for  transcendent 
merit  under  my  own  name,  in  this  address  to 
your  lordship.  The  just  application  of  those 
high  accomplishments  of  which  you  are  master, 
has  been  an  advantage  to  all  your  fellow-sub- 
jects ; and  it  is  from  the  common  obligation  you 
have  laid  upon  all  the  world,  that  I,  though  a 
private  man,  can  pretend  to  be  affected  with,  or 
take  the  liberty  to  acknowledge,  your  great 
talents  and  public  virtues. 

It  gives  a pleasing  prospect  to  your  friends, 
that  is  to  say,  to  the  friends  of  your  country, 
that  you  have  passed  through  the  highest  offices, 
at  an  age  when  others  usually  do  but  form  to 
themselves  the  hopes  of  them.  They  may  ex- 
pect to  see  you  in  the  house  of  lords  as  many 
years  as  you  were  ascending  to  it.  It  is  our 
common  good,  that  your  admirable  eloquence 
can  now  no  longer  be  employed,  but  in  the  ex- 
pression of  your  own  sentiments  and  judgment. 
The  skilful  pleader  is  now  for  ever  changed 
into  the  just  judge  ; which  latter  character  your 
lordship  exerts  with  so  prevailing  an  impar- 
tiality, that  you  win  the  approbation  even  of 
those  who  dissent  from  you,  and  you  always 
obtain  favour,  because  you  are  never  moved 
by  it. 

This  gives  you  a certain  dignity  peculiar  to 
your  present  situation,  and  makes  the  equity, 
even  of  a lord  high  chancellor,  appear  but  a 
degree  towards  the  magnanimity  of  a peer  of 
Great  Britain. 

Forgive  me,  my  lord,  when  I cannot  conceal 
from  you,  that  I shall  never  hereafter  behold 


you,  but  I shall  behold  you,  as  lately,  defending 
the  brave  and  the  unfortunate.* 

When  we  attend  to  your  lordship  engaged 
in  a discourse,  we  cannot  but  reflect  upon  the 
many  requisites  which  the  vain-glorious  speak- 
ers of  antiquity  have  demanded  in  a man  who 
is  to  excel  in  oratory  ; I say,  my  lord,  when  we 
reflect  upon  the  precepts  by  viewing  the  exam- 
ple, though  there  is  no  excellence  proposed  by 
those  rhetoricians  wanting,  the  whole  art  seems 
to  be  resolved  into  that  one  motive  of  speaking, 
sincerity  in  the  intention.  The  graceful  man- 
ner, the  apt  gesture,  and  the  assumed  concern, 
are  impotent  helps  to  persuasion,  in  comparison 
of  the  honest  countenance  of  him  who  utters 
what  he  really  means.  From  whence  it  is,  that 
all  the  beauties  which  others  attain  with  labour, 
are  in  your  lordship  but  the  natural  effects  of 
the  heart  that  dictates.  It  is  this  noble  simpli- 
city, which  makes  you  surpass  mankind  in  the 
faculties  wherein  mankind  are  distinguished 
from  other  creatures,  reason  and  speech. 

If  these  gifts  were  communicated  to  all  men 
in  proportion  to  the  truth  and  ardour  of  their 
hearts,  I should  speak  of  you  with  the  same 
force  as  you  express  yourself  on  any  other  sub- 
ject. But  I resist  my  present  impulse,  as  agree- 
able as  it  is  to  me  ; though,  indeed,  had  I any 
pretensions  to  a fame  of  this  kind,  I should, 
above  all  other  themes,  attempt  a panegyric 
upon  my  lord  Cowper  ; for  the  only  sure  way  to 
a reputation  for  eloquence,  in  an  age  wherein 
that  perfect  orator  lives,  is  to  choose  an  argu- 
ment, upon  which  he  himself  must  of  neces- 
sity be  silent.  I am,  my  lord,  your  lordship’s 
most  devoted,  most  obedient,  and  most  humble 
servant,  RICHARD  STEELE. 


* The  duke  of  Marlborough. 


VOLUME  THE  FOURTH. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  CHARLES,  LORD  HALIFAX. 


From  the  Hovel  at  Hamptonwick, 

April  7,  1711. 

My  Lord, — When  I first  resolved  upon  do- 
ing myself  this  honour,  I could  not  but  indulge 


a certain  vanity,  in  dating  from  this  little  covert, 
where  I have  frequently  had  the  honour  of  your 
lordship’s  company,  and  received  from  you  very 
many  obligations.  The  elegant  solitude  of  this 


STEELE’S  PREFACE  TO  THE  TATLER. 


0 


place,  and  the  greatest  pleasures  of  it,  I owe  to 
its  being  so  near  those  beautiful  manors  wherein 
you  sometimes  reside.  It  is  not  retiring  from 
the  world,  but  enjoying  its  most  valuable  bless- 
ings, when  a man  is  permitted  to  share  in  your 
lordship’s  conversations  in  the  country.  All 
the  bright  images  which  the  wits  of  past  ages 
have  left  behind  them  in  their  writings,  the 
noble  plans  which  the  greatest  statesmen  have 
laid  down  for  administration  of  affairs,  are 
equally  the  familiar  objects  of  your  knowledge. 
But  what  is  peculiar  to  your  lordship  above  all 
the  illustrious  personages  that  have  appeared  in 
any  age,  is,  that  wit  and  learning  have  from 
your  example  fallen  into  a new  sera.  Your  pa- 
tronage has  produced  those  arts,  which  before 
shunned  the  commerce  of  the  world,  into  the 
service  of  life  ; and  it  is  to  you  we  owe,  that  the 
man  of  wit  has  turned  himself  to  be  a man  of 
business.  The  false  delicacy  of  men  of  genius, 
and  the  objections  which  others  were  apt  to  in- 
sinuate against  their  abilities  for  entering  into 
affairs  have  equally  vanished.  And  experience 
has  shown,  that  men  of  letters  are  not  only 
qualified  with  a greater  capacity,  but  also  a 


greater  integrity  in  the  despatch  of  business. 
Your  own  studies  have  been  diverted  from  being 
the  highest  ornament,  to  the  highest  use  to  man- 
kind ; and  the  capacities  which  would  have  ren- 
dered you  the  greatest  poet  of  your  age,  have, 
to  the  advantage  of  Great  Britain,  been  em- 
ployed in  pursuits  which  have  made  you  the 
most  able  and  unbiassed  patriot.  A vigorous 
imagination,  an  extensive  apprehension,  and  a 
ready  judgment,  have  distinguished  you  in  all 
the  illustrious  parts  of  administration,  in  a 
reign  attended  with  sueh  difficulties,  that  the 
same  talents,  without  the  same  quickness  in 
the  possession  of  them,  would  have  been  in- 
capable of  conquering.  The  natural  success 
of  such  abilities,  has  advanced  you  to  a seat 
in  that  illustrious  house,  where  you  were  re- 
ceived by  a crowd  of  your  relations.  Great 
as  you  are  in  your  honours,  and  personal  quali- 
ties, I know  you  will  forgive  an  humble  neigh- 
bour the  vanity  of  pretending  to  a place  in 
your  friendship,  and  subscribing  himself,  my 
lord,  your  lordship’s  most  obliged,  and  most 
devoted  servant, 

RICHARD  STEELE. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  OCTAVO  EDITION,  1710. 


In  the  last  Tatler  I promised  some  explana- 
tion of  passages  and  persons  mentioned  in  this 
work,  as  well  as  some  account  of  the  assistances 
I have  had  in  the  performance.  I shall  do  this 
in  very  few  words  ; for  when  a man  has  no  de- 
sign but  to  speak  plain  truth,  he  may  say  a great 
deal  in  a very  narrow  compass.  I have,  in  the 
dedication  of  the  first  volume,  made  my  acknow- 
ledgments to  Dr.  Swift,  whose  pleasant  writings, 
in  the  name  of  Bickerstaff,  created  an  inclina- 
tion in  the  town  towards  any  thing  that  could 
appear  in  the  same  disguise.  I must  acknow- 
ledge also,  that,  at  my  first  entering  upon  this 
work,  a certain  uncommon  way  of  thinking, 
and  a turn  in  conversation  peculiar  to  that 
agreeable  gentleman,  rendered  his  company 
very  advantageous  to  one  whose  imagination  was 
to  be  continually  employed  upon  obvious  and 
common  subjects,  though,  at  the  same  time, 
obliged  to  treat  of  them  in  a new  and  unbeaten 
method.  His  verses  on  the  ‘ Shower  in  Town,’ 
and  the  ‘ Description  of  the  Morning,’  are  in- 
stances of  the  happiness  of  that  genius,  which 
could  raise  such,  pleasing  ideas  upon  occasions 
so  barren  to  an  ordinary  invention. 

When  I am  upon  the  house  of  Bickerstaff,  I 
must  not  forget  that  genealogy  of  the  family 
sent  to  me  by  the  post,  and  written,  as  I since 
understand,  by  Mr.  Twisden,  who  died  at  the 
battle  of  Mons,  and  has  a monument  in  West- 
minster abbey,  suitable  to  the  respect  which  is 
due  to  his  wit  and  his  valour.  There  are  through 
the  course  of  the  work,  very  many  incidents 
which  were  written  by  unknown  correspond- 
ents. Of  this  kind  is  the  tale  in  the  second 
Tatler,  and  the  epistle  from  Mr.  Downes  the 
prompter,  with  others  which  were  very  well  re- 
B 


ceived  by  the  public.  But  I have  only  one  gen- 
tleman, who  will  be  nameless,  to  tliank  for  any 
frequent  assistance  to  me,  which  indeed  it  would 
have  been  barbarous  in  him  to  have  denied  to 
one  with  whom  he  has  lived  in  an  intimaey  from 
childhood,  considering  the  great  ease  with  which 
he  is  able  to  despatch  the  most  entertaining 
pieces  of  this  nature.  This  good  office  he  per- 
formed with  such  force  of  genius,  humour,  wit, 
and  learning,  that  I fared  like  a distressed 
prince,  who  calls  in  a powerful  neighbour  to  his 
aid  ; I was  undone  by  my  auxiliary ; when  I had 
once  called  him  in,  I could  not  subsist  without 
dependence  on  him. 

The  same  hand  writ  the  distinguishing  cha- 
racters of  men  and  women  under  the  names  of 
‘Musical  Instruments,’  ‘The  Distress  of  the 
News-writers,’  ‘ The  Inventory  of  the  Play- 
house,’ and  ‘ The  description  of  the  Thermo- 
meter,’ which  I cannot  but  look  upon  as  the 
greatest  embellishments  of  this  work. 

Thus  far  I thought  necessary  to  say  relating 
to  the  great  hands  which  have  been  concerned 
in  these  volumes,  with  relation  to  the  spirit  and 
genius  of  the  work  ; and  am  far  from  pretend- 
ing to  modesty  in  making  this  acknowledgment. 
What  a man  obtains  from  the  good  opinion  and 
friendship  of  worthy  men,  is  a much  greater 
honour  than  he  can  possibly  reap  from  any  ac- 
complishments of  his  own.  But  all  the  credit 
of  wit  which  was  given  me  by  the  gentlemen 
above-mentioned,  with  whom  I have  now  ac- 
counted, has  not  been  able  to  atone  for  the  ex- 
ceptions made  against  me  for  some  raillery  in 
behalf  of  that  learned  advocate  for  the  episco- 
pacy of  the  church,  and  the  liberty  of  the  peo- 
ple, Mr.  Hoadly.  I mentioned  this  only  to  de- 


10 


STEELE’S  PREFACE  TO  THE  TATLER. 


fend  myself  against  the  imputation  of  being 
moved  rather  by  party  than  opinion  ; and  I think 
it  is  apparent.  I have,  •with  the  utmost  frank- 
ness, allowed  merit  wherever  I found  it,  though 
joined  in  interests  different  from  those  for 
which  I have  declared  myself.  When  my  Fa- 
vonius  is  acknowledged  to  be  Dr.  Smallridge, 
and  the  amiable  character  of  the  Dean  in  the 
sixty-sixth  Tatler,  drawn  for  Dr.  Atterbury,  I 
hope  I need  say  no  more  as  to  my  impartiality. 

I really  have  acted  in  these  cases  with  hon- 
esty, and  am  concerned  it  should  be  thought 
otherwise  ; for  wit,  if  a man  had  it,  unless  it  be 
directed  to  some  useful  end,  is  but  a wanton 
frivolous  quality  ; all  that  one  should  value  him- 
self upon  in  this  kind  is,  that  he  had  some  hon- 
ourable intention  in  it. 

As  for  this  point,  never  hero  in  romance  was 
carried  away  with  a more  furious  ambition  to 
conquer  giants  and  tyrants,  than  I have  been 
in  extirpating  gamesters  and  duellists.  And 


indeed,  like  one  of  those  knights  too,  though  I 
was  calm  before,  I am  apt  to  fly  out  again,  when 
the  thing  that  first  disturbed  me  is  presented  to 
my  imagination.  I shall  therefore  leave  off 
when  I am  well,  and  fight  with  windmills  no 
more  ; only  shall  be  so  arrogant  as  to  say  of 
myself,  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  force  of  fashion 
and  prejudice,  in  the  face  of  all  the  world,  I 
alone  bewailed  the  condition  of  an  English  gen- 
tleman, whose  fortune  and  life  are  at  this  day 
precarious  ; while  his  estate  is  liable  to  the  de- 
mands of  gamesters,  through  a false  sense  of 
justice  ; and  to  the  demands  of  duellists,  through 
a false  sense  of  honour.  As  to  the  first  of  these 
orders  of  men,  I have  not  one  word  more  to 
say  of  them  ; as  to  the  latter,  I shall  conclude  all 
I have  more  to  offer  against  them,  with  respect 
to  their  being  prompted  by  the  fear  of  shame, 
by  applying  to  the  duellist  what  I think  Dr. 
South  says  some  where  of  the  liar,  ‘ He  is  a 
coward  to  man,  and  a bravo  to  God.’ 


THE  TATLER 


No.  1.]  Tuesday,  April  12,  1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

Nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

‘ Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.’  P. 

Though  the  other  papers,  which  are  published 
for  the  use  of  the  good  people  of  England,  have 
certainly  very  wholesome  effeets,  and  are  lauda- 
ble  in  their  particular  kinds,  they  do  not  seem 
to  come  up  to  the  main  design  of  such  narra- 
ti.Qi)^;  which,  I humbly  presume,  should  be 
principally  intended  for  the  use  of  jpolitical  per- 
sons,  who  are  so  public-spirited  as  to  negfect 
their  own  affairs  to  look  into  transactions  of 
state.  Now  these  gentlemen,  for  the  most  part, 
being  persons  of  strong  zeal  and  weak  intellects, 
it  is  both  a charitable  arid  necessary  work  to 
offer  something  whereby  such  worthy  and  well- 
affected  members  of  the  commonwealth  may  be 
instructed,  after  their  reading,  what  to  think ; 
which  shall  be  the  end  and  purpose  ofjyris  my 
paper,  wherein  I shall  from  timeTo'time  report 
and  consider  all  matters,  of  what  kind  soever, 
that  shall  occur  to  me,  and  publish  such  my  ad- 
vices and  reflections  every  Tuesday, ^Thursday, 
and  Saturday  in  the  week,  foTlHe  corivefiience 
of  the  post.  I resolve  to  have  something  which 
may  be  of  entertainment  to  the  fair-sex,  in  ho- 
nour of  whom  I have  invented  the  title  of  this 
paper.  I therefore  earnestly  desire  all  persons, 
without  distinction,  to  take  it  in  for  the  present, 
gratis,,  and  hereafter,  at  the  price  of  one  penny, 
forbidding  all  hawkers  to  take  more  for  it  at 
their  peril.  And  I desire  all  persons  to  consider, 
that  I am  at  a very  great  charge  for  proper 
materials  for  this  work,  as  well  as  that,  before 
I resolved  upon  it,  I had  settled  a correspon- 
dence in  all  parts  of  the  known  and  knowing 
world.  And  forasmuch  as  this  globe  is  not 
trodden  upon  by  mere  drudges  of  business  only, 
but  that  men  of  spirit  and  genius  are  justly  to 
be  esteemed  as  considerable  agents  in  it,  we 
shall  not,  upon  a dearth  of  news,  present  you 
with  musty  foreign  edicts,  or  dull  proclamations, 
but  shall  divide  our  relation  of  the  passages 
which  occur  in  action  or  discourse  throughout 
this  town,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  under  such  dates 
of  places  as  may  prepare  you  for  the  matter  you 
are  to  expect,  in  the  following  manner. 

“ All  accounts  of  gallantry,  pleasure,  and 
entertainment,  shall  be  under  the  article  of 
White’s  Chocolate-house;*  poetry,  under  that 
of  Will’s  Coffee-house  ;t  learning 


* White’s  Chocolate-house  was  then  on  the  west  side 
of  St.  .Tames’s-street. 

t “ Will’s  Coffee-house  was  on  the  north  side  of  Rus- 
sel-strect,  Covent  garden,  where  the  wits  of  that  time 


title  of  Grecian  jt  foreign  and  domestic  news 
y ouwill  Tiave*lrom  Saint  James’s  Coffee-house  ; 
and  what  else  I have  to  offer  on  any  other  sub- 
ject shall  be  dated  from  my  own  apartment. 

“ I once  more  desire  my  reader  to  consider, 
that  as  I cannot  keep  an  ingenious  man  to  go 
daily  to  Will’s  under  twopence  each  day,  merely 
for  his  charges  ; to  White’s  under  sixpence  ; nor 
to  the  Grecian,  without  allowing  him  some  plain 
Spanish,  to  be  as  able  as  others  at  the  learned 
table ; and  that  a good  observer  cannot  speak 
with  even  Kidney  § at  Saint  James’s  without 
clean  linen ; I say,  these  considerations  will,  I 
hope,  make  all  persons  willing  to  comply  with 
my  humble  request  (when  my  gratis  stock  is 
exhausted)  of  a penny  a-piece  ; espeeially  since 
they  are  sure  of  some  proper  amusement,  and 
that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  want  means  to 
entertain  them  ; having,  besides  the  force  of  my 
own  parts,  the  power  of  divination,  and  that  I 
can,  by  casting  a figure,  tell  you  all  that  will 
happen  before  it  comes  to  pass. 

“ But  this  last  faculty  I shall  use  very  spa- 
ringly, and  speak  but  of  few  things  until  they 
are  passed,  for  fear  of  divulging  matters  which 
may  offend  our  superiors.”!) 

White's  Chocolate-house,,  April  7. 

The  deplorable  condition  of  a very  pretty 
gentleman,  who  walks  here  at  the  hours  when 
men  of  quality  first  appear,  is  what  is  very  much 
lamented.  His  history  is,  that  on  the  ninth  of 
September,  1705,  being  in  his  one-and-twentieth 
year,  he  was  washing  his  teeth  at  a tavern  win- 
dow in  Pall-Mall,  wh^en  a fine  equipage  passed 
by,  and  in  it  a young  lady  who  looked  up  at 
him  ; away  goes  the  coach,  and  the  young  gen- 
tleman pulled  off  his  night  cap,  and  instead  of 
rubbing  his  gums,  as  he  ought  to  do,  out  of  the 
window  until  about  four  of  the  clock,  sits  him 
down  and  spoke  not  a word  until  twelve  at 
night ; after  which,  he  began  to  inquire  if  any 
body  knew  the  lady? — The  company  asked 
what  lady  ? but  he  said  no  more,  until  they 
broke  up  at  six  in  the  morning.  All  the  ensu- 
ing winter  he  went  from  church  to  church  every 
Sunday,  and  from  play-house  to  play-house 

used  to  assemble,  and  where  Dr3'den  had,  when  he  lived, 
been  accustomed  to  preside.” — Johnson's  “ Lives,”  &c. 
vol.  iv.  p.  15.  8vo.  edit.  1781. 

t The  Grecian  was,  and  still  is,  in  Devereux-court  in 
the  Strand  ; probably  the  most  ancient  coffee-house  in 
or  about  London.  In  1652,  an  English  Turkey-mer- 
chant brought  home  with  him  a Greek  servant,  who 
first  opened  a house  for  making  and  selling  coffee. 

§ Kidney  was  one  of  the  waiters  at  St.  James’s  Coffee- 
house. 

|(  The  same  introduction  was  prefixed  to  No.  2,  and 
No.  3. 

11 


12 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  1. 


every  night  in  the  week  ; but  could  never  find 
the  original  of  the  picture  which  dwelt  in  his 
bosom.  In  a word,  his  attention  to  any  thing 
but  his  passion  was  utterly  gone.  He  has  lost 
all  the  money  he  ever  played  for,  and  been  con- 
futed in  every  argument  he  has  entered  upon, 
since  the  moment  he  first  saw  her.  He  is  of  a 
noble  family,  has  naturally  a very  good  air,  and 
is  of  a frank,  honest  temper  ; but  this  passion 
has  so  extremely  mauled  him,  that  his  features 
are  set  and  uninformed,  and  his  whole  visage 
is  deadened  by  a long  absence  of  thought.  He 
never  appears  in  any  alacrity  but  when  raised  by 
wine  ; at  which  time  he  is  sure  to  come  hither 
and  throw  away  a great  deal  of  wit  on  fellows 
who  have  no  sense  further  than  just  to  observe, 
that  our  poor  lover  has  most  understanding 
when  he  is  drunk,  and  is  least  in  his  senses 
when  he  is  sober.* 

The  reader  is  desired  to  take  notice  of  the 
article  from  this  place,  from  time  to  time,  for 
I design  to  be  very  exact  in  the  progress  this 
unhappy  gentleman  makes,  which  may  be  of 
great  instruction  to  all  who  actually  are,  or  who 
ever  shall  be  in  love.  /'  lV X 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  April  8. 

On  Thursday  last  was  acted,  for  the  benefit 
of  Mr.  Betterton,  the  celebrated  comedy  called 
% Love  for  Love.t  Those  excellent  players,  Mrs. 
Barry,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  and  Mr.  Dogget, 
though  not  at  present  concerned  in  the  house, 
acted  on  that  occasion.  There  has  not  been 
known  so  great  a concourse  of  persons  of  dis- 
tinction as  at  that  time  ; the  stage  itself  was 
covered  with  gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  when 
the  curtain  was  drawn,  it  discovered  even  there, 
a very  splendid  audience.  This  unusual  en- 
couragement, which  was  given  to  a play  for 
the  advantage  of  so  great  an  actor,  gives  an  un- 
deniable instance,  that  the  true  relish  for  manly 
entertainments  and  rational  pleasures  is  not 
wholly  lost.  All  the  parts  were  acted  to  perfec- 
tion : the  actors  were  careful  of  their  carriage, 
and  no  one  was  guilty  of  the  affectation  to  in- 
sert witticisms  of  his  own  ; but  a due  respect 
was  had  to  the  audience  for  encouraging  this 
accomplished  player.  It  is  not  now  doubted  but 
plays  will  revive,  and  take  their  usual  place  in 
the  opinion  of  persons  of  wit  and  merit,  notwith- 
standing their  late  apostacy  in  favour  of  dress 
and  sound.  This  place  is  very  much  altered 
« since  Mr.  Dryden  frequented  it ; where  you  used 
to  see  songs,  epigrams,  and  satires,  in  the  hands 
of  every  man  you  met,  you  have  now  only  a 
pack  of  cards  ; and  instead  of  the  cavils  about 
the  turn  of  the  expression,  the  elegance  of  the 
style,  and  the  like,  the  learned  now  dispute  only 
about  the  truth  of  the  game.  But  however  the 
company  is  altered,  all  have  shown  a great  re- 
.spect  for  Mr.  Betterton ; and  the  very  gaming 
part  of  this  house  have  been  so  touched  with  a 
sense  of  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs  (which 
alter  with  themselves  every  moment)  that  in 


* Edward  Lord  Viscount  Hinchinbroke,  mentioned 
afterwards  under  the  name  of  Cyntliio.  He  died  in  the 
lifetime  of  his  father,  Oct.  3,  1722.  See  No.  .5,  and  No.  22 
t By  Congreve.  Published  in  quarto,  1G9.7. 


this  gentleman,  they  pitied  Mark  Anthony  of 
Rome,  Hamlet  of  Denmark,  Mithridates  of  Pon- 
tus,  Theodosius  of  Greece,  and  Henry  the  Eighth 
of  England.  It  is  well  known,  he  has  been  in 
the  condition  of  each  of  those  illustrious  person- 
ages for  several  hours  together,  and  behaved 
himself  in  those  high  stations,  in  all  the  changes 
of  the  scene,  with  suitable  dignity.  For  these 
reasons,  we  intend  to  repeat  this  late  favour 
to  him  on  a proper  occasion,  lest  he,  who  can 
instruct  us  so  well  in  personating  feigned  sor- 
rows, should  be  lost  to  us  by  suffering  imder 
real  ones.*  The  town  is  at  present  in  very 
great  expectation  of  seeingt  a comedy  now  in 
rehearsal,  which  is  the  twenty-fiflh  production 
of  my  honoured  friend  Mr.  Thomas  D’Urfey  ; 
v/ho,  besides  his  great  abilities  in  the  dramatic, 
has  a particular  talent  in  the  lyric  way  of  writ- 
ing, and  that  with  a manner  wholly  new  and 
unknown  to  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans, 
wherein  he  is  but  faintly  imitated  in  the  trans- 
lation of  the  modern  Italian  operas. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  April  11. 

Letters  from  the  Hague  of  the  sixteenth,  say 
that  Major-general  Cadogan  was  gone  to  Brus- 
sels, with  orders  to  disperse  proper  instructions 
for  assembling  the  whole  force  of  the  allies  in 
Flanders,  in  the  beginning  of  the  next  month. 
The  late  offers  concerning  peace  were  made  in 
the  style  of  persons  who  think  themselves  upon 
equal  terms ; but  the  allies  have  so  just  a sense 
of  their  present  advantages,  that  they  will  not 
admit  of  a treaty,  except  France  offers  what  is 
more  suitable  to  her  present  condition.  At  the 
same  time,  we  make  preparations  as  if  we  were 
alarmed  by  a greater  force  than  that  which  we 
are  carrying  into  the  field.  Thus  this  point 
seems  now  to  be  argued  sword  in  hand.  This 
was  what  a great  general!  alluded  to,  when 
being  asked  the  names  of  those  who  were  to  be 
plenipotentiaries  for  the  ensuing  peace,  he  an- 
swered with  a serious  air,  “ There  are  about 
a hundred  thousand  of  us.”  Mr.  Kidney,  who 
has  the  ear  of  the  greatest  politicians  that  come 
hither,  tells  me,  there  is  a mail  come  in  to-day 
with  letters,  dated  Hague,  April  the  nineteenth, 
N.  S.  which  say,  a design  of  bringing  part  of 
our  troops  into  the  field,  at  the  latter  end  of  this 
month,  is  now  altered  to  a resolution  of  march- 
ing towards  the  camp  about  the  twentieth  of 
the  next.  Prince  Eugene  was  then  returned 
thither  from  Amsterdam.  He  sets  out  from 
Brussels  on  T uesday  : the  greater  number  of 
the  general  officers  at  the  Hague,  have  orders 
to  go  at  the  same  time.  The  squadron  at  Dun- 
kirk consists  of  seven  vessels.  There  happened 
the  other  day,  in  the  road  of  Scheveling,  an  en- 
gagement between  a privateer  of  Zeeland  and 
one  of  Dunkirk.  The  Dunkirker,  carrying 
thirty-three  pieces  of  cannon  was  taken  and 


* Thomas  Betterton,  justly  esteemed  the  Roscius  of 
his  age,  was  born  in  1635,  came  upon  the  stage  in  1650, 
and  continued  on  it  with  great  reputation  more  than 
fifty  years.  He  died  April  28,  1710. 

t “ The  Modern  Prophets,  c.  quarto,  1709,  his  twenty- 
seventh  production,  according  to  the  list  of  his  plays  in 
Biog.  Dram.  See  Tat.  No.  11,  and  note;  and  No.  43. 

] 'Phe  duke  of  IMarl borough. 


THE  TATLER. 


13 


No.  2.] 

brought  into  the  Texel.  It  is  said,  the  courier  of 
Monsieur  Rouille  is  returned  to  liim  from  the 
court  of  France.  Monsieur  Vcndosme,  being  re- 
instated in  the  favour  of  the  dutchess  of  Burgun- 
dy, is  to  command  in  Flanders. 

Mr.  Kidney  added,  that  there  w'ere  letters  of 
the  seventeenth  from  Ghent,  which  give  an  ac- 
count that  the  enemy  had  formed  a design  to 
surprise  two  battalions  of  the  allies  which  lay 
at  Alost ; but  those  battalions  received  advice 
of  their  march,  and  retired  to  Dendermond. 
Lieutenant-general  Wood  appeared  on  this  oc- 
casion at  tlie  head  of  five  thousand  foot,  and  one 
thousand  horse ; upon  which,  the  enern}'^  with- 
drew without  making  any  farther  attempt. 

From  my  own  Apartment. 

I am  sorry  I am  obliged  to  trouble  the  public 
with  so  much  discourse  upon  a matter  which 
I at  the  very  first  mentioned  as  a trifle,  viz.  the 
I death  of  Mr.  Partridge,*  under  whose  name 
there  is  an  almanack  come  out  for  the  year 
1709;  in  one  page  of  which,  it  is  asserted  by 
the  said  John  Partridge,  that  he  is  still  living ; 
and  not  only  so,  but  that  he  was  also  living  some 
lime  before,  and  even  at  the  instant  when  I 
writ  of  his  death.  I have  in  another  place,  and 
in  a paper  by  itself,  sufficiently  convinced  this 
man  that  he  is  dead,  and,  if  he  has  any  shame, 

I do  not  doubt  but  that  by  this  time  he  owns  it 
to  all  his  acquaintance  ; for  though  the  legs  and 
arms  and  whole  body  of  that  man  my  still  appear, 
and  perform  their  animal  functions  ; yet  since, 
as  I have  elsewhere  observed,  his  art  is  gone, 
the  man  is  gone.  I am,  as  I said,  concerned  that 
this  little  matter  should  make  so  much  noise  ; 
but  since  I am  engaged,  I take  myself  obliged 
in  honour  to  go  on  in  my  lucubrations,  and  by 
the  help  of  these  arts,  of  which  I am  master,  as 
well  as  my  skill  in  astrological  speculations,  I 
shall,  as  I see  occasion,  proceed  to  confute  other 
dead  men  who  pretend  to  be  in  being,  although 
they  are  actually  deceased.  I therefore  give  all 
men  fair  warning  to  mend  their  manners;  for  I 
shall,  from  time  to  time,  print  bills  of  mortality  ; 
and  I beg  the  pardon  of  all  such  who  shall  be 
named  therein,  if  they  who  are  good  for  nothing 
shall  find  themselves  in  the  number  of  the  de- 
ceased. 


No.  2.]  Thursday,  April  14:^ 

duicquirl  agunt  homines 

JVostri  est  farrago  libeili.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

AVhate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Oar  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  tlieine.  P. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  April  13. 

There  has  lain  all  this  evening  on  the  table, 
the  following  poem.  The  subject  of  it  being 
matter  very  useful  for  families,  I thought  it  de- 
served to  bo  considered,  and  made  more  public. 
The  turn  the  poet  gives  it,  is  very  happy ; but 
the  foundation  is  from  a real  incident  which 


♦ Dr.  Swift,  in  his  “ Predictions  for  1708,”  foretold, 
that  Partridge  the  almanack-maker,  would  infallibly 
die  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  March  about  eleven  at  night, 
of  a raging  fever.  The  wits  resolved  to  support  this  pre- 
diction, and  uniformly  insisted  that  Partridge  actually 
died  at  that  time. 


happened  among  my  acquaintance.  A young" 
gentletjian  of  a great  estate,  fell  desperately  in, 
love  with  a great  beauty  of  very  high  quality, 
but  as  ill-natured  as  long  flattery  and  an  ha- 
bitual self-will  could  make. her.  However,  my 
young  spark  ventures  upon  her  like  a man  of 
quality,  without  being  acquainted  with  her,  or 
having  ever  saluted  her  until  it  was  a crime  to 
kiss  any  woman  else.  Beauty  is  a thingwhich 
palls  with  possession ; and  the  charms  of  this 
lady  soon  wanted  the  support  of  good-humour 
and  complacency  of  manners  Upon  this,  niy 
spark  flies  to  the  bottle  for  relief  from  satiety. 
She  disdains  him  for  being  tired  with  that  for 
which  all  men  envied  him  ; and  he  never  came 
home,  but  it  was — “Was  there  no  sot  that 
would  stay  longer  ? would  any  man  living  but 
you?  did  I leave  all  the  world  for  this  usage?” 
to  which,  he — “ Madam,  split  me,  you  are  very 
impertinent !”  In  a word,  this  match  was  wed- 
lock in  its  most  terrible  appearances.  She,  at 
last,  weary  of  railing  to  no  purpose,  applies  to 
a good  uncle,  who  gives  her  a bottle  he  pre- 
tended he  had  bought  of  Mr.  Partridge  the  con- 
jurer. “ This,”  said  he,  “ I gave  ten  guineas 
for.  The  virtue  of  the  enchanted  liquor  (said 
he  that  sold  it)  is  such,  that  if  the  woman  you 
marry  proves  a scold,  (which  it  seems,  my  dear 
niece,  is  your  misfortune,  as  it  was  your  good 
mother’s  before  you,)  let  her  hold  three  spoon- 
fuls in  her  mouth  for  a full  half  hour  after  you 
come  home — .”  But  I find  I am  not  in  humour 
for  telling  a tale,  and  nothing  in  nature  is  so 
ungraceful  as  story-telling  against  the  grain  ; 
therefore  take  it  as  the  author  has  given  it  you. 

THE  MEDICINE. 

A Tale— for  the  Ladies. 

Miss  Molly,  a famed  toast,  was  fair  and  young. 

Had  wealth  and  charms— but  then  she  had  a tongue ! 
From  morn  to  night  th’  eternal  larum  run, 

Which  often  lost  those  hearts  her  eyes  had  won. 

Sir  .Tohn  was  smitten,  and  confessed  his  flame. 

Sighed  out  the  usual  time,  then  wed  the  dame ; 
Possessed,  he  thought,  of  every  joy  of  life  : 

But  his  dear  Molly  proved  a very  wife. 

Excess  of  fondness  did  in  time  decline. 

Madam  loved  money,  and  the  knight  loved  wine. 

From  whence  some  petty  discord  would  arise. 

As.  *•  You’re  a fool !”— and,  “ You  are  mighty  wise  1” 

Though  he  and  all  the  world  allow’d  her  wit. 

Her  voice  was  shrill,  and  rather  loud  than  sweet; 

When  she  began — for  hat  and  sword  he’d  call. 

Then  after  a faint  kiss,— cry,  “ Bye,  dear  Moll ! 

Supper  and  friends  expect  me  at  the  Rose.” — 

“ And,  what.  Sir  John,  you’ll  get  your  usual  dose!  , 

Go,  stink  of  smoke,  and  guzzle  nasty  wine  ; 

Sure,  never  virtuous  love  was  used  like  mine  !” 

Oft  as  the  watchful  bell-man  inarched  his  round. 

At  a fresh  bottle  gay  Sir  John  he  found. 

By  four  the  knight  would  get  his  business  done, 

And  only  then  reeled  off,  because  alone  ; 

Full  well  he  knew  the  dreadful  storm  to  come. 

But,  armed  with  Boiirdeaux  he  durst  venture  home. 

My  lady  with  her  tongue  was  still  prepared. 

She  rattled  loud,  and  he  impatient  heard  : 

“ ’Tisla  fine  hour  ! In  a sweet  pickle  made  ! 

And  this.  Sir  John,  is  every  day  the  trade. 

Here  I sit  moping  all  the  live-long  night. 

Devoured  with  spleen,  and  stranger  to  delight; 

’Till  morn  sends  staggering  home  a drunken  beast. 
Resolved  to  break  my  heart,  as  well  as  rest.”  . 

“Hey ! hoop  I d’ye  hear  my  damned  obstreperous  spouse. 
What,  can’t  you  find  one  bed  about  the  house  ? 

Will  that  perpetual  clack  lie  never  still? 

That  rival  to  the  softness  of  a mill ! 

Some  couch  and  distant  room  must  be  my  choice. 

Where  I may  sleep  uncursed  with  wife  and  noise.” 

Long  this  uncomfortable  life  they  led. 

With  snarling  meals,  and  each  a separate  bed. 


14 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  3. 


To  an  old  uncle  oft  she  would  complain, 

Beg  his  advice,  and  scarce  from  tears  refrain. 

Old  Wisewood  smoked  the  matter  as  it  was, 

“Cheer  up!”  cried  he,  “ and  I’ll  remove  the  cause. 

“ A wonderous  spring  within  my  garden  flows, 

Of  sovereign  virtue,  chiefly  to  compose 
Domestic  jars,  and  matrimonial  strife. 

The  best  elixir  t’  appease  man  and  wife  ; 

Strange  are  th’  effects,  the  qualities  divine, 

’Tis  water  called,  but  worth  its  weight  in  wine. 

If  in  his  sullen  airs  Sir  John  should  come. 

Three  spoonfuls  take,  hold  in  your  mouth— then  mum. 
Smile,  and  look  pleased,  when  he  shall  rage  and  scold, 
Still  in  your  mouth  the  healing  cordial  hold  ; 

One  month  this  sympathetic  med’cine  tried. 

He’ll  grow  a lover,  you  a happy  bride. 

But,  dearest  niece,  keep  this  grand  secret  close, 

Or  every  prattling  hussey  ’ll  beg  a dose.” 

A water-bottle’s  brought  for  her  relief ; 

Not  Nants  could  sooner  ease  the  lady’s  grief; 

Her  busy  thoughts  are  on  the  trial  bent. 

And,  female  like,  impatient  for  th’  event ! 

The  bonny  knight  reels  home  exceeding  clear, 
Prepared  for  clamour  and  domestic  war  : 

Entering,  he  cries, — “ Hey  ! where’s  our  thunder  fled  ! 
No  hurricane  ! Betty ’s  your  lady  dead  ?” 

Madam,  aside,  an  ample  mouthful  takes, 

Court’sies,  looks  kind,  but  not  a word  she  speaks! 
Wondering,  he  stared,  scarcely  his  eyes  believed. 

But  found  his  ears  agreeably  deceived. 

“ Why,  how  now,  Molly,  what's  the  crotchet  now  ?” 
She  smiles,  and  answers  only  with  a bow. 

Then  clasping  her  about—”  Why,  let  me  die  ! 

The.se  night-cloaths,  Moll,  become  thee  mightily  !” 

With  that  he  sighed,  her  hand  began  to  press, 

And  Betty  calls,  her  lady  to  undress. 

“ Nay,  kiss  me,  Molly,— for  I’m  much  inclined.” 

Her  lace  she  cuts,  to  take  him  in  the  mind. 

Thus  the  fond  pair  to  bed  enamoured  went. 

The  lady  pleased,  and  the  good  knight  content. 

For  many  days  these  fond  endearments  past. 

The  reconciling  bottle  fails  at  last ; 

’Twas  used  and  gone,— Then  midnight  storms  arose. 
And  looks  and  words  the  union  discompose. 

Her  coach  is  ordered  and  post-haste  she  flies 
To  beg  her  uncle  for  some  fresh  supplies. 

Transported  does  the  strange  effects  relate. 

Her  knight’s  conversion,  and  her  happy  state! 

“ Why,  niece,”  says  he, — “ I pr’ythee  apprehend. 

The  water’s  water— be  thyself  thy  friend  ; 

Such  beauty  would  the  coldest  husband  warm. 

But  your  provoking  tongue  undoes  the  charm  : 

Be  silent  and  complying. — You’ll  soon  find. 

Sir  John  without  a med’cinc  will  be  kind.” 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  April  13. 

Letters  from  Venice  say,  the  disappointment 
of  their  expectation  to  see  his  Danish  majesty 
has  very  much  disquieted  the  court  of  Rome. 
Our  last  advices  from  Germany  inform  us,  that 
the  minister  of  Hanover  has  urged  the  council 
at  Ratisbonne  to  exert  themselves  in  behalf  of 
the  common  cause,  and  taken  the  liberty  to  say, 
that  the  dignity,  the  virtue,  the  prudence  of  his 
electoral  highness,  his  master,  were  called  to 
the  head  of  their  atfairs  in  vain,  if  they  thought 
fit  to  leave  him  naked  of  the  proper  means  to 
make  those  excellencies  useful  for  the  honour 
and  safety  of  the  empire.  They  write  from 
Berlin  of  the  thirteenth,  O.  S.  that  the  true  de- 
sign of  general  Fleming’s  visit  to  that  court  was 
to  insinuate,  that  it  will  be  for  the  mutual  in- 
terest of  the  king  of  Prussia  and  king  Augustus, 
to  enter  into  a new  alliance ; but  that  the  min- 
isters of  Prussia  are  not  inclined  to  his  senti- 
ments. We  hear  from  Vienna,  that  his  imperial 
majesty  has  expressed  great  satisfaction  in  their 
high  mightinesses  having  communicated  to  him 
the  whole  that  has  passed  in  the  affair  of  a 
peace.  Though  there  have  been  practices  used 
by  the  agents  of  France,  in  all  the  courts  of 
Europe,  to  break  the  good  understanding  of  the 


allies,  they  have  had  no  other  effect,  but  to  make 
all  the  members  concerned  in  the  alliance  more 
doubtful  of  their  safety,  from  the  great  offers  of 
the  enemy.  The  emperor  is  roused  by  this 
alarm,  and  the  frontiers  of  all  the  French  do- 
minions are  in  danger  of  being  insulted  the 
ensuing  campaign.  Advices  from  all  parts  con- 
firm, that  it  is  impossible  for  France  to  find  a 
way  to  obtain  so  much  credit  as  to  gain  any  one 
potentate  of  the  allies,  or  conceive  any  hope  for 
safety  from  other  prospects. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  13. 

I find  it  of  very  great  use,  now  I am  setting 
up  for  a writer  of  news,  that  I am  an  adept  in 
astrological  speculations ; by  which  means,  I 
avoid  speaking  of  things  which  may  offend  great 
persons.  But,  at  the  same  time,  I must  not  pros- 
titute the  liberal  sciences  so  far,  as  not  to  utter 
the  truth  in  cases  which  do  immediately  con- 
cern the  good  of  my  native  country.  I must, 
therefore,  contradict  what  has  been  so  assuredly 
reported  by  the  news  writers  of  England,  that 
France  is  in  the  most  deplorable  condition,  and 
that  their  people  die  in  great  multitudes.  I will 
therefore  let  the  world  know,  that  my  corres- 
pondent by  the  way  of  Brussels,  informs  me 
upon  his  honour,  that  the  gentleman  who  writes 
the  gazette  of  Paris,  and  ought  to  know  as  well 
as  any  man,  has  told  him,  that  ever  since  the 
king  has  been  past  his  sixty-third  year,  or  grand 
climacteric,  there  has  not  died  one  man  of  the 
French  nation  who  was  younger  than  his  ma- 
jesty, except  a very  few  who  were  taken  sud- 
denly near  the  village  of  Hockstet  in  Germany  ; 
and  some  more  who  were  straitened  for  lodging 
at  a place  called  Ramilies,  and  died  on  the  road 
to  Ghent  and  Bruges.*  There  are  also  other 
things  given  out  by  the  allies,  which  are  shifts 
below  a conquering  nation  to  make  use  of. 
Among  others,  it  is  said  there  is  a general  mur- 
muring among  the  p>eople  of  France,  though  at 
the  same  time,  all  my  letters  agree,  that  there  is 
so  good  an  understanding  among  them,  that  there 
is  not  one  morsel  carried  out  of  any  market  in 
the  kingdom  but  what  is  delivered  upon  credit. 


No.  3.]  Saturday,  April  16,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

Nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

‘ Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  April  14. 

This  evening  the  comedyt  called  the  Country 
Wife,  was  acted  in  Drury-lane,  for  the  benefit 
of  Mrs.  Bignell.  The  part  which  gives  name 
to  the  play  was  performed  by  herself  Through 
the  whole  action  she  made  a very  pretty  figure, 
and  exactly  entered  into  the  nature  of  the  part. 
Her  husband,  in  the  drama,  is  represented  to 
be  one  of  those  debauchees  who  run  through 
the  vices  of  the  town,  and  believe,  when  they 
think  fit,  they  can  marry  and  settle  at  their 


* An  humorous  compliment  to  the  duke  of  Marl- 
borough, who,  as  Mr.  Steele  insinuates,  so  reduced  the 
Fiencli,  that  they  had  now,  neither  more  young  men  to 
go  to  war,  nor  more  ready  money  to  carry  to  market, 
t R.v  Wyclicrley.  It  was  first  acted  in  1683. 


THE  TATLER. 


15 


No.  3.] 


ease.  His  own  knowledge  of  the  iniquity  of  the 
age,  makes  him  choose  a wife  wholly  ignorant 
of  it,  and  place  his  security  in  her  want  of  skill 
to  abuse  him.  The  poet  on  many  oecasions, 
where  the  propriety  of  the  character  will  admit 
of  it,  insinuates,  that  there  is  no  defence  against 
vice,  but  the  contempt  of  it : and  has,  in  the 
natural  ideas  of  an  untainted  innocent,  shown 
the  gradual  steps  to  ruin  and  destruction  which 
persons  of  condition  run  into,  without  the  help 
of  a good  education  to  form  their  conduct.  The 
torment  of  a jealous  coxcomb,  which  arises  from 
his  own  false  maxims,  and  the  aggravation  of 
his  pain,  by  the  very  words  in  which  he  sees 
her  innocence,  makes  a very  pleasant  and  in- 
structive satire.  The  character  of  Horner,  and 
the  design  of  it,  is  a good  representation  of  the 
age  in  which  that  comedy  was  written ; at 
which  time,  love  and  wenching  were  the  busi- 
ness of  life,  and  the  gallant  manner  of  pursuing 
women  was  the  best  recommendation  at  court. 
To  this  only,  it  is  to  be  imputed,  that  a gentle- 
man of  Mr.  Wycherly’s  character  and  sense, 
condescends  to  represent  the  insults  done  to  the 
honour  of  the  bed,  without  just  reproof ; but  to 
have  drawn  a man  of  probity  with  regard  to 
such  considerations  had  been  a monster ; and  a 
poet  had  at  that  time  discovered  his  want  of 
knowing  the  manners  of  the  court  he  lived  in, 
by  a virtuous  character  in  his  fine  gentleman, 
as  he  would  show  his  ignorance  by  drawing  a 
vicious  one  to  please  the  present  audience.  Mrs. 
Bignell  did  her  part  very  happily,  and  had  a 
certain  grace  in  her  rusticity,  which  gave  us 
hopes  of  seeing  her  a very  skilful  player,  and 
in  some  parts,  supply  our  loss  of  Mrs.  Verbrug- 
gen. I cannot  be  of  the  same  opinion  with  my 
friends  and  fellow-labourers,  the  Reformers  of 
Manners,  in  their  severity  towards  plays  ; but 
must  allow,  that  a good  play,  acted  before  a 
well-bred  audience,  must  raise  very  proper  in- 
citements to  good  behaviour,  and  be  the  most 
quick  and  most  prevailing  method  of  giving 
young  people  a turn  of  sense  and  breeding. 
But  as  I have  set  up  for  a weekly  historian,  I 
resolve  to  be  a faithful  one  ; and  therefore  take 
whis  public  occasion  to  admonish  a young  noble- 
man, who  came  flustering  into  the  box  last  night, 
and  let  him  know  how  much  all  his  friends 
were  out  of  countenance  for  him.  The  women 
sat  in  terror  of  hearing  something  that  should 
shock  their  mooesty,  and  all  the  gentlemen  in 
as  much  pain,  out  of  compassion  to  the  ladies, 
and  perhaps  resentment  for  the  indignity  which 
was  offered  in  coming  into  their  presence  in  so 
disrespectful  a manner.  Wine  made  him  say 
nothing  that  was  rude,  therefore  he  is  forgiven, 
upon  condition  he  never  will  hazard  his  offend- 
ing more  in  this  kind.  As  I just  now  hinted,  I 
own  myself  of  the  “Society  for  Reformation 
of  Manners.”*  We  have  lower  instruments 
than  those  of  the  family  of  Bickerstaff  for 


*This  Society  began  in  1690  ; an  account  of  the  pro- 
gress made  in  suppressing  profaneness  and  debauchery 
by  its  means,  was  published  yearly.  The  last  account  is 
from  Dec.  1737  to  Dec.  1738.  The  total  number  of  per- 
sons prosecuted  by  this  Society,  in  or  near  London,  dur- 
ing these  forty-four  years,  is  calculated  at  about  101,683, 
&c.”  Such  as  are  curious,  may  see  a fuller  account  of 
it,  in  Stow’s  Survey  of  London,  edit.  1755,  vol.  i.  p.  144. 


punishing  great  crimes  and  exposing  the  aban- 
doned. Therefore,  as  I design  to  have  notices 
from  all  public  assemblies,  I shall  take  upon  me 
only  indecorums,  improprieties,  and  negligences, 
in  such  as  should  give  us  better  examples.  After 
this  declaration,  if  a fine  lady  thinks  fit  to  gig- 
gle at  church,  or  a great  beau  come  in  drunk  to 
a play,  either  shall  be  sure  to  hear  of  it  in  my 
ensuing  paper  ; for,  merely  as  a well-bred  man,. 
I cannot  bear  these  enormities.. 

After  the  play,  we  naturally  stroll  to  this  cof- 
fee-house, in  hopes  of  meeting  some  new  poem 
or  other  entertainment  among  the  men  of  wit 
and  pleasure,  where  thei*e  is  a dearth  at  present.. 
But  it  is  wonderful  there  should  be  so  few 
writers,  when  the  art  is  become  merely  me- 
chanic, and  men  may  make  themselves  great 
that  way  by  as  certain  and  infallible  rules  as 
you  may  be  a joiner  or  a mason.  There  hap- 
pens a good  instance  of  this  in  what  the  hawker 
has  just  now  offered  for  sale,  to  wit,  “ Instruc- 
tions to  Vanderbank  : A Sequel  to  the  advice  to 
the  Poets  : a Poem,  occasioned  by  the  glorious 
success  of  her  Majesty’s  arms  under  the  com- 
mand of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  the  last  year 
in  Flanders.”*  Here  you  are  to  understand 
that  the  author,  finding  the  poets  would  not  take 
his  advice,  troubles  himself  no  more  about  them  ; 
but  has  met  with  one  Vanderbank,f  who  works 
in  arras,  and  makes  very  good  tapestry  hangings: 
therefore,  in  order  to  celebrate  the  hero  of  the 
age,  he  claps  together  all  that  can  be  said  of  a. 
man  that  makes  hangings  : 

Then  artist,  who  does  aature’s  face  express. 

In  silk  and  gold,  and  scenes  of  action  dress  ; 

Dost  figured  arras  animated  leave. 

Spin  a bright  story,  or  a passion  weave ; , 

By  mingling  threads,  canst  mingle  shade  and  light,. 
Delineate  triumphs,  or  describe  a fight  ? 

Well,  what  shall  this  workman  do  ? why,  to 
show  how  great  an  hero  the  poet  intends,  h& 
provides  him  a very  good  horse  : 

Champing  his  foam,  and  bounding  on  the  plain. 
Arch  his  high  neck,  and  graceful  spread  his  mane. 

Now  as  to  the  intrepidity,  the  calm  courage, 
the  constant  application  of  the  hero,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  take  that  upon  yourself : you  may, 
in  the  lump,  bid  him  you  employ  raise  him  as 
high  as  he  can  ; and  if  he  does  it  not,  let  him 
answer  for  disobeying  orders. 

Let  fame  and  victory  in  inferior  sky 
Hover  with  balanc’d  wings,  and  smiling  fly 
Above  his  head,  «&.c. 

A whole  poem  of  this  kind  may  be  ready 
against  an  ensuing  campaign,  as  well  as  a space 
left  in  the  canvass  of  a piece  of  tapestry  for  the 
principal  figure,  while  the  under-parts  are  work- 
ing ; so  that  in  effect,  the  adviser  copies  after 
the  man  he  pretends  to  direet.  This  method 
should,  methinks,  encourage  young  beginners  ; 
for  the  invention  is  so  fitted  to  all  capacities, 
that  by  the  help  of  it  a man  may  make  a re- 
ceipt for  a poem.  A young  man  may  observe, 
that  the  jig  of  the  thing  is,  as  I said,  finding 


* By  Sir  Richard  Blackmore.  See  Spect.  Nos.  6.  339. 
Tat.  No.  14.  contains  a very  proper  apology  for  this 
raillery. 

t This  man  was  inimitable  in  his  way  ; no  person  ever 
represented  nature  more  happily  in  works  of  tapestry. 


16 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  4. 


out  all  that  can  be  said  in  his  way  whom  you  I 
employ  to  set  forth  your  worthy.  Waller  and 
Denham  had  worn  out  the  expedience  of  “ Ad-  | 
vice  to  a Painter  this  author  has  transferred 
the  work,  and  sent  his  Advice  to  the  Poets  ; that  I 
is  to  say,  to  the  Turners  of  Verse,  as  he  calls  ' 
them.  Well,  that  thought  is  worn  out  also ; 
therefore  he  directs  his  genius  to  the  loom,  and  I 
will  have  a new  set  of  hangings  in  honour  of  j 
the  last  year  in  Flanders.  I must  own  to  you, 

I approve  extremely  this  invention,  and  it  might 
be  improved  for  the  benefit  of  manufactory  : as, 
suppose  an  ingenious  gentleman  should  write  a 
poem  of  advice  to  a calico  printer  ; do  you  think 
there  is  a girl  in  England  that  would  wear  any 
thing  but  the  “ Taking  of  Lisle,”  or,  “ The  Bat- 
tle of  Oudenarde  ?”  They  would  certainly  be 
all  the  fashion  until  the  heroes  abroad  had  cut 
out  some  more  patterns.  I should  fancy  small 
skirmishes  might  do  for  under-petticoats,  pro- 
vided they  had  a siege  for  the  upper.  If  our 
adviser  were  well  imitated,  many  industrious 
people  might  be  put  to  work.  Little  Mr.  Dac- 
tile,  now  in  the  room,  who  formerly  writ  a song 
and  a half,  is  a week  gone  in  a very  pretty 
work,  upon  this  hint : he  is  writing  an  epigram 
to  a young  virgin  who  knits  very  well ; (it  is  a 
thousand  pities  he  is  a Jacobite  ;)  but  his  epi- 
gram is  by  way  of  advice  to  this  damsel,  to  knit 
all  the  actions  of  the  pretender  and  the  duke  of 
Burgundy’s  last  campaign  in  the  clock  of  a 
stocking.  It  were  endless  to  enumerate  the 
many  hands  and  trades  that  may  be  employed 
by  the^oets,  of  so  useful  a turn  as  this  adviser. 

I shall  think  of  it ; and,  in  this  time  of  taxes, 
shall  consult  a great  critic  employed  in  the  cus- 
tom-house, in  order  to  propose  what  tax  may 
be  proper  to  be  put  on  knives,  seals,  rings,  hang- 
ings, wrought  beds,  gowns,  and  petticoats,  where 
any  of  these  commodities  bear  mottoes,  or  are 
worked  upon  poetical  grounds. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  April  15. 

Letters  from  Turin  of  the  third  instant,  N.  S. 
inform  us,  that  his  royal  highness^  employs  j 
all  his  address  in  alarming  the  enemy,  and 
perplexing  their  speculations  concerning  his  ! 
real  designs  the  ensuing  campaign.  Contracts  j 
arc  entered  into  with  the  merchants  of  Milan  [ 
for  a great  number  of  mules  to  transport  his  ^ 
provisions  and  ammunition.  His  royal  high-  ; 
ness  has  ordered  the  train  of  artillery  to  be  | 
conveyed  to  Susa  before  the  twentieth  of  the 
next  month.  In  the  mean  time,  all  accounts  , 
ao-ree,  that  the  enemy  are  very  backward  in 
their  preparations,  and  almost  incapable  of  de- 
fending themselves  against  an  invasion,  by  rea- 
son of  the  general  murmurs  of  their  own  peo- 
ple ; which,  they  find,  are  no  way  to  be  quieted 
but  by  giving  them  hopes  of  a speedy  peace. 
When  these  letters  were  despatched  the  mar- 
shal de  Thesse  was  arrived  at  Genoa,  where  he 
has  taken  much  pains  to  keep  the  correspond- 
ents of  the  merchants  of  France  in  hopes  that  i 
measures  will  be  found  out  to  support  the  credit 
and  commerce  between  that  state  and  Lyons  : 
but  the  late  declaration  of  the  agents  of  Mon- 


sieur Bernard,  that  they  cannot  discharge  the 
demands  made  upon  them,  has  quite  dispirited 
all  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  remittances 
of  France. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  15. 

It  is  a very  natural  passion  in  all  good  mem- 
bers of  the  commonwealth,  to  take  what  care 
they  can  of  their  families.  Therefore,  I hope 
the  reader  will  forgive  me,  that  I desire  he 
would  go  to  the  play  called,  the  Stratagem,* 
this  evening,  which  is  to  be  acted  for  the  bene- 
fit of  my  near  kinsman  Mr.  John  Bickerstaff.t 
I protest  to  you,  the  gentleman  has  not  spoken 
to  me  to  desire  this  favour  : but  I have  a respect 
for  him,  as  well  in  regard  to  consanguinity,  as 
that  he  is  an  intimate  friend  of  that  famous  and 
heroic  actor,  Mr.  George  Powel ; who  formerly 
played  Alexander  the  Great  in  aU  places,  though, 
he  is  lately  grown  so  reserved,  as  to  act  it  only 
on  the  stage.t 


No.  4.]  Tuesday,  April  18,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  S5,  86.* 

“ Whate'er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.”  P. 

‘ It  is  usual  with  persons  who  mount  the  stage 
for  the  cure  or  information  of  the  crowd  about 
them,  to  make  solemn  professions  of  their  being 
wholly  disinterested  in  the  pains  they  take  for 
the  public  good.  At  the  same  time,  those  very 
men  who  make  harangues  in  plush  doublets,, 
and  extol  their  own  abilities  and  generous  incli- 
nations, tear  their  lungs  in  vending  a drug,  and 
show  no  act  of  bounty,  except  it  be,  that  they 
lower  a demand  of  a crown  tb  six,  nay,  to  one 
penny.  We  have  a contempt  for  such  paltry 
barterers,  and  have  therefore  all  along  informed 
the  public,  that  we  intend  to  give  them  our  ad- 
vices for  our  own  sakes,  and  are  labouring  to 
make  our  lucubrations  come  to  some  price  in 
money,  for  our  more  convenient  support  in  the 
service  of  the  public.  It  is  certain,  that  many 
other  schemes  have  been  proposed  to  me  ; as  a 
friend  offered  to  show  me  a treatise  he  had  writ, 
which  he  called,  ‘ The  whole  Art  of  Life  ; or, 
The  Introduction  to  great  Men,  illustrated  in 
a Pack  of  Cards.’  But,  being  a novice  at  all 
manner  of  play,  I declined  the  offer.  Another 
advised  me,  for  want  of  money,  to  set  up  my 
coach,  and  practise  physic;  but,  having  been 
bred  a scholar,  I feared  I should  not  succeed 
that  way  neither,  therefore,  resolved  to  go  on  in 
my  present  project.  But  jou  are  to  understand 
that  I shall  not  pretend  to  raise  a credit  to  this 
work  upon  the  weight  of  my  politic  news  only  ; 
but,  as  my  Latin  sentence  in  the  title-page  in- 
forms you,  shall  take  any  thing  that  offers  for 
the  subject  of  my  discourse.  Thus,  new  persons. 


* The  Beaux  Stratagem,  by  G.  Farquhar.  Acted  at 
the  Hay-market,  4to.  1707.  It  was  begun  and  finished 
in  the  course  of  six  weeks,  while  the  author  laboured 
under  the  illness  of  which  he  died  during  the  run  of  his 
play. 

t A real  player  of  that  name. 

t A delicate  animadversion  on  the  irregularity  of  Mr. 
Powel,  who,  about  this  time,  began  to  sink  in  his  repu- 
tation by  abandoning  himself  to  drunkenness. 


* Prince  Eugene. 


No.  4.] 


THE  TATLER. 


17 


as  well  as  new  things,  are  to  come  under  my 
consideration ; as,  when  a toast  or  wit  is  first 
pronounced  such,  you  shall  have  the  freshest 
advice  of  their  preferment,  from  me,  with  a de- 
scription of  the  beauty’s  manners,  and  the  wit’s 
style ; as  also,  in  whose  places  they  are  ad- 
vanced. For  this  town  is  never  good-natured 
enough  to  raise  one  without  depressing  another. 
But  it  is  my  design  to  avoid  saying  any  thing 
of  any  person  which  ought  justly  to  displease  ; 
but  shall  endeavour,  by  the  variety  of  the  mat- 
ter and  style,  to  give  entertainment  for  men  of 
pleasure,  without  offence  to  those  of  business.” 

While's  Chocolate-house,  April  18. 

AH  hearts  at  present  pant  for  two  ladies  only, 
who  have  for  some  time  engrossed  the  dominion 
of  the  town.  They  are,  indeed,  both  exceeding 
charming,  but  di&r  very  much  in  their  excel- 
lences. The  beauty  of  Clarissa  is  soft,  that  of 
Chloe  piercing.  When  you  look  at  Clarissa, 
you  see  the  most  exact  harmony  of  feature,  com- 
plexion, and  shape  : you  find  in  Chloe  nothing 
extraordinary  in  any  one  of  those  particulars, 
but  the  whole  woman  irresistible : Clarissa  looks 
languishing  ; Chloe  killing  : Clarissa  never  fails 
of  gaining  admiration  ; Chloe  of  moving  desire. 
The  gazers  at  Clarissa  are  at  first  unconcerned, 
as  if  they  were  observing  a fine  picture.  They 
who  behold  Chloe,  at  the  first  glance  discover 
transport,  as  if  they  met  their  dearest  friend. 
These  different  perfections  are  suitably  repre- 
sented by  the  last  great  painter  Italy  has  sent 
us,  Mr.  Jervas.  Clarissa  is  by  that  skilful  hand 
placed  in  a manner  that  looks  artless,  and  inno- 
cent of  the  torments  she  gives ; Chloe  is  drawn 
with  a liveliness  that  shows  she  is  conscious  of, 
but  not  affected  with,  her  perfections.  Clarissa 
is  a shepherdess,  Chloe  a country  girl.  I must 
own,  the  design  of  Chloe’s  pieture  shows,  to  me, 
great  mastery  in  the  painter  ; for  nothing  could 
be  better  imagined  than  the  dress  he  has  given 
her  of  a straw-hat  and  a ribbon,  to  represent  that 
sort  of  beauty  which  enters  the  heart  with  a cer- 
tain familiarity,  and  cheats  it  into  a belief  that 
it  has  received  a lover  as  well  as  an  object  of  love. 
The  force  of  their  different  beauties  is  seen  also 
in  the  effects  it  makes  on  their  lovers.  The  ad- 
mirers of  Chloe  are  eternally  gay  and  well- 
pleased  : those  of  Clarissa,  melancholy  and 
thoughtful.  And  as  this  passion  always  changes 
the  natural  man  into  a quite  different  nature 
from  what  he  was  before,  the  love  of  Chloe 
makes  coxcombs ; that  of  Clarissa  madmen. 
There  were  of  each  kind  just  now  in  this  room. 
Here  was  one  that  whistles,  laughs,  sings,  and 
cuts  capers,  for  love  of  Chloe.  Another  has 
just  now  writ  three  lines  to  Clarissa,  then  taken 
a turn  in  the  garden,  then  came  back  again, 
then  tore  his  fragment,  then  called  for  some 
chocolate,  then  went  away  without  it. 

Chloe  has  so  many  admirers  in  the  house  at 
present,  that  there  is  too  much  noise  to  proceed 
in  my  narration  ; so  that  the  progress  of  the 
loves  of  Clarissa  and  Chloe,  together  with  the 
bottles  that  are  drunk  each  night  for  the  one, 
and  the  many  sighs  which  are  uttered,  and 
songs  written  on  the  other,  must  be  our  subject 
on  future  occasions. 


WiiVs  Coffee-house,  April  18. 

Letters  from  the  Hay -market  inform  us,  that 
on  Saturday  night  last,  the  Opera  of  Pyrrhus  and 
Demetrius  was  performed  with  great  applause. 
This  intelligence  is  not  very  acceptable  to  us 
friends  of  the  theatre  ; for  the  stage  being  an 
entertainment  of  the  reason  and  all  our  faculties, 
this  way  of  being  pleased  with  the  suspense  of 
them  for  three  hours  together,  and  being  given 
up  to  the  shallow  satisfaction  of  the  eyes  and 
ears  only,  seems  to  arise  rather  from  the  degen- 
eracy of  our  understanding,  than  an  improve- 
ment of  our  divisions.  That  the  understanding 
has  no  part  in  the  pleasure  is  evident,  from  what 
these  letters  very  positively  assert,  to  wit,  that  a 
great  partofthe  performance  was  done  in  Italian; 
and  a great  critic*  fell  into  fits  in  the  gallery,  at 
seeing,  not  only  time  and  place,  but  languages 
and  nations  confused  in  the  most  incorrigible 
manner.  His  spleen  is  so  extremely  moved  on 
this  occasion  that  he  is  going  to  publish  a trea- 
tise  against  operas,  which,  he  thinks,  have  al- 
ready inclined  us  to  thoughts  of  peace  ; and,  if 
tolerated,  must  infallibly  dispirit  us  from  carry- 
ing on  the  war.  He  has  communicated  his 
scheme  to  the  whole  room,  and  declared  in  what 
manner  things  of  this  kind  were  first  introduced. 
He  has  upon  this  occasion  considered  the  nature 
of  sound  in  general,  and  made  a very  elaborate 
digression  upon  the  London  Cries,  wherein  he 
has  shown  from  reason  and  philosophy,  why 
oysters  are  cried,  card-matches  sung,  and  tur- 
nips and  all  other  vegetables  neither  cried,  sung, 
nor  said,  but  sold,  with  an  accent  and  tone 
neither  natural  to  man  nor  beast.  This  piece 
seems  to  be  taken  from  the  model  of  that  excel- 
lent discourse  of  Mrs.  Manlyt  the  school-mis- 
tress, concerning  samplers.  Advices  from  the 
upper  end  of  Piccadilly  say,  that  May-fairt  is 
utterly  abolished  ; and  we  hear  Mr.  Penkethman 
has  removed  his  ingenious  company  of  strollers 
to  Greenwich.  But  other  letters  from  Deptford 
say,  the  company  is  only  making  thither,  and 
not  yet  settled ; but  that  several  heathen  gods 
and  goddesses,  which  are  to  descend  in  ma- 
chines, landed  at  the  King’s-head  Stairs  last 
Saturday.  Venus  and  Cupid  went  on  foot  from 
thence  to  Greenwich ; Mars  got  drunk  in  the 
town,  and  broke  his  landlord’s  head,  for  which 
he  sat  in  the  stocks  the  whole  evening  ; but  Mr. 
Penkethman  giving  security  that  he  should  do 
nothing  this  ensuing  summer,  he  was  set  at 
liberty.  The  most  melancholy  part  of  all  was, 
that  Diana  was  taken  in  the  act  of  fornica- 
tion with  a boatman,  and  committed  by  justice 
Wrathful ; which  has,  it  seems,  put  a stop  to 
the  diversions  of  the  theatre  of  Blackheath.  But 
there  goes  down  another  Diana,  and  a Patient 
Grizzle,  next  tide,  from  Billingsgate. 


* John  Dennis,  who  criticised  the  tragedy  of  Cato,  &c. 
f See  in  Dr.  King’s  Works,  vol.  ii.8vo.edit.  1776,  “An 
Essay  on  the  invention  of  Samplers,  by  Mrs.  Arabella 
Manly,  school-mistress  at  Hackney.” 

X See  the  presentment  of  May  Fair  by  the  Grand  Jury 
of  Westminster,  an.  1708,  in  Stow’s  Survey,  &c.  edit.  6. 
1755;  vol.  ii.  p.  178.  It  was  entirely  abolished  in  the 
year  1709 ; Shepherd’s-market,  near  Curzon-street,  was 
built  on  the  spot  where  it  was  held,  and  the  surround- 
ing district  is  styled  May-fair. 


c 


18 


THE  TATLER. 


[Ko.  4. 


It  is  credibly  reported,  that  Mr.  D — y*  has 
agreed  with  Mr.  Penkethman  to  have  his  play 
acted  before  that  audience  as  soon  as  it  has  had 
its  first  sixteen  days  run  in  Drury-lane. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house^  April  18. 

They  write  from  Saxony,  of  the  thirteenth 
instant,  N.  S.  that  the  grand  general  of  the 
crown  of  Poland,  was  so  far  from  entering  into 
a treaty  with  king  Stanislaus,  that  he  had  writ- 
ten circular  letters,  wherein  he  exhorted  the 
Palatines  to  join  against  him  ; declaring  that 
this  was  the  most  favourable  conjuncture  for 
asserting  their  liberty. 

Letters  from  the  Hague  of  the  twenty-third 
instant,  N.  S.  say,  they  have  advices  from  Vienna 
which  import  that  his  electoral  highness  of  Han- 
over had  signified  to  the  imperial  court,  that  he 
did  not  intend  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the 
troops  of  the  empire,  except  more  effectual  mea- 
sures were  taken  for  acting  vigorously  against 
the  enemy  the  ensuing  campaign.  Upon  this 
representation,  the  emperor  has  given  orders  to 
several  regiments  to  march  towards  the  Rhine  ; 
and  despatched  expresses  to  the  respective  prin- 
ces of  the  empire  to  desire  an  augmentation  of 
their  forces. 

These  letters  add,  that  an  express  arrived  at 
the  Hague  on  the  twentieth  instant,  with  advice 
that  the  enemy  having  made  a detachment  from 
Tournay  of  fifteen  hundred  horse,  each  trooper 
carrying  a foot  soldier  behind  him,  in  order  to 
surprise  the  garrison  of  Alost ; the  allies,  upon 
notice  of  their  march,  sent  out  a strong  body  of 
troops  from  Ghent,  which  engaged  the  enemy 
at  Asche,  and  took  two  hundred  of  them  prison- 
ers, obliging  the  rest  to  retire  without  making 
any  further  attempt.  On  the  twenty-second  in 
the  morning,  a fleet  of  merchant  ships,  coming 
from  Scotland,  were  attacked  by  six  French 
privateers,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Meuse.  We 
have  yet  no  certain  advice  of  the  event ; but  let- 
ters from  Rotterdam  say,  that  a Dutch  man- 
of-war  of  forty  guns,  which  w’as  convoy  to 
the  said  fleet,  was  taken,  as  were  also  eigh- 
teen of  the  merchants.  The  Swiss  troops  in 
the  service  of  the  States  have  completed  the 
augmentation  of  their  respective  companies. 
Those  of  VVirtemberg  and  Prussia  are  expect- 
ed on  the  frontiers  within  a few  days  ; and  the 
auxiliaries  from  Saxony,  as  also  a battalion  of 
Holstein,  and  another  of  Wolfenbuttle,  are  ad- 
vancing thither  with  all  expedition.  On  the 
twenty-first  instant  the  deputies  of  the  states 
had  a conference  near  Woerden,  with  the  pre- 
sident Rouille  ; but  the  matter  which  was  there- 
in debated  is  not  made  public.  His  grace  the 
duke  of  Marlborough  and  prince  Eugene  con- 
tinue at  the  Hague. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  April  18. 

I have  lately  been  very  studious  for  intelli- 
gence, and  have  just  now,  by  my  astrological 
flying  post,  received  a packet  from  Felicia,t  an 


! 


[ island  in  America,  with  an  account  that  gives 
me  great  satisfaction,  and  lets  me  understand, 
that  the  island  was  never  in  greater  prosperity, 
or  the  administration  in  so  good  hands,  since 
the  death  of  their  late  glorious  king.  These 
letters  import,  that  the  chief  minister  has  en- 
tered into  a firjn  league  with  the  ablest  and  best 
men  of  the  nation,  to  carry  on  the  cause  of 
liberty,  to  the  encouragement  of  religion,  virtue, 
and  honour.  Those  persons  at  the  helm  are  so 
useful,  and  in  themselves,  of  such  a weight,  that 
their  strict  alliance  must  needs  tend  to  the 
universal  prosperity  of  the  people.  Camillo,* 
it  seems,  presides  over  the  deliberations  of  state  ; 
and  is  so  highly  valued  by  all  men  for  his  sin- 
gular probity,  courage,  affability,  and  love  of 
mankind,  that  his  being  placed  in  that  station 
has  dissipated  the  fears  of  that  people,  who  of 
all  the  world  are  the  most  jealous  of  their  liberty 
and  happiness,  and  the  least  provident  for  their 
security.  Tlie  next  member  of  their  society  is 
Horatio,f  who  makes  all  the  public  dispatches. 
This  minister  is  master  of  all  the  languages  in 
use,  to  great  perfection.  He  is  held  in  the  high- 
est veneration  imaginable  for  a severe  honesty, 
and  love  of  his  country  : he  lives  in  a court,  un- 
sullied with  any  of  its  artifices,  the  refuge  of  the 
oppressed,  and"  terror  of  oppressors.  Martiot 
has  joined  himself  to  this  council;  a man  of 
most  undaunted  resolution,  and  great  knowledge 
in  maritime  affairs  ; famous  for  destroying  the 
navy  of  the  Franks,^  and  singularly  happy  in 
one  particular,  that  he  never  preferred  a man 
who  has  not  proved  remarkably  serviceable  to 
his  country.  Philanderll  is  mentioned  with  par- 
ticular distinction ; a nobleman  who  has  the 
most  refined  taste  of  the  true  pleasures  and  ele- 
gance of  life,  joined  to  an  indefatigable  industry 
in  business ; a man  eloquent  in  assemblies, 
agreeable  in  conversation,  and  dexterous  in  all 
manner  of  public  negotiations.  These  letters 
add,  that  Verono,^  who  is  also  of  this  council, 
has  lately  set  sail  to  his  government  of  Patricia, 
with  design  to  confirm  the  affections  of  the  peo- 
pie  in  the  interests  of  his  queen.  This  minister 
is  master  of  great  abilities,  and  is  as  industrious 
and  restless  tor  the  preservation  of  the  liberties 
of  the  people,  as  the  greatest  enemy  can  be  to 
subvert  them.  The  influence  of  these  person- 
ages, who  are  men  of  such  distinguished  parts 
and  virtues,  makes  the  people  enjoy  the  utmost 
tranquillity  in  the  midst  of  a war,  and  gives  them 
undoubted  hopes  of  a secure  peace  from  their 
vigilance  and  integrity. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Upon  the  humble  petition  of  running  station- 
ers, Ac.  this  Paper  may  be  had  of  them,  for  the 
future,  at  the  price  of  one  penny.** 


* Lord  John  Somers,  President  of  the  Council, 
t Sidney,  Earl  ofGodolphin,  Lord  High  Treasurer, 
i Eduard  Russel,  Earl  of  Orford. 

6 At  La  Hogue,  in  ]6il2. 

p William  Cavendish,  Duke  of  Devonshire,  Lord  Stew- 
ard of  the  Household. 

IT  Thomas,  Earl  of  Wharton,  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ire- 
land. 

**  Tlie  preceding  papers  had  been  given  gratis. 


* T om  D’Urfey. 

t In  this  allegorical  paper,  by  Felicia  is  meant  Britain. 


THE  TATLER. 


19 


No.  5.] 

No.  5.]  Thursday,  April  21,  1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

noslri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  April  20. 

“ Who  names  that  lost  thing,  love,  without  a tear, 

Since  so  debauched  by  ill-bred  customs  here? 

To  an  exact  perfection  they  have  brought 

The  action  love,  the  passion  is  forgot.” 

This  was  long-  ago  a witty  author’s  lamenta- 
tion, but  the  evil  still  continues  ; and  if  a man 
of  any  delicacy  were  to  attend  the  discourses  of 
the  young  fellows  of  this  age,  he  would  believe 
there  were  none  but  prostitutes  to  make  the  ob- 
jects of  passion.  So  true  it  is  what  the  author 
of  the  above  verses  said,  a little  before  his  death, 
of  the  modern  pretenders  to  gallantry  : “ they 
set  up  for  wits  in  this  age,  by  saying  when  they 
are  sober,  what  they  of  the  last,  spoke  only  when 
they  were  drunk.”  But  Cupid  is  not  only  blind 
at  present,  but  dead  drunk  ; he  has  lost  all  his 
faculties:  else  how  should  Celia  be  so  long  a 
maid  with  that  agreeable  behaviour  ? Corinna 
with  that  sprightly  wit  ? Lesbia  with  that 
heavenly  voice  7 and  Sacharissa,  with  all  those 
excellences  in  one  person,  frequent  the  park, 
the  play,  and  murder  the  poor  tits  that  drag  her 
to  public  places,  and  not  a man  turn  pale  at  her 
appearance  ? But  such  is  the  fallen  state  of 
love,  that  if  it  were  not  for  honest  Cynthio,  who 
is  true  to  the  cause,  we  should  hardly  have  a 
pattern  left  of  the  ancient  worthies  that  way  ; 
and  indeed,  he  has  but  very  little  encouragement 
to  persevere ; but  he  has  a devotion,  rather  than 
love,  for  his  mistress,  and  says, 

“ Only  tell  her  that  I love. 

Leave  the  re.st  to  her  and  fate ; 

Some  kind  planet  from  above 
May,  perhaps,  her  passion  move  ; 

Lovers  on  their  stars  must  wait.”* 

But  the  stars  I am  so  intimately  acquainted 
with,  that  I can  assure  him  he  will  never  have 
her  ; for,  would  you  believe  it  ? though  Cynthio 
has  wit,  good  sense,  fortune,  and  his  very  being 
depends  upon  her,  the  termagant  for  whom  he 
sighs,  is  in  love  with  a fellow  who  stares  in  the 
glass  all  the  time  he  is  with  her,  and  lets  her 
plainly  see,  she  may  possibly  be  his  rival,  but 
never  his  mistress.  Yet  Cynthio,  the  same  un- 
happy man,  whom  I mentioned  in  my  first  nar- 
rative, pleases  himself  with  a vain  imagination, 
that  with  the  language  of  his  eyes,  now  he  has 
found  who  she  is,  he  shall  conquer  her,  though 
her  eyes  are  intent  upon  one  who  looks  from 
her ; which  is  ordinary  with  the  sex.  It  is 
certainly  a mistake  in  the  ancients,  to  draw  the 
little  gentleman  love,  as  a blind  boy ; for  his 
real  character  is,  a little  thief  that  squints;  for 
ask  Mrs.  Meddle,  who  is  a confidant  or  spy 
upon  all  tlie  passions  in  town,  and  she  will 
tell  you  that  the  whole  is  a game  of  cross  pur- 
poses. The  lover  is  generally  pursuing  one 
who  is  in  pursuit  of  another,  and  running  from 


one  that  desires  to  meet  him.  Nay,  the  nature 
of  this  passion  is  so  justly  represented  in  a 
squinting  little  thief  (who  is  always  in  a double 
action,)  that  do  but  observe  Clarissa  next  time 
you  see  her,  and  you  will  find,  when  her  eyes 
have  made  their  soft  tour  round  the  company, 
she  makes  no  stay  on  him  they  say  she  is  to 
marry,  but  rests  two  seconds  of  a minute  on 
Wildair,  who  neither  looks  nor  thinks  on  her 
or  any  woman  else.  However,  Cynthio  had  a 
bow  from  her  the  other  day,  upon  which  he  is 
very  much  come  to  himself ; and  I heard  him 
send  his  man  of  an  errand  yesterday,  without 
any  manner  of  hesitation  ; a quarter  of  an  hour 
after  which  he  reckoned  twenty,  remembered 
he  was  to  sup  with  a friend,  and  went  exactly 
to  his  appointment.  I sent  to  know  how  he  did 
this  morning  ; and  I find  that  he  hath  not  forgot 
that  he  spoke  to  me  yesterday. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  April  20. 

This  week  being  sacred  to  holy  things,  and 
no  public  diversions  allowed,  there  has  been 
taken  notice  of,  even  here,  a little  treatise,  called, 
‘ A project  for  the  Advancement  of  Religion  : 
dedicated  to  the  countess  of  Berkeley  the 
title  was  so  uncommon,  and  promised  so  pecu- 
liar a way  of  thinking,  that  every  man  has  read 
it,  and  as  many  as  have  done  so,  have  approved 
it.  It  is  written  with  the  spirit  of  one  who  has 
seen  the  world  enough  to  undervalue  it  with 
good-breeding.  The  author  must  certainly  be 
a man  of  wisdom  as  well  as  piety,  and  have 
spent  much  time  in  the  exercise  of  both.  The 
real  causes  of  the  decay  of  the  interest  of  reli- 
gion are  set  forth  in  a clear  and  lively  manner 
without  unseasonable  passions ; and  the  whole 
air  of  the  book,  as  to  the  language,  the  senti- 
ments, and  the  reasonings,  shows  it  was  writ- 
ten by  one  whose  virtue  sits  easy  about  him, 
and  to  whom  vice  is  thoroughly  contemptible. 
It  was  said  by  one  of  the  company,  alluding  to 
that  knowledge  of  the  world  the  author  seems 
to  have,  “ The  man  writes  much  like  a gentle- 
man, and  goes  to  heaven  with  a very  good  mien.” 

St.  James's  Cofffee-house,  April  20. 

Letters  from  Italy  say,  that  the  marquis  de 
Prie,  upon  the  receipt  of  an  express  from  the 
court  of  Vienna,  went  immediately  to  the  palace 
of  cardinal  Paulucci,  minister  of  state  to  his 
holiness,  and  demanded,  in  the  name  of  his  im- 
perial majesty,  that  king  Charles  should  forth- 
with be  acknowledged  king  of  Spain,  by  a so- 
lemn act  of  the  congregation  of  cardinals,  ap- 
pointed for  that  purpose  : he  declared,  at  the 
same  time,  that  if  the  least  hesitation  were 
made  in  this  most  important  article  of  the  late 
treaty,  he  should  not  only  be  obliged  to  leave 
Rome  himself,  but  also  transmit  his  master’s 
orders  to  the  imperial  troops  to  face  about,  and 
return  into  the  ecclesiastical  dominions.  When 
the  cardinal  reported  this  message  to  the  pope, 
his  holiness  was  struck  with  so  sensible  an  afflic- 
tion, that  he  burst  into  tears  : his  sorrow  was 
aggravated  by  letters  which,  immediately  after, 


These  verses  are  part  of  a song  by  Lord  Cults,  Steele’s 
early  patron.  See  them  entire  in  Nichols’s  “ Select  Col- 
lection, 1780,”  vol.  ii.  p.  327. 


* First  published  by  Swift,  1709. 


20 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  5. 


arrived  from  the  court  of  Madrid,  wherein  his 
nuncio  acquainted  him,  that,  upon  the  news  of 
his  accommodation  with  the  emperor,  he  had 
received  a message  to  forbear  coming  to  court ; 
and  the  people  were  so  highly  provoked,  that 
they  could  hardly  be  restrained  from  insulting 
his  palace.  These  letters  add,  that  the  king  of 
Denmark  was  gone  from  Florence  to  Pisa,  and 
from  Pisa  to  Leghorn,  where  the  governor  paid 
his  majesty  all  imaginable  honours.  The  king 
designed  to  go  from  thence  to  Lucca,  where  a 
magnificent  tournament  was  prepared  for  his 
diversion.  An  English  man-of-war,  which  came 
from  Port-Mahon  to  Leghorn  in  six  days,  brought 
advice,  that  the  fleet,  commanded  by  Admiral 
Whittaker,  was  safely  arrived  at  Barcelona, 
with  the  troops  and  ammunition  which  he  had 
taken  in  at  Naples. 

General  Boneval,  governor  of  Comachio,  had 
summoned  the  magistrates  of  all  the  towns 
near  that  place  to  appear  before  him,  and  take 
an  oath  of  fidelity  to  his  imperial  majesty,  com- 
manding also  the  gentry  to  pay  him  homage 
on  pain  of  death  and  confiscation  of  goods. 
Advices  from  Switzerland  inform  us,  that  the 
bankers  of  Geneva  were  utterly  ruined  by  the 
failure  of  Mr.  Bernard.  They  add,  that  the 
deputies  of  the  Swiss  Cantons  were  returned 
from  Soleure,  where  they  were  assembled  at 
the  instance  of  the  French  ambassador,  but 
were  very  much  dissatisfied  with  the  reception 
they  had  from  that  minister.  It  is  true,  he 
omitted  no  civilities  or  expressions  of  friendship 
from  his  master,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  their 
pensions  and  arrears : what  further  provoked 
their  indignation  was,  that,  instead  of  twenty- 
five  pistoles,  formerly  allowed  to  each  member, 
for  their  charge  in  coming  to  the  diet,  he  had 
presented  them  with  six  only.  They  write  from 
Dresden,  that  king  Augustus  was  still  busy  in 
recruiting  his  cavalry,  and  that  the  Danish 
troops  that  lately  served  in  Hungary  had  or- 
ders to  be  in  Saxony  by  the  Middle  of  May  ; and 
that  his  Majesty  of  Denmark  was  expected  at 
Dresden  in  the  beginning  of  that  month.  King 
Augustus  makes  great  preparations  for  his  re- 
ception, and  has  appointed  sixty  coaches,  each 
drawn  by  six  horses,  for  that  purpose  : the  in- 
terview of  these  princes  affords  great  matter 
for  speculation.  Letters  from  Paris,  of  the 
twenty-second  of  this  month  say,  that  mar- 
shal Harcourt  and  the  duke  of  Berwick  were 
preparing  to  go  into  Alsace  and  Dauphine,  but 
that  their  troops  were  in  want  of  all  manner 
of  necessaries.  The  court  of  France  had  re- 
ceived advices  from  Madrid,  that  on  the  seventh 
of  this  month,  the  states  of  Spain,  had,  with 
much  magnificence,  acknowledged  the  prince 
of  Asturias  presumptive  heir  to  the  crown.  This 
was  performed  at  Buen-Retiro;  the  deputies 
took  the  oaths,  on  that  occasion,  from  the  hands 
of  cardinal  Portocarrero.  These  advices  add, 
that  it  was  signified  to  the  pope’s  nuncio,  by 
order  of  council,  to  depart  from  that  court,  in 
twenty-four  hours,  and  that  a guard  was  accord- 
ingly  appointed  to  conduct  him  to  Bayonne. 

Letters  from  the  Hague,  of  the  twenty-sixth 
instant,  inform  us,  that  prince  Eugene  was  to 
set  out  the  next  day  for  Brussels,  to  put  all 
things  in  readiness  for  opening  the  campaign. 


They  add,  that  the  grand  pensioner  having  re- 
ported to  the  duke  of  Marlborough  what  passed 
in  the  last  conference  with  Mr.  Rouille,  his 
grace  had  taken  a resolution  immediately  to 
return  to  Great  Britain,  to  communicate  to  her 
majesty,  all  that  has  been  transacted  in  that  im- 
portant affair. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  20. 

The  nature  of  my  miscellaneous  work  is  such, 
that  I shall  always  take  the  liberty  to  tell  for 
news,  such  things  (let  them  have  happened 
never  so  much  before  the  time  of  writing)  as 
have  escaped  public  notice,  or  have  been  mis- 
represented  to  the  world  ; provided  that  I am 
still  within  rules,  and  trespass  not  as  a Tatler, 
any  farther  than  in  an  incorrectness  of  style,  and 
writing  in  an  air  of  common  speech.  Thus,  if 
any  thing  that  is  said,  even  of  old  Anchises  or 
iEneas,  be  set  by  me  in  a different  light  than 
has  hitherto  been  hit  upon,  in  order  to  inspire 
the  love  and  admiration  of  worthy  actions,  you 
will,  gentle  reader,  I hope,  accept  of  it  for  in- 
telligence you  had  not  before.  But  I am  going 
upon  a narrative,  the  matter  of  which,  I know 
to  be  true  : it  is  not  only  doing  justice  to  the 
deceased  merit  of  such  persons  as,  had  they 
lived,  would  not  have  had  it  in  their  power  to 
thank  me,  but  also  an  instance  of  the  greatness 
of  spirit  in  the  lowest  of  her  majesty’s  subjects. 
Take  it  as  follows  : — 

At  the  siege  of  Namur,  by  the  allies,  there 
were  in  the  ranks  of  the  company  commanded 
by  captain  Pincent,  in  colonel  Frederick  Hamil- 
ton’s regiment,  one  Union,  a corporal,  and  one 
Valentine,  a private  centinel ; there  happened 
between  these  two  men  a dispute  about  a mat- 
ter  of  love,  which  upon  some  aggravations, 
grew  to  an  irreconcileable  hatred  Union,  being 
the  officer  of  Valentine,  took  all  opportunities 
even  to  strike  his  rival,  and  to  profess  the  spite 
and  revenge  which  moved  him  to  it.  The  cen- 
tinel bore  it  without  resistance ; but  frequently 
said,  he  would  die  to  be  revenged  of  that  tyrant. 
They  had  spent  whole  months  thus,  one  in- 
juring, the  other  complaining ; when,  in  the 
midst  of  this  rage  towards  each  other,  they 
were  commanded  upon  the  attack  of  the  castle, 
where  the  corporal  received  a shot  in  the  thigh, 
and  fell;  the  French  pressing  on,  and  he  ex- 
pecting to  be  trampled  to  death,  called  out  to 
his  enemy,  ‘Ah  Valentine!  can  you  leave  me 
here  ?’  Valentine  immediately  ran  back,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a thick  fire  of  the  French,  took 
the  corporal  upon  his  back,  and  brought  him 
through  all  that  danger,  as  far  as  the  abbey  of 
Salsine,  where  a cannon  ball  took  off  his  head  : 
his  body  fell  under  his  enemy  whom  he  was  car- 
rying off.  Union  immediately  forgot  his  wound, 
rose  up,  tearing  his  hair,  and  tlien  threw  him- 
self upon  the  bleeding  carcass,  crying,  ‘ Ah, 
Valentine  ! was  it  for  me,  who  have  so  barba- 
rously used  thee,  that  thou  hast  died  ? I will 
not  live  after  thee.’  He  was  not,  by  any  means, 
to  be  forced  from  the  body,  but  was  removed 
with  it  bleeding  in  his  arms,  and  attended  with 
tears  by  all  their  comrades  who  knew  their  en- 
mity.  When  he  was  brought  to  a tent,  his 
wounds  were  dressed  by  force;  but  the  next 


THE  TATLER. 


21 


No.  6.] 


day,  still  calling  upon  Valentine,  and  lament- 
ing his  cruelties  to  him,  he  died  in  the  pangs  of 
remorse  and  despair. 

It  may  be  a question  among  men  of  noble 
sentiments,  whether  of  these  unfortunate  per- 
sons had  the  greater  soul ; he  that  was  so  ge- 
nerous as  to  venture  his  life  for  his  enemy,  or 
he  who  could  not  survive  the  man  that  died,  in 
laying  upon  him  such  an  obligation  ? 

When  we  see  spirits  like  these  in  a people,  to 
what  height  may  we  not  suppose  their  glory 
may  rise  ? but  (as  it  is  excellently  observed  by 
Sallust)  it  is  not  only  to  the  general  bent  of  a 
nation  that  great  revolutions  are  owing,  but  to 
the  extraordinary  genio’s  that  lead  them.  On 
which  occasion,  he  proceeds  to  say,  that  the 
Roman  greatness  was  neither  to  be  attributed 
to  their  superior  policy,  for  in  that  the  Cartha- 
ginians excelled  ; nor  to  their  valour,  for  in  that 
the  Gauls  were  preferable ; but  to  particular 
men,  who  were  born  for  the  good  of  their  coun- 
try, and  formed  for  great  attempts.  This  he 
says,  to  introduce  the  characters  of  Caesar  and 
Cato.  It  would  be  entering  into  too  weighty  a 
discourse  for  this  place,  if  I attempted  to  show, 
that  our  nation  has  produced  as  great  and  able 
men  for  public  affairs  as  any  other.  But,  I be- 
lieve, the  reader  outruns  me,  and  fixes  his  im- 
agination upon  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  It  is, 
methinks,  a pleasing  reflection,  to  consider  the 
dispensations  of  Providence  in  the  fortune  of 
this  illustrious  man,  who,  in  the  space  of  forty 
years,  has  passed  through  all  the  gradations  of 
human  life,  until  he  has  ascended  to  the  charac- 
ter of  a prince,*  and  become  the  scourge  of  a 
tyrant,  who  sat  on  one  of  the  greatest  thrones 
of  Europe,  before  the  man  who  was  to  have  the 
greatest  part  in  his  downfall,  had  made  one  step 
into  the  world.  But  such  elevations  are  the 
natural  consequences  of  an  exact  prudence,  a 
calm  courage,  a well-governed  temper,  a patient 
ambition,  and  an  affable  behaviour.  These  arts, 
as  they  were  the  steps  to  his  greatness,  so  they 
are  the  pillars  of  it  now  it  is  raised.  To  this, 
her  glorious  son.  Great  Britain  is  indebted  for 
the  happy  conduct  of  her  arms,  of  whom  she  can 
boast,  that  she  has  produced  a man  formed  by 
nature  to  lead  a nation  of  heroes. 


No.  6.]  Saturday^  April  23,  1709. 

Cluicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Will's  Coffee-house^  April  22. 

I AM  just  come  from  visiting  Sappho,  a fine 
lady,  who  writes  verses,  sings,  dances,  and  can 
say  and  do  whatever  she  pleases,  without  the 
imputation  of  any  thing  that  can  injure  her 


* In  the  year  1704,  in  consequence  of  the  memorable 
victory  at  Hochsted,  the  duke  of  Marlborough  was  ap- 
pointed a prince  of  the  empire ; and  had  Mildenheim 
assigned  for  his  principality,  Nov.  12,  1705.  M.  Mes- 
nager  says,  that  this  compliment,  for  it  was  little  more, 
made  the  duke  of  Marlborough  more  haughty.  “This 
little  principality,  in  the  claim  of  the  house  of  Bavaria, 
must  (says  he)  he  rendered  back  again  at  peace.” 


character ; for  she  is  so  well  known  to  have 
no  passion  but  self-love,  or  folly  but  affectation, 
that  now,  upon  any  occasion,  they  only  cry,  ‘ It 
is  her  way  !’  and,  ‘ That  is  so  like  her  1’  without 
farther  reflection.  As  I came  into  the  room,  she 
cries,  ‘Oh  ! Mr. Bickerstaff,  I am  utterly  undone; 
I have  broke  that  pretty  Italian  fan  I showed  you 
when  you  were  here  last,  wherein  were  so  admir- 
ably drawn  our  first  parents  in  Paradise,  asleep 
in  each  other’s  arms.  But  there  is  such  an  affini- 
ty between  painting  and  poetry,  that  I have  been 
improving  the  images  which  were  raised  by 
that  picture,  by  reading  the  same  representation 
in  two  of  our  greatest  poets.  Look  you,  here 
are  the  same  passages  in  Milton  and  in  Dryden. 
All  Milton’s  thoughts  are  wonderfully  just  and 
natural,  in  that  inimitable  description  which 
Adam  makes  of  himself,  in  the  eighth  book  of 
Paradise  Lost.  But  there  is  none  of  them  finer 
than  that  contained  in  the  following  lines,  where 
he  tells  us  his  thoughts,  when  he  was  falling 
asleep,  a little  after  the  creation  : 

While  thu.s  T called,  and  strayed  I knew  not  whither, 
From  whence  I first  drew  air,  and  first  beheld 
This  happy  light ; when  answer  none  returned. 

On  a green  shady  bank,  profuse  of  flowers. 

Pensive  I sate  me  down,  there  gentle  sleep 
First  found  me,  and  with  soft  oppression  seized 
My  drowned  sense,  untroubled,  though  I thought 
I then  was  passing  to  my  former  state 
Insensible,  and  forthwith  to  dissolve. 

But  now  I cannot  forgive  this  odious  thing, 
this  Dryden,  who,  in  his  “ State  of  Innocence,” 
has  given  my  great  grandmother  Eve  the  same 
apprehension  of  annihilation  on  a very  different 
occasion ; as  Adam  pronounces  it  of  himself, 
when  he  was  seized  with  a pleasing  kind  of 
stupor  and  deadness.  Eve  fancies  herself  falling 
away,  and  dissolving  in  the  hurry  of  a rapture. 
However,  the  verses  are  very  good,  and  I do  not 
know  but  what  she  says  may  be  natural ; I will 
read  them : 

When  your  kind  eyes  looked  languishing  on  mine, 

And  wreathing  arms  did  soft  embraces  join  ; 

A doubtful  trembling  seized  me  first  all  o’er. 

Then  wishes,  and  a warmth  unknown  before  ; 

What  followed  was  all  ecstasy  and  trance. 

Immortal  pleasures  round  my  swimming  eyes  did  dance, 
And  speechless  joys,  in  whose  sweet  tumults  tost, 

I thought  my  breath  and  my  new  being  lost. 

She  went  on,  and  said  a thousand  good  things 
at  random,  but  so  strangely  mixed,  that  you 
would  be  apt  to  say,  all  her  wit  is  mere  good 
luck,  and  not  the  effect  of  reason  and  judgment. 
When  I made  my  escape  hither,  I found  a gen- 
tleman playing  the  critic  on  two  other  great 
poets,  even  Virgil  and  Homer.*  He  was  ob- 
serving that  Virgil  is  more  judicious  than  the 
other  in  the  epithets  he  gives  his  hero.  Homer’s 
usual  epithet,  said  he,  is  noS'as  or 
and  his  indiscretion  has  been  often  rallied  by 
the  critics,  for  mentioning  the  nimbleness  of 
foot  in  Achilles,  though  he  describes  him  stand- 
ing, sitting,  lying  down,  fighting,  eating,  drink- 


* Addison,  on  reading  here  this  curious  remark  upon 
Virgil,  which  he  himself  had  communicated  to  Steele, 
instantly  discovered  that  his  friend  was  the  author  of 
the  Tatler,  to  which,  he  very  soon  after  became  a prin- 
cipal contributor.  He  was  at  this  time  in  Ireland,  secre- 
tary to  lord  Wharton,  and  returned  to  England  with  the 
lord  lieutenant,  the  eighth  of  September  following,  1709. 


22 


THE  TATLER. 


ing’,  or  in  any  other  circumstance,  however  for- 
eign  or  repugnant  to  speed  and  activity.  Virgil’s 
common  epithet  to  jEneas,  is  Fius  or  Pater.  I 
have  therefore  considered,  said  he,  what  passage 
there  is  in  any  of  his  hero’s  actions,  where 
either  of  these  appellations  would  have  been 
most  proper,  to  see  if  I could  catch  him  at  the 
same  fault  with  Homer  : and  this,  I think,  is 
his  meeting  with  Dido  in  the  cave,  where  Pius 
iEneas  would  have  been  absurd,  and  Pater 
.®neas  a burlesque  : the  poet,  therefore,  wisely 
dropped  them  both  for  Dux  Trojanus  ; which 
he  has  repeated  twice  in  Juno’s  speech,  and  his 
own  narration  : for  he  very  well  knew,  a loose 
action  might  be  consistent  enough  with  the 
usual  manners  of  a soldier,  though  it  became 
neither  the  chastity  of  a pious  man,  nor  the 
gravity  of  the  father  of  a people. 

Grecian  Coffee-house^  April  22. 

While  other  parts  of  the  town  are  amused 
with  the  present  actions,  we  generally  spend 
the  evening  at  this  table  in  inquiries  into  an- 
tiquity, and  think  any  thing  news  which  gives 
us  new  knowledge.  Thus  we  are  making  a 
very  pleasant  entertainment  to  ourselves,  in  put- 
ting the  actions  of  Homer’s  Iliad  into  an  exact 
journal. 

This  poem  is  introduced  by  Chryses,  king  of 
Chryseis,  and  priest  of  Apollo,  who  comes  to  re- 
demand his  daughter,  who  had  been  carried  off 
at  the  taking  of  that  city,  and  given  to  Aga- 
memnon for  his  part  of  the  booty.  The  refusal 
he  received  enrages  Apollo,  who  for  nine  days, 
showered  down  darts  upon  them,  which  occa- 
sioned the  pestilence. 

The  tenth  day,  Achilles  assembled  the  coun- 
cil, and  encourages  Chalcas  to  speak  for  the  sur- 
render of  Chryseis,  to  appease  Apollo.  Aga- 
memnon and  Achilles  storm  at  one  another, 
notwithstanding  which,  Agamemnon  will  not 
release  his  prisoner,  unless  he  has  Brise'is  in 
her  stead.  After  long  contestations,  wherein 
Agamemnon  gives  a glorious  character  of  Achil- 
les’s valour,  he  determines  to  restore  Chryseis 
to  her  father,  and  sends  two  heralds  to  fetch 
away  Brise'is  from  Achilles,  who  abandons  him- 
self to  sorrow  and  despair.  His  mother  Thetis, 
comes  to  comfort  him  under  his  affliction,  and 
promises  to  represent  his  sorrowful  lamentation 
to  Jupiter  : but  he  could  not  attend  to  it ; for, 
the  evening  before,  he  had  appointed  to  divert 
himself  for  two  days,  beyond  the  seas,  with  the 
harmless  Ethiopians. 

It  was  the  twenty-first  day  after  Chr3^se'is’s 
arrival  at  the  camp,  that  Thetis  went  very  early 
to  demand  an  audience  of  Jupiter.  The  means 
he  used  to  satisfy  her  were,  to  persuade  the 
Greeks  to  attack  the  Trojans ; that  so  they 
might  perceive  the  consequence  of  contemning 
Achilles,  and  the  miseries  they  suffer  if  he  does 
not  head  them.  The  next  night  he  orders  Aga- 
memnon, in  a dream,  to  attack  them ; who  was 
deceived  with  the  hopes  of  obtaining  a victory, 
and  also  taking  the  city,  without  sharing  the 
honour  with  Achilles. 

On  the  twenty-second,  in  the  morning,  he  as- 
sembles the  council,  and  having  made  a feint  of 
raising  the  siege  and  retiring,  he  declares  to 


[No.  6. 

them  his  dream  , and,  together  with  Nestor  and 
Ulysses,  resolves  on  an  engagement. 

This  was  the  twenty-third  day,  which  is 
full  of  incidents,  and  which  continues  from 
almost  the  beginning  of  the  second  canto  to  the 
eighth. 

The  armies  being  then  drawn  up  in  view  of 
one  another.  Hector  brings  it  about,  that  Me- 
nelaus  and  Paris,  the  two  persons  concerned  in 
the  quarrel,  should  decide  it  by  a single  com- 
bat, which  tending  to  the  advantage  of  Mene- 
laus,  was  interrupted  by  a cowardice  infused 
by  Minerva : then  both  armies  engage,  where 
the  Trojans  have  the  disadvantage  ; but  being 
afterwards  animated  by  Apollo,  they  repulse 
the  enemy,  yet  they  are  once  again  forced  to 
give  ground  ; but  their  affairs  were  retrieved 
by  Hector,  who  has  a single  combat  with  Ajax. 
The  gods  threw  themselves  into  the  battle  ; 
Juno  and  Minerva  took  the  Grecians’  part,  and 
Apollo  and  Mars,  the  Trojans’;  but  Mars  and 
Venus  are  both  wounded  by  Diomedes. 

The  truce  for  burying  the  slain  ended  the 
twenty-third  day,  after  which  the  Greeks  threw 
up  a great  intrenchment,  to  secure  their  navy 
from  danger.  Councils  are  held  on  both  sides. 
On  the  morning  of  the  twenty-fourth  day,  the 
battle  is  renewed,  but  in  a very  disadvantageous 
manner  to  the  Greeks,  who  are  beaten  back  to 
their  intrenchments.  Agamemnon,  being  in 
despair  at  this  ill  success,  proposes  to  the  coun- 
cil to  quit  the  enterprise,  and  retire  from  Troy. 
But,  by  the  advice  of  Nestor,  he  is  persuaded 
to  regain  Achilles,  by  returning  Chryseis,  and 
sending  him  considerable  presents.  Hereupon 
Ulysses  and  Ajax  are  sent  to  that  hero,  who 
continues  inflexible  in  his  anger.  Ulysses,  at 
his  return,  joins  himself  with  Diomedes,  and 
goes  in  the  night  to  gain  intelligence  of  the 
enemy  : they  enter  into  their  very  camp,  where 
finding  the  centinels  asleep,  they  made  a great 
slaughter.  Rhesus,  who  was  just  then  arrived 
with  recruits  from  Thrace,  for  the  Trojans,  was 
killed  in  that  action.  Here  ends  the  tenth  canto. 
The  sequel  of  this  journal,  will  be  inserted  in 
the  next  article  from  this  place. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  April  22. 

We  hear  from  Italy,  that  notwithstanding  the 
pope  has  received  a letter  from  the  duke  of  An- 
jou, demanding  of  him  to  explain  himself  upon 
the  affair  of  acknowledging  king  Charles,  his 
holiness  has  not  yet  thought  fit  to  send  any 
answer  to  that  prince.  The  court  of  Rome  ap- 
pears very  much  mortified,  that  they  are  not  to 
see  his  majesty  of  Denmark  in  that  city,  having 
perhaps  given  themselves  vain  hopes  from  a 
visit  made  by  a Protestant  prince  to  that  see. 
The  pope  has  despatched  a gentleman  to  com- 
pliment his  majesty,  and  sent  the  king  a pre- 
sent of  all  the  curiosities  and  antiquities  of  Rome, 
represented  in  seventeen  volumes,  very  richly 
bound,  which  were  taken  out  of  the  Vatican  li- 
brary. Letters  from  Genoa  of  the  fourteenth 
instant,  sa}%  that  a felucca  was  arrived  there,  in 
five  days  from  Marseilles,  with  an  account,  that 
the  people  of  that  city  had  made  an  insurrec- 
tion, by  reason  of  the  scarcity  of  provisions ; 
and  that  the  intendant  had  ordered  some  com- 


No.  7.] 


THE  TATLER, 


23 


panies  of  marines,  and  the  men  belonging  to 
the  galleys,  to  stand  to  their  arms  to  protect  him 
from  violence  ; but  that  he  began  to  be  in  as 
much  apprehension  of  his  guards,  as  of  those 
from  whom  they  were  to  defend  him.  When 
that  vessel  came  away,  the  soldiers  murmured 
publicly  for  want  of  pay  ; and  it  was  generally 
believed,  they  w'ould  pillage  the  magazines,  as 
the  garrisons  of  Grenoble  and  other  towns  of 
France  had  already  done.  A vessel  which  lately 
came  into  Leghorn,  brought  advice  that  the 
British  squadron  was  arrived  at  Port  Mahon, 
where  they  were  taking  in  more  troops,  in  order 
to  attempt  the  relief  of  Alicant,  which  still 
made  a very  vigorous  defence.  It  is  said  admi- 
ral Byng  will  be  at  the  head  of  that  expedition. 
The  king  of  Denmark  was  gone  from  Leghorn 
towards  Lucca. 

They  write  from  Vienna,  that  in  case  tlie 
allies  should  enter  into  a treaty  of  peace  with 
France,  count  Zinzendorf  will  be  appointed  first 
plenipotentiary,  the  count  de  Goes  the  second, 
and  monsieur  Van  Konsbruch  a third.  Major- 
general  Palmes,  envoy  extraordinary  from  her 
Britannic  majesty,  has  been  very  urgent  with 
that  court,  to  make  their  utmost  efforts  against 
France  the  ensuing  campaign,  in  order  to  oblige 
her  to  such  a peace,  as  may  establish  the  tran- 
quillity of  Europe  for  the  future. 

We  are  also  informed,  that  the  pope  uses  all 
imaginable  shifts  to  elude  the  treaty  concluded 
with  the  emperor,  and  that  he  demanded  the 
immediate  restitution  of  Comachio ; insisting 
also,  that  his  imperial  majesty  should  ask  par- 
don, and  desire  absolution  for  what  had  for- 
merly passed,  before  he  would  solemnly  ac- 
knowledge king  Charles.  But  this  was  utterly 
refused. 

They  hear  at  Vienna,  by  letters  from  Con- 
stantinople, dated  the  twenty-second  of  February 
last,  that  on  the  twelfth  of  that  month,  the  grand 
seignior  took  occasion,  at  the  celebration  of 
the  festivals  of  the  Mussulmen,  to  set  all  the 
Christian  slaves,  which  were  in  the  galleys,  at 
liberty. 

Advices  from  Switzerland  import,  that  the 
preachers  of  the  county  ofTockenburg,  continue 
to  create  new  jealousies  of  the  Protestants ; and 
some  disturbances  lately  happened  there  on 
that  account.  The"  Protestants  and  Papists  in 
the  town  of  Hamrnan,  go  to  divine  service  one 
after  another,  in  the  same  church,  as  is  usual 
in  many  other  parts  of  Switzerland  ; but  on 
Sunday,  the  tenth  instant,  the  popish  curate, 
having  ended  his  service,  attempted  to  hinder 
the  Protestants  from  entering  into  the  church, 
according  to  custom  ; but  the  Protestants  briskly 
attacked  him  and  his  party,  and  broke  into  it  by 
force. 

Last  night,  between  seven  and  eight,  his 
grace  the  duke  of  Marlborough,  arrived  at  court. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  22. 

The  present  great  captains  of  the  age,  the 
duke  of  Marlborough  and  prince  Eugene,  hav- 
ing been  the  subject  of  the  discourse  of  the  last 
company  I was  in ; it  has  naturally  led  me  into 
a consideration  of  Alexander  and  Ctesar,  the 
two  greatest  names  that  ever  appeared  before 


this  century.  In  order  to  enter  into  their 
characters,  there  needs  no  more  but  examining 
their  behaviour  in  parallel  circumstances.  It 
must  be  allowed  that  they  had  an  equal  great- 
ness of  soul ; but  Csesar’s  was  more  corrected, 
and  allayed  by  a mixture  of  prudence  and  cir- 
cumspection. This  is  seen  conspicuously  in 
one  particular,  in  their  histories,  wherein  they 
seem  to  have  shown  exactly  the  dift'erence  of 
their  tempers.  When  Alexander,  after  a long 
course  of  victories,  would  still  have  led  his  sol- 
diers farther  from  home,  they  unanimously  re- 
fused to  follow  him.  We  meet  with  the  like 
behaviour  in  Caesar’s  army,  in  the  midst  of  his 
march  against  Ariovistus.  Let  us,  therefore, 
observe  the  conduct  of  our  two  generals  in  so 
nice  an  affair : and  here  we  find  Alexander  at 
the  head  of  his  army,  upbraiding  them  with 
their  cowardice,  and  meanness  of  spirit ; and, 
in  the  end,  telling  them  plainly,  he  would  go 
forward  himself,  though  not  a man  followed 
him.  This  showed,  indeed,  an  excessive  bravery  ; 
but  how  would  the  commander  have  come  off, 
if  the  speech  had  not  succeeded,  and  the  sol- 
diers had  taken  him  at  his  word  ? the  project 
seems  of  a piece  with  Mr.  Bayes’s  in  ‘ The  Re- 
hearsal,’ who,  to  gain  a clap  in  his  prologue, 
comes  out  with  a terrible  fellow,  in  a fur-cap, 
following  him,  and  tells  his  audience,  if  they 
would  not  like  his  play,  he  would  lie  down  and 
have  his  head  struck  oft’.  If  this  gained  a clap, 
all  was  well : but  if  not,  there  was  nothing  left 
but  for  the  executioner  to  do  his  office.  But 
Caesar  would  not  leave  the  success  of  his  speech 
to  such  uncertain  events,  he  shows  his  men  the 
unreasonableness  of  their  fears  in  an  obliging 
manner,  and  concludes,  that  if  none  else  would 
march  along  with  him,  he  would  go  himself, 
with  the  tenth  legion,  for  he  was  assured  of 
their  fidelity  and  valour,  though  all  the  rest 
forsook  him;  not  but  that,  in  all  probability, 
they  were  as  much  against  the  march  as  the 
rest.  The  result  of  all  was  very  natural : the 
tenth  legion,  fired  with  the  praises  of  their 
general,  send  thanks  to  him  for  the  just  opinion 
he  entertains  of  them ; and  the  rest,  ashamed 
to  be  outdone,  assure  him,  that  they  are  as 
ready  to  follow  where  he  pleases  to  lead  them, 
as  any  other  part  of  the  army. 


No.  7.]  Tuesday,  April  26,  1709. 

Q,uicqui(l  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

‘ It  is  so  just  an  observation,  that  mocking  is 
catching,  that  I am  become  an  unhappy  in- 
stance of  it,  and  am  (in  the  same  manner  that 
I have  represented  Mr.  Partridge)*  myself  a 
dying  man,  in  comparison  of  the  vigour  with 
which  I first  set  out  in  the  world.  Had  it  been 
otherwise,  you  may  be  sure  I would  not  have 


* ‘ This  man  was  a shoemaker  in  Covent-garden,  in 
1680,  yet  styled  himself  physician  to  his  majesty,  in  1682. 
But  though  he  was  one  of  the  sworn  physicians,  he  never 
attended  the  court,  nor  received  any  salary.’  See  Gran- 
ger’s Biog.  Hist,  of  England,  4to.  vol.  ii.  p.  11.  p.  322. 
p.  379. 


24 


THE  JATLER. 


pretended  to  have  given  for  news,  as  I did 
last  Saturday,  a diary  of  the  siege  of  Troy. 
But  man  is  a ereature  very  inconsistent  with 
himself : the  greatest  heroes  are  sometimes  fear- 
ful : the  sprig htliest  wits  at  some  hours  dull ; 
and  the  greatest  politicians,  on  some  occasions, 
whimsical.  But  I shall  not  pretend  to  palliate 
or  excuse  the  matter ; for  I find,  by  a calcula- 
tion of  my  own  nativity ; that  I cannot  hold 
out  with  any  tolerable  wit  longer  than  two 
minutes  after  twelve  of  the  clock  at  night,  be- 
tween the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  of  the  next 
month  : for  which  space  of  time  you  may  still 
expect  to  hear  from  me,  but  no  longer ; except 
you  will  transmit  to  me  the  occurences  you 
meet  with  relating  to  your  amours,  or  any  other 
subject  within  the  rules  by  which  I have  pro- 
posed to  walk.  If  any  gentleman  or  lady  sends 
to  Isaac  Bickerstaflf,  esq.  at  Mr.  Morphew’s, 
near  Stationer’s-hall,  by  the  penny-post,  the 
grief  or  joy  of  their  soul,  what  they  think  fit 
of  the  matter  shall  be  related  in  colours  as  much 
to  their  advantage,  as  those  in  which  Gervas* 
has  drawn  the  agreeable  Chloe.  But  since, 
without  such  assistance,  I frankly  confess,  and 
am  sensible,  that  I have  not  a month’s  wit  more, 
I think  I ought,  while  I am  in  my  sound  health 
and  senses,  to  make  my  will  and  testament; 
which  I do  in  manner  and  form  following : — 

‘ Imprimis^  I give  to  the  stock-jobbers  about 
the  Exchange  of  London,  as  a security  for  the 
trusts  daily  reposed  in  them,  all  my  real  estate  ; 
which  I do  hereby  vest  in  the  said  body  of 
worthy  citizens  for  ever. 

‘ Item,  Forasmuch  as  it  is  very  hard  to  keep 
land  in  repair  without  ready  cash,  I do,  out  of 
my  personal  estate,  bestow  the  bear-skin, t 
which  I have  frequently  lent  to  several  societies 
about  this  town,  to  supply  their  necessities  ; I 
say,  I give  also  the  said  bear-skin,  as  an  im- 
mediate fund  to  the  said  citizens  for  ever. 

‘ Itein,  I do  hereby  appoint  a certain  number 
of  the  said  citizens  to  take  all  the  custom-house 
or  customary  oaths  concerning  all  goods  im- 
ported by  the  whole  city ; strictly  directing, 
that  some  select  members,  and  not  the  whole 
number  of  a body  corporate,  should  be  perjured. 

‘ Item,  I forbid  all  n s and  persons  of 

q ty  to  watch  bargains  near  and  about  thq 

Exchange,  to  the  diminution  and  wrong  of  the 
said  stock-jobbers. 

‘ Thus  far,  in  as  brief  and  intelligible  a man- 
ner as  any  will  can  appear,  until  it  is  explained 
by  the  learned,  I have  disposed  of  my  real  and 
personal  estate  ; but,  as  I am  an  adept,  I have 
by  birth  an  equal  right  to  give  also  an  inde- 
feasible title  to  my  endowments  and  qualifica- 
tions, which  I do  in  the  following  manner. 

‘ Item,  I give  my  chastity  to  all  virgins  who 
have  withstood  their  market. 


* Jervas. 

t Stock-jobbers,  who  contract  for  a future  transfer  of 
stock  which  they  do  not  possess,  are  called  sellers  of  bear- 
skins ; and  universally,  whoever  sells  what  he  does  not 
possess,  is  said,  proverbially,  to  sell  the  bear’s  skin, 
while  the  bear  runs  in  the  w'oods. 

In  the  language  of  Exchange-alley,  hears  signify  those 
who  buy  stock  which  they  cannot  receive,  or  w'ho  sell 
stock  which  they  have  not.  Those  who  pay  money  for 
what  they  purchase,  or  who  sell  stock  which  they  have, 
are  called  hulls. 


[No.  7. 

‘ Item,  I give  my  courage  among  all  who  are 
ashamed  of  their  distressed  friends,  all  sneakers 
in  assemblies,  and  men  who  show  valour  in 
common  conversation. 

‘ Item,  I give  my  wit  (as  rich  men  give  to  the 
rich)  among  such  as  think  they  have  enough 
already.  And  in  case  they  shall  not  accept  of 
the  legaey,  I give  it  to  Bentivolio*  to  defend 
his  works,  from  time  to  time,  as  he  shall  think 
fit  to  publish  them. 

'•Item,  I bestow  my  learning  upon  the  ho- 
norary members  of  the  Royal  Society. 

‘ Now  for  the  disposal  of  this  body. 

‘As  these  eyes  must  one  day  cease  to  gaze 
on  Teraminta,  and  this  heart  shall  one  day 
pant  no  more  for  her  indignation : that  is  to 
say,  since  this  body  must  be  earth ; I shall  com- 
mit it  to  the  dust  in  a manner  suitable  to  my 
character.  Therefore,  as  there  are  those  who 
dispute,  whether  there  is  any  such  real  person 
as  Isaac  Bickerstaff  or  not ; I shall  excuse  all 
persons  who  appear  what  they  really  are,  from 
coming  to  my  funeral.  But  all  those  who  are, 
in  their  way  of  life,  personcB,  as  the  Latins  have 
it,  persons  assumed,  and  who  appear  what  they 
really  are  not,  are  hereby  invited  to  that  solem- 
nity. 

‘ The  body  shall  be  carried  by  six  watchmen, 
who  are  never  seen  in  the  day. 

‘ Item,  The  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  the  six 
most  known  pretenders  to  honesty,  wealth,  and 
power,  who  are  not  possessed  of  any  of  them. 
The  two  first  a half-lawyer  and  a complete 
justice.  The  two  next,  a chemist  and  a pro- 
jector. The  third  couple,  a treasury-solicitor 
and  a small  courtier. 

‘ To  make  my  funeral  (what  that  solemnity, 
when  done  to  common  men,  really  is  in  itself) 
a very  farce  ; and  since  all  mourners  are  mere 
actors  on  these  occasions,  I shall  desire  tliose 
who  are  professedly  sueh  to  attend  mine.  I 
humbly,  therefore,  beseech  JMrs.  Barry  to  act 
once  more,  and  be  my  widow.  When  she  swoons 
away  at  the  church-porch,  I appoint  the  merry 
sir  John  Falstaff,  and  the  gay  sir  Harry  Wildair, 
to  support  her.  I desire  Mr.  Pinkethman  to 
follow  in  the  habit  of  a cardinal,  and  Mr.  Bul- 
lock in  that  of  a privy-counsellor.  To  make 
up  the  rest  of  the  appearance,  I desire  all  the 
ladies  from  the  balconies  to  w’eep  with  Mrs. 
Barry,  as  they  hope  to  be  wives  and  wudows 
themselves.  I invite  all,  who  have  nothing 
else  to  do,  to  accept  of  gloves  and  scarfs. 

‘ Thus,  with  the  great  Charles  V.  of  Spain, 
I resign  the  glories  of  this  transitory  wmrld : 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  to  show  you  my  indif- 
ference, and  that  my  desires  are  not  too  much 
fixed  upon  any  thing,  I owm  to  you,  I am  as 
willing  to  stay  as  to  go : therefore  leave  it  in 
the  choice  of  my  gentle  readers,  whether  I shall 
hear  from  them,  or  they  hear  no  more  from 
me.” 

White's  Chocolate-house,  April  25. 

Easter  day  being  a time  when  you  cannot 
well  meet  with  any  but  humble  adventurers; 


* Dr.  Richard  Bentley,  born  at  Wakefield  in  York- 
shire, Jan.  1661,  died  in  July  1742. 


No.  7.] 


THE  TATLER. 


25 


and  there  being  such  a thing  as  low  gallantry, 
as  well  as  low  comedy,  Colonel  Ramble*  and 
myself  went  early  this  morning  into  the  fields, 
which  were  strewed  with  shepherds  and  shep- 
herdesses, but  indeed  of  a different  turn  from 
the  simplicity  of  those  of  Arcadia.  Every 
hedge  was  conscious  of  more  than  what  the  re- 
presentations of  enamoured  swains  admit  of. 
While  we  were  surveying  the  crowd  around  us, 
we  saw  at  a distance  a company  coming  to- 
wards Pancras  Church  ; but  though  there  was 
not  much  disorder,  we  thought  we  saw  the 
figure  of  a man  stuck  through  with  a sword, 
and  at  every  step  ready  to  fall,  if  a woman  by 
his  side  had  not  supported  him;  the  rest  fol- 
lowed two  and  two.  When  we  came  nearer 
this  appearance,  who  should  it  be  but  monsieur 
Guardeloop,  mine  and  Ramble’s  French  tailor, 
attended  by  others,  leading  one  of  madam 
Depingle’s  maids  to  the  church,  in  order  to 
their  espousals.  It  was  his  sword  tucked  so 
high  above  his  waist,  and  the  circumflex  which 
persons  of  his  profession  take  in  their  walking, 
that  made  him  appear,  at  a distance,  wounded 
and  falling.  But  the  morning  being  rainy, 
methought  the  march  to  this  wedding  was  but 
too  lively  a picture  of  wedlock  itself.  They 
seemed  both  to  have  a month’s  mind  to  make 
the  best  of  their  way  single  ; yet  both  tugged 
arm  in  arm  ; and  when  they  were  in  a dirty 
way,  he  was  but  deeper  in  the  mire,  by  endea- 
vouring to  pull  out  his  companion,  and  yet 
without  helping  her.  The  bridegroom’s  fea- 
thers in  his  hat  all  drooped  ; one  of  his  shoes 
had  lost  a heel.  In  short,  he  was  in  his  whole 
person  and  dress  so  extremely  soused,  that  there 
did  not  appear  one  inch  or  single  thread  about 
him  unmarriedA  Pardon  me  that  the  melan- 
choly object  still  dwells  upon  me  so  far,  as  to 
reduce  me  to  punning.  However,  we  attended 
them  to  the  chapel,  where  we  stayed  to  hear 
the  irrevocable  words  pronounced  upon  our  old 
servant,  and  made  the  best  of  our  way  to  town. 
I took  a resolution  to  forbear  all  married  per- 
sons, or  any  in  danger  of  being  such,  for  four 
and  twenty  hours  at  least ; therefore  dressed, 
and  went  to  visit  Florimel,  the  vainest  thing  in 
town,  where  I knew  would  drop  in  colonel 
Picket,  just  come  from  the  camp,  her  professed 
admirer.  He  is  of  that  order  of  men  who  have 
much  honour  and  merit,  but  withal  a coxcomb  ; 
the  other,  of  that  set  of  females  who  have  inno- 
cence and  wit,  but  the  first  of  coquets.  It  is 
easy  to  believe,  these  must  be  admirers  of  each 
other.  She  says,  the  colonel  rides  the  best  of  any 
man  in  England  : the  colonel  says,  she  talks  the 
best  of  any  woman.  At  the  same  time,  he  un- 
derstands wit  just  as  she  does  horsemanship. 
You  are  to  know,  these  extraordinary  persons 
see  each  other  daily ; and  they  themselves,  as 
well  as  the  town,  think  it  will  be  a match  : but 
it  can  never  happen  that  they  can  come  to  the 
point ; for,  instead  of  addressing  to  each  other, 
they  spend  their  whole  time  in  the  reports  of 
themselves  ; he  is  satisfied  if  he  can  convince 


* Probably  colonel  Brett,  who  is  said  to  have  been  one 
of  the  chief  companions  of  Addison  and  Steele. 

t Alluding  to  the  similarity  of  sound  between  the 
word  unmarred  and  unmarried.  \ 

D 


her  he  is  a fine  gentleman,  and  a man  of  conse- 
quence ; and  she  in  appearing  to  him  an  accom- 
plished lady  and  a wit,  without  further  design. 
Thus  he  tells  her  of  his  manner  of  posting  his 
men  at  such  a pass,  with  the  numbers  he  com- 
manded  on  that  detachment:  she  tells  him,  how 
she  was  dressed  on  such  a day  at  court,  and 
what  offers  were  made  her  the  week  following. 
She  seems  to  hear  the  repetition  of  his  men’s 
names  with  admiration,  and  waits  only  to  an- 
swer him  with  as  false  a muster  of  lovers.  They 
talk  to  each  other  not  to  be  informed,  but  ap- 
proved. Thus  they  are  so  like,  that  they  are 
to  be  ever  distant,  and  the  parallel  lines  may 
run  together  for  ever,  but  never  meet. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  April  25. 

This  evening  the  comedy,  called  ‘ Epsom 
Wells,’*  was  acted  for  the  benefit  of  Mr.  Bul- 
lock, who,  though  he  is  a person  of  much  wit 
and  ingenuity,  has  a peculiar  talent  for  looking 
like  a fool,  and  therefore  excellently  well  quali- 
fied for  the  part  of  Bisket  in  this  play.  I can- 
not indeed  sufficiently  admire  his  way  of  bear- 
ing a beating,  as  he  does  in  this  drama,  and 
that  with  such  a natural  air  and  propriet}’^  of 
folly,  that  one  cannot  help  wishing  the  whip  in 
one’s  own  hand ; so  richly  does  he  seem  to  de- 
serve  his  chastisement.  Skilful  actors  think  it 
a very  peculiar  happiness  to  play  in  a scene 
with  such  as  top  their  parts.  Therefore  I can- 
not but  say,  when  the  judgment  of  any  good 
author  directs  him  to  write  a beating  lor  Mr. 
Bullock  from  Mr.  William  Pinkethman,  or  for 
Mr.  William  Pinkethman  from  Mr.  Bullock, 
those  excellent  players  seem  to  be  in  their  most 
shining  circumstances,  and  please  me  more, 
but  with  a different  sort  of  delight,  than  that 
which  I receive  from  those  grave  scenes  of 
Brutus  and  Cassius,  or  Antony  and  Ventidius. 
The  whole  comedy  is  very  just,  and  the  low 
part  of  human  life  represented  with  much  hu- 
mour  and  wit. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  April  25. 

We  are  advised  from  Vienna,  by  letters  of 
the  twentieth  instant,  that  the  emperor  hath 
lately  added  twenty  new  members  to  his  coun- 
cil of  state;  but  they  have  not  yet  taken  their 
places  at  the  board.  General  Thaun  is  returned 
from  Baden,  his  health  being  so  well  re-esta- 
blished by  the  baths  of  that  place,  that  he  de- 
signs  to  set  out  next  week  for  Turin,  to  his 
command  of  the  imperial  troops  in  the  service 
of  the  duke  of  Savoy.  His  imperial  majesty 
has  advanced  his  brother,  count  Henry  Thaun, 
to  be  a brigadier,  and  a counsellor  of  the  Aulic 
council  of  war.  These  letters  import,  that  king 
Stanislaus  and  the  Swedish  general  Crassau, 
are  directing  their  march  to  the  Nieper  to  join 
the  king  of  Sweden’s  army  in  Ukrania  ; that 


* By  Thomas  Shadwell,  afterwards  poet-Iaureat  to 
king  William  III.  It  was  first  printed  in  quarto,  1676, 
but  it  was  acted,  it  should  seem,  from  1673.  He  stripped 
the  laurel  from  the  brows  of  Dryden,  who  thereupon 
wrote  the  bitterest  satire  that  ever  was  penned,  entitled 
‘ M’Flecknoe.’  He  died  suddenly  in  1692,  aged  52 ; and 
his  friend  Dr.  N.  Brady,  preached  his  funeral  sermon. 


26 


THE  TATLER. 


FNo.  8. 


the  states  of  Austria  have  furnished  marshal 
Hiester  with  a considerable  sum  of  money  to 
enable  him  to  push  on  the  war  vigorously  in 
Hungary,  where  all  things  as  yet  are  in  perfect 
tranquillity ; and  that  general  Thungen  has 
been  very  importunate  for  a speedy  reinforce- 
ment of  the  forces  on  the  Upper  Rhine,  repre- 
senting, at  the  same  time,  what  miseries  the 
inhabitants  must  necessarily  undergo,  if  the 
designs  of  France  on  those  parts  be  not  speedily 
and  effectually  prevented. 

Letters  from  Rome,  dated  the  thirteenth  in- 
stant, say,  that  on  the  preceding  Sunday,  his 
holiness  was  carried  in  an  open  chair  from  St. 
Peter’s  to  St.  Mary’s,  attended  by  the  sacred 
college,  in  cavalcade;  and,  after  mass,  distri- 
buted several  dowries  for  the  marriage  of  poor 
and  distressed  virgins.  The  proceedings  of  that 
court  are  very  dilatory  concerning  the  recog- 
nition of  king  Charles,  notwithstanding  the 
pressing  instances  of  t!ie  marquis  de  Prie,  who 
has  declared,  that  if  this  affair  be  not  wholly 
concluded  by  the  fifteenth  instant,  he  will  re- 
tire from  that  court,  and  order  the  imperial 
troops  to  return  into  the  ecclesiastical  state. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  duke  of  Anjou’s  minister 
has,  in  the  name  of  his  master,  demanded  of 
his  holiness  to  explain  himself  on  that  affair  ; 
which,  it  is  said,  will  be  finally  determined  in 
a consistory  to  be  held  on  Monday  next ; the 
duke  d’Uzeda  designing  to  delay  his  departure 
until  he  sees  the  issue.  These  letters  also  say, 
that  the  court  was  mightily  alarmed  at  the 
news  which  they  received  by  an  express  from 
Ferrara,  that  general  Boneval,  who  commands 
in  Comachio,  had  sent  circular  letters  to  the 
inhabitants  of  St.  Alberto,  Longastrino,  Fillo, 
and  other  adjacent  parts,  enjoining  them  to 
come  and  swear  fealty  to  the  emperor,  and 
receive  new  investitures  of  their  fiefs  from  his 
hands.  Letters  from  other  parts  of  Italy  say, 
that  tlie  king  of  Denmark  continues  at  Lucca ; 
that  four  English  and  Dutch  men-of-war  were 
seen  off  Onglia,  bound  for  Final,  in  order  to 
transport  the  troops  designed  for  Barcelona ; 
and  that  her  majesty’s  ship  the  Colchester  ar- 
rived at  Leghorn  the  fourth  instant  from  Port- 
Mahon,  with  advice  that  major-general  Stan- 
hope designed  to  depart  from  thence  the  first 
instant  with  six  or  seven  thousand  men,  to  at- 
tempt the  relief  of  the  castle  of  Alicant. 

Our  last  advices  from  Berlin,  bearing  date  the 
twenty-seventh  instant,  import  that  the  king 
was  gone  to  Linum,  and  tlie  queen  to  Meck- 
lenburg ; but  that  their  majesties  designed  to 
return  the  next  week  to  Oranienburg,  where  a 
great  chase  of  wild  beasts  was  prepared  for 
their  diversion,  and  from  thence  they  intend 
to  proceed  together  to  Potsdam  ; that  the  prince 
royal  was  set  out  for  Brabant,  but  intended  to 
make  some  short  stay  at  Hanover.  These  let- 
ters also  inform  us,  that  they  are  advised  from 
Obory,  that  the  king  of  Sweden,  being  on  his 
march  towards  Holki,  met  general  Renne  with 
a detachment  of  Muscovites,  who,  placing  some 
regiments  in  ambuscade,  attacked  the  Swedes 
in  their  rear,  and  putting  them  to  flight,  killed 
two  thousand  men,  the  king  himself  having  his 
horse  shot  under  him. 


We  hear  from  Copenhagen,  that  the  ice  being 
broke,  the  Sound  is  again  open  for  the  ships  ; 
and  that  they  hoped  his  majesty  would  return 
sooner  than  they  at  first  expected. 

Letters  from  the  Hague,  dated  May  the 
fourth,  N.  S.  say,  that  an  express  arrived  there 
on  the  first,  from  prince  Eugene  to  his  grace 
the  duke  of  Marlborough.  The  States  are  ad- 
vised that  the  auxiliaries  of  Saxony  were  ar- 
rived on  the  frontiers  of  the  United  Provinces  ; 
as  also,  that  the  two  regiments  of  Wolfenbutlel, 
and  four  thousand  troops  from  Wirtemberg, 
who  are  to  serve  in  Flanders,  are  in  full  march 
thither.  Letters  from  Flanders  say,  that  the 
great  convoy  of  ammunition  and  provisions, 
which  set  out  from  Ghent  for  Lisle,  was  safely 
arrived  at  Courtray.  We  hear  from  Paris  that 
the  king  has  ordered  the  militia  on  the  coast 
of  Normandy  and  Bretagne  to  be  in  readiness 
to  march ; and  that  the  court  was  in  apprehen- 
sion of  a descent  to  animate  the  people  to  rise 
in  the  midst  of  their  present  hardships. 

They  write  from  Spain,  that  the  pope’s  nuncio 
left  Madrid  the  tenth  of  April,  in  order  to  go  to 
Bayonne  ; that  the  marquis  de  Bay  was  at  Ba- 
dajos,  to  observe  the  motions  of  the  Portuguese  ; 
and  that  the  count  d’Estain,  with  a body  of  five 
thousand  men,  was  on  his  march  to  attack 
Gironne.  The  duke  of  Anjou  has  deposed  tlie 
bishop  of  Lerida,  as  being  a favourer  of  the  in- 
terest of  king  Charles,  and  has  summoned  a 
convocation  at  Madrid,  composed  of  tlie  arch- 
bishops, bishops,  and  states  of  that  kingdom, 
wherein  he  hopes  they  will  come  to  a resolution 
to  send  for  no  more  bulls  to  Rome. 


No.  8.]  Thursday,  April  28,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  April  26. 

The  play  of  the  London  Cuckolds*  was  acted 
this  evening  before  a suitable  audience,  who 
were  extremely  well  diverted  with  that  heap 
of  vice  and  absurdity.  The  indignation  which 
Eugenio,  who  is  a gentleman  of  a just  taste, 
has  upon  occasion  of  seeing  human  nature  fall 
so  low  in  its  delights,  made  him,  I thought,  ex- 
patiate upon  the  mention  of  this  play  very 
agreeably.  Of  all  men  living,  said  he,  I pity 
players  (who  must  be  men  of  good  understand- 
ing, to  be  capable  of  being  such,)  that  they  are 
obliged  to  repeat  and  assume  proper  gestures 
for  representing  things  of  which  their  reason 
must  be  ashamed,  and  which  they  must  disdain 
their  audience  for  approving.  The  amendment 
of  these  low  gratifications  is  only  to  be  made  by 
people  of  condition,  by  encouraging  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  noble  characters  drawn  by 
Shakspeare  and  others,  from  whence  it  is  im- 


* A very  immoral,  as  well  as  a very  ill-written  comedy, 
by  Edward  Kavenscroft.  It  used  to  be  acted  frequently, 
especially  upon  Lord  Mayor’s  days,  in  contempt,  and  to 
the  disgrace  of  the  city. 


THE  TATLER. 


27 


No.  8.] 

possible  to  return  without  strong  impressions 
of  honour  and  humanity.  On  these  occasions, 
distress  is  laid  before  us  with  all  its  causes  and 
consequences,  and  our  resentment  placed  ac- 
cording to  the  merit  of  the  persons  afflicted. 
Were  dramas  of  tliis  natui'e  more  acceptable  to 
the  taste  of  the  town,  men  who  have  genius 
would  bend  their  studies  to  excel  in  them. 
How  forcible  an  effect  tliis  w’ould  have  on  our 
minds,  one  needs  no  more  than  to  observe  how 
strongly  we  are  touched  by  mere  pictures.  Who 
can  see  Le  Brun’s  picture  of  the  battle  of  Porus, 
without  entering  into  the  character  of  that  fierce 
gallant  man,  and  being  accordingly  spurred  to 
an  emulation  of  his  constancy  and  courage  ? 
When  he  is  falling  with  his  wound,  the  features 
are  at  the  same  time  very  terrible  and  languish- 
ing; and  there  is  such  a stern  faintness  diffused 
through  all  his  look,  as  is  apt  to  move  a kind  of 
horror,  as  well  as  pity,  in  the  beholder.  This, 
I say,  is  an  effect  wrought  by  mere  lights  and 
shades ; consider  also  a representation  made  by 
words  only,  as  in  an  account  given  by  a good 
writer  : Catiline,  in  Sallust,  makes  just  such  a 
figure  as  Porus  by  Le  Brun.  It  is  said  of  him, 
Catilina  vero  longe  a suis  inter  hostium  cada- 
vera  reperius  est ; paululum  etiam  spirans,  fero- 
citatemque  animi,  quam  vivus  habuerat,  in  vultu 
retinens.  ‘ Catiline  was  found  killed  far  from 
his  own  men,  among  the  dead  bodies  of  the  en- 
emy: he  seemed  still  to  breathe,  and  still  re- 
tained in  his  face  the  same  fierceness  he  had 
when  he  was  living.’  You  have  in  that  one 
sentence  a lively  impression  of  his  whole  life 
and  actions.  What  I would  insinuate  from  all 
this  is,  that  if  the  painter  and  the  historian  can 
do  thus  much  in  colours  and  language,  what 
may  not  be  performed  by  an  excellent  poet, 
when  the  character  he  draws  is  presented  by 
the  person,  the  manner,  the  look,  and  the  motion, 
of  an  accomplished  player  ? If  a thing  painted 
or  related  can  irresistibly  enter  our  hearts, 
what  may  not  be  brought  to  pass  by  seeing 
generous  things  performed  before  our  eyes  ? 
Eugenio  ended  his  discourse,  by  recommending 
the  apt  use  of  a theatre,  as  the  most  agreeable 
and  easy  method  of  making  a polite  and  moral 
gentry ; which  would  end  in  rendering  the  rest 
of  the  people  regular  in  their  behaviour,  and 
ambitious  of  laudable  undertakings. 

St.  James’s  Coffee-house.,  April  27. 

Letters  from  Naples  of  the  ninth  instant,  N. 
S.  advise,  that  cardinal  Grimani  had  ordered  tlie 
regiment  commanded  by  general  Pate  to  march 
towards  Final,  in  order  to  embark  for  Catalonia  ; 
whither  also  a thousand  horse  are  to  be  trans- 
ported from  Sardinia,  besides  the  troops  which 
come  from  the  Milanese.  An  English  man-of- 
war  has  taken  two  prizes,  one  a vessel  of  Malta, 
the  other  of  Genoa,  both  laden  with  goods  of  the 
enemy.  They  write  from  Florence  of  the  thir- 
teenth, that  his  majesty  of  Denmark  had  re- 
ceived a courier  from  the  Hague,  with  an  ac- 
count of  some  matters  relating  to  the  treaty  of 
a peace,  upon  which  he  declared,  that  he  thought 
it  necessary  to  hasten  to  his  own  dominions. 

Letters  from  Switzerland  inform  us,  that  the 
effects  of  the  great  scarcity  of  corn  in  France 


were  felt  at  Geneva ; the  magistrates  of  which 
city  had  appointed  deputies  to  treat  with  the 
cantons  of  Bern  and  Zurich,  for  leave  to  buy  up 
such  quantities  of  grain,  within  their  territories, 
as  should  be  thought  necessary.  The  protestants 
of  Tockenburg  are  still  in  arms  about  the  con- 
vent of  St.  John,  and  have  declared,  that  they 
will  not  lay  them  down,  until  they  shall  have 
sufficient  security  from  the  Roman  Catholics,  of 
living  unmolested  in  the  exercise  of  their  reli- 
gion.  In  the  mean  time,  the  deputies  of  Bern 
and  Tockenburg  have  frequent  conferences  at 
Zurich  with  the  regency  of  that  canton,  to  find 
out  methods  for  quieting  these  disorders. 

Letters  from  the  Hague,  of  the  third  of  May, 
advise,  that  the  president  Rouille,  after  his  last 
conference  with  the  deputies  of  the  States,  had 
retired  to  Bodegrave,  five  miles  distant  from 
Worden,  and  expected  the  return  of  a courier 
from  France  on  the  fourth,  with  new  instruc- 
tions. It  is  said,  if  his  answer  from  the  French 
court  shall  not  prove  satisfactory,  he  will  be 
desired  to  withdraw  out  of  these  parts.  In  the 
mean  time  it  is  also  reported,  that  his  equipage, 
as  an  ambassador  on  this  great  occasion,  is  ac- 
tually on  the  march  towards  him.  They  write 
from  Flanders,  that  the  great  convoy  of  provi- 
sions,  which  set  out  from  Ghent,  is  safely  ar- 
rived at  Lisle.  Those  advices  add,  that  the 
enemy  had  assembled  near  Tournay  a consid- 
erable body  of  troops,  drawn  out  of  the  neigh- 
bouring garrisons.  Their  high  mightinesses 
having  sent  orders  to  their  ministers  at  Ham- 
burgh and  Dantzic,  to  engage  the  magistrates 
of  those  cities  to  forbid  the  sale  of  corn  to  the 
French,  and  to  signify  to  them,  that  the  Dutch 
merchants  will  buy  up  as  much  of  that  com- 
modity as  they  can  spare  ; the  Hamburghers 
have  accordingly  contracted  with  the  Dutch,  and 
refused  any  commerce  with  the  French  on  that 
occasion. 

From  imj  own  ApaHment. 

After  the  lassitude  of  a day,  spent  in  the 
strolling  manner  which  is  usual  with  men  of 
pleasure  in  this  town,  and  with  a head  full  of 
a million  of  impertinences,  which  had  danced 
round  it  for  ten  hours  together,  I came  to  my 
lodging,  and  hastened  to  bed.  My  valet  de 
chambre  knows  my  university-trick  of  reading 
there  ; and  he,  being  a good  scholar  for  a gen- 
tleman, ran  over  the  names  of  Horace,  Tibul- 
lus, Ovid,  and  others,  to  know  which  I would 
have.  Bring  Virgil,’  said  I;  ‘and  if  I fall 
asleep,  take  care  of  the  candle.’  I read  the 
sixth  book  over  with  the  most  exquisite  delight, 
and  had  gone  half  through  it  a second  time, 
when  the  pleasing  ideas  of  Elysian  fields,  de- 
ceased worthies  walking  in  them,  true  lovers 
enjoying  their  languishment  without  pain,  com- 
passion for  the  unhappy  spirits  who  had  mis- 
spent their  short  day-light,  and  were  exiled 
from  the  seats  of  bliss  for  ever  ; I say,  I was 
deep  again  in  my  reading,  when  this  mixture  of 
images  had  taken  place  of  all  others  in  my 
imagination  before,  and  lulled  me  into  a dream, 
from  which  I am  just  awake,  to  my  great  dis- 
advantage. The  happy  mansions  of  Elysium, 
by  degrees,  seemed  to  be  wafted  from  me,  and 


28 


THE  TATLER. 


the  very  traces  of  my  late  waking-  thoughts  be- 
gan to  fade  away,  when  I was  cast  by  a sudden 
whirlwind  upon  an  island,  encompassed  with  a 
roaring  and  troubled  sea,  which  shaked  its  very 
centre,  and  rocked  its  inhabitants  as  in  a cradle. 
The  islanders  lay  on  their  faces,  without  offer- 
ing  to  look  up  or  hope  for  preservation  ; all  her 
harbours  were  crowded  with  mariners,  and  tall 
vessels  of  war  lay  in  danger  of  being  driven  to 
pieces  on  her  shores.  ‘ Bless  me  I’  said  I,  ‘ why 
have  I lived  in  such  a manner,  that  the  convul- 
sion of  nature  should  be  so  terrible  to  me,  when 
I feel  in  myself  that  the  better  part  of  me  is  to 
survive  it  ? Oh  ! may  that  be  in  happiness !’ 
A sudden  shriek,  in  which  the  whole  people  on 
their  faces  joined,  interrupted  my  soliloquy,  and 
turned  my  eyes  and  attention  to  the  object  that 
had  given  us  that  sudden  start,  in  the  midst  of 
an  inconsolable  and  speechless  affliction.  Im- 
mediately the  winds  grew  calm,  the  waves  sub- 
sided, and  the  people  stood  up,  turning  their 
faces  upon  a magnificent  pile  in  the  midst  of 
the  island.  There  we  beheld  a hero  of  a come- 
ly and  erect  aspect,  but  pale  and  languid,  sitting 
under  a canopy  of  state.  By  the  faces  and  dumb 
sorrow  of  those  who  attended,  we  thought  him 
in  the  article  of  death.  At  a distance  sat  a lady 
whose  life  seemed  to  hang  upon  the  same  thread 
with  his;  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and 
seemed  to  smother  ten  thousand  thousand  name- 
less things,  which  urged  her  tenderness  to  clasp 
him  in  her  arms  ; but  her  greatness  of  spirit 
overcame  those  sentiments,  and  gave  her  power 
to  forbear  disturbing  his  last  moment ; which 
immediately  approached.  The  hero  looked  up 
with  an  air  of  negligence,  and  satiety  of  being, 
rather  than  of  pain  to  leave  it ; and,  leaning  back 
his  head,  expired. 

When  the  heroine,  who  sat  at  a distance,  saw 
his  last  instant  come,  she  threw  herself  at  his 
feet,  and,  kneeling,  pressed  his  hand  to  her  lips, 
in  which  posture  she  continued,  under  the  agony 
of  an  unutterable  sorrow,  until  conducted  from 
our  sight  by  her  attendants.  That  commanding 
awe,  which  accompanies  the  grief  of  great 
minds,  restrained  the  multitude  while  in  her 
presence  ; but  as  soon  as  she  retired,  they  gave 
way  to  their  distraction,  and  all  the  islanders 
called  upon  their  deceased  hero.  To  him,  me- 
thought,  they  cried  out,  as  to  a guardian  being  ; 
and  I gathered  from  their  broken  accents,  that 
it  was  he  who  had  the  empire  over  the  ocean 
and  its  powers,  by  which  he  had  long  protected 
the  island  from  shipwreck  and  invasion.  They 
now  give  a loose  to  their  moan,  and  think  them- 
selves exposed  without  hopes  of  human  or  divine 
assistance.  While  the  people  ran  wild,  and  ex- 
pressed all  the  different  forms  of  lamentation, 
methought  a sable  cloud  overshadowed  the  whole 
land,  and  covered  its  inhabitants  with  darkness  ; 
no  glimpse  of  light  appeared,  except  one  ray 
from  heaven  upon  the  place  in  which  the  heroine 
now  secluded  herself  from  the  world,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  those  abodes  to  which  her  consort 
was  ascended.  Methought  a long  period  of 
time  had  passed  away  in  mourning  and  in  dark- 
ness, when  a twilight  began  by  degrees  to  en- 
lighten the  hemisphere ; and,  looking  round  me, 
I saw  a boat  rowed  towards  the  shore,  in  which 
•at  a personage  adorned  with  warlike  trophies. 


[No.  9. 

bearing  on  his  left  arm  a shield,  on  which  was 
engraven  the  image  of  victory,  and  in  his  right 
hand  a branch  of  olive.  His  visage  was  at  once 
so  winning  and  so  awful,  that  the  shield  and  the 
olive  seemed  equally  suitable  to  his  genius. 

When  this  illustrious  person*  touched  on  the 
shore,  he  was  received  by  the  acclamations  of 
the  people,  and  followed  to  the  palace  of  the 
heroine.  No  pleasure  in  the  glory  of  her  arms, 
or  the  acclamations  of  her  applauding  subjects, 
were  ever  capable  to  suspend  her  sorrow  for  one 
moment,  till  she  saw  the  olive-branch  in  the 
hand  of  that  auspicious  messenger.  At  that  sight, 
as  heaven  bestows  its  blessings  on  the  wants  and 
importunities  of  mortals,  out  ofits  native  bounty, 
and  not  to  increase  its  own  power  or  honour,  in 
compassion  to  the  world,  the  celestial  mourner 
w'as  then  first  seen  to  turn  her  regard  to  things 
I below  ; and,  taking  the  branch  out  of  the  war- 
I rior’s  hand,  looked  at  it  with  much  satisfaction, 

[ and  spoke  of  the  blessings  of  peace,  with  a Voice 
j and  accent,  such  as  that  in  which  guardian 
spirits  wfflisper  to  dying  penitents  assurances  of 
happiness.  The  air  was  hushed,  the  multitude 
attentive,  and  all  nature  in  a pause  while  she 
was  speaking.  But  as  soon  as  the  messenger  of 
peace  had  made  some  low  reply,  in  which,  me- 
thought, I heard  the  W'ord  Iberia,  the  heroine, 
assuming  a more  severe  air,  but  such  as  spoke 
resolution  without  rage,  returned  him  the  olive, 
and  again  veiled  her  face.  Loud  cries  and  clash- 
ing of  arms  immediately  follow’ed,  which  forced 
me  from  my  charming  vision,  and  drove  me 
back  to  these  mansions  of  care  and  sorrow. 

%*  Mr.  Bickerstaff  thanks  Mr.  Quarterstaff 
for  his  kind  and  instructive  letter  dated  the 
twenty -sixth  instant. 


No.  9.]  Saturday,  April  30,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’ermen  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  April  28. 

This  evening  we  were  entertained  wuth  The 
Old  Bachelor,|-  a comedy  of  deserved  reputa- 
tion. In  the  character  which  gives  name  to 
the  play,  there  is  excellently  represented  the 
reluctance  of  a battered  debauchee  to  come  into 
the  trammels  of  order  and  decency ; he  neither 
languishes  nor  burns,  but  frets  for  love.  The 
gentlemen  of  more  regular  behaviour  are  drawn 
wuth  much  spirit  and  wdt,  and  the  drama  intro- 
duced, by  the  dialogue  of  the  first  scene,  with 
uncommon,  yet  natural  conversation.  The  part 
of  Fondlewufe  is  a lively  image  of  the  unsea- 
sonable fondness  of  age  and  impotence.  But, 
instead  of  such  agreeable  works  as  these,  the 
towm  has  for  half  an  age  been  tormented  with 
insects  called  Easy  BViters,  whose  abilities  Mr. 
Wj^cherly  one  day  described  excellently  well  in 
one  w’ord  : ‘ That,’  says  he,  ‘ among  these  fel- 
lows is  called  Easy  Writing,  which  any  one 


* About  this  time  the  duke  of  Marlborough  returned 
from  Holland,  with  the  preliminaries  of  a peace, 
t By  Congreve.  His  first  play,  and  first  acted  in  1693. 


THE  TATLER. 


29 


No.  10.] 

may  easily  write.’  Such  janty  scribblers  are 
so  justly  laughed  at  for  their  sonnets  on  Phillis 
and  Chloris,  and  fantastical  descriptions  in  them, 
that  an  ingenious  kinsman  of  mine,  of  the 
family  of  the  Staffs,  Mr.  Humphrey  Wagstaffby 
name,  has,  to  avoid  their  strain,  run  into  a way 
perfeetly  new,  and  deseribed  things  exactly  as 
they  happen  he  never  forms  fields,  or  nymphs, 
or  groves,  where  they  are  not ; but  makes  the 
incidents  just  as  they  really  appear.  For  an 
example  of  it : I stole  out  of  his  manuscript  the 
following  lines  ; they  are  a deseription  of  the 
morning,  but  of  the  morning  in  town  ; nay,  of 
the  morning  at  this  end  of  the  town,  where  my 
kinsman  at  present  lodges  : 

Now  hardly  here  and  there  an  hackney  coach 
Appearing,  showed  the  ruddy  morn’s  approach  : 

Now  Betty  from  her  master’s  bed  had  down, 

And  softly  stole  to  discompose  her  own. 

The  slipshod  ’prentice,  from  his  master’s  door, 

Had  pared  the  street,  and  sprinkled  round  the  floor ; 
Now  Moll  had  whirled  her  mop  with  dext’rous  airs  ; 
Prepared  to  scrub  the  entry  and  the  stairs. 

The  youth  with  broomy  stumps  began  to  trace 
The  kennel  edge,  where  wheels  had  worn  the  place. 

The  small-coal  man  was  heard  with  cadence  deep, 

Till  drowned  in  shriller  notes  of  chimney-sweep. 

Duns  at  his  lordship’s  gates  began  to  meet ; 

And  brick-dust  Moll  had  screamed  thro’  half  a street ; 
The  turnkey  now  his  flock  returning  .sees, 

Duly  let  out  a’  nights  to  steal  for  fees  : 

The  watchful  bailitfs  take  their  silent  stands; 

And  school-boys  lag  with  satchels  in  their  hands. 

All  that  I apprehend  is,  that  dear  Numps  will 
be  angry  I have  published  these  lines  ; not  that 
he  has  any  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  them,  but 
for  fear  of  those  rogues,  the  bane  to  all  excellent 
performances,  the  imitators.  Therefore,  before- 
hand, I bar  all  descriptions  of  the  evening ; as 
a medley  of  verses  signifying  grey  peas  are  now 
cried  warm ; that  wenches  now  begin  to  amble 
round  the  passages  of  the  play-house  : or  of  noon; 
as,  that  fine  ladies  and  great  beaux  are  just 
yav/ning  out  of  their  beds,  and  windows  in  Pall- 
mall,  and  so  forth.  I forewarn  also  all  persons 
from  encouraging  any  draughts  after  my  cousin ; 
and  foretel  any  man  who  shall  go  about  to  imi- 
tate him,  that  he  will  be  very  insipid.  The 
family-stock  is  embarked  in  this  design,  and  we 
will  not  admit  of  counterfeits.  Dr.  Andersont 
and  his  heirs  enjoy  his  pills  ; Sir  William  Read! 
has  the  cure  of  eyes,  and  monsieur  Rosselli§ 
only  can  cure  the  gout.  We  pretend  to  none  of 
these  things  ; but  to  examine  who  and  who  are 
together,  to  tell  an)^  mistaken  man  he  is  not  what 
he  believes  he  is,  to  distinguish  merit,  and  ex- 
pose false  pretenees  to  it,  is  a liberty  our  family 
has  by  law  in  them,  from  an  intermarriage  with 
the  daughter  of  Mr.  Scoggin,|l  the  famous  droll 
of  the  last  century.  This  right  I design  to 


* Dr.  Swift. 

t Anderson  was  a Scotch  physician  in  the  reigns  of 
Charles  I.  and  Charles  It. 

I “ Henley  would  fain  have  me  to  go  with  Steele  and 
Rowe,  &c.  to  an  invitation  at  Sir  William  Read’s.  Sure- 
ly you  have  heard  of  him.  He  has  been  a mountebank, 
and  is  the  queen’s  oculist ; he  makes  admirable  punch, 
and  treats  you  in  gold  vessels.  But  I am  engaged,  and 
won’t  go  ; neither  indeed  am  I fond  of  the  jaunt.”  April 
11,  1711. — Swift’s  Works,  vol.  xxii.  p 20. 

It  is  said  that  the  queen’s  oculist,  though  he  was  won- 
derfully successful,  could  neither  read  nor  write. 

SRosselli,  sufficiently  known  from  the  Romance  of  his 
life,  which  was  written  by  himself. 

II  Scoggin  was  a buffoon  in  the  reign  of  king  James  I. 


make  use  of;  but  will  not  encroach  upon  the 
above-mentioned  adepts,  or  any  other.  At  the 
same  time,  I shall  take  all  the  privileges  I may, 
as  an  Englishman,  and  will  lay  hold  of  the  late 
act  of  naturalization  to  introduce  what  I shall 
think  fit  from  France.  The  use  of  that  law  may, 

I hope,  be  extended  to  people  the  polite  world 
with  new  characters,  as  well  as  the  kingdom 
itself  with  new  subjects.  Therefore  an  author 
of  that  nation,  called  La  Bruyere,  I shall  make 
bold  with  on  such  occasions.  The  last  person 
I read  of  in  that  writer  was  lord  Timon.  Timon, 
says  my  author,  is  the  most  generous  of  all  men ; 
but  is  so  hurried  away  with  that  strong  impulse 
of  bestowing,  that  he  confers  benefits  without 
distinction,  and  is  munificent  without  laying 
obligations.  For  all  the  unworthy,  who  receive 
from  him,  have  so  little  sense  of  this  noble  in- 
firmity, that  they  look  upon  themselves  rather 
as  partners  in  a spoil,  than  partakers  of  a bounty. 
The  other  day,  coming  into  Paris,  I met  Timon 
going  out  on  horseback,  n,ttended  only  by  one 
servant.  It  struck  me  with  a sudden  damp,  to 
see  a man  of  so  excellent  a disposition,  and  who 
understood  making  a figure  so  well,  so  much 
shortened  in  his  retinue.  But,  passing  by  his 
house,  1 saw  his  great  coach  break  to  pieces 
before  his  door,  and,  by  a strange  enchantment, 
immediately  turned  into  many  different  vehicles. 
The  first  was  a very  pretty  chariot,  into  which 
stepped  his  lordship’s  secretary.  The  second 
was  hung  a little  heavier  ; into  that  strutted  the 
fat  steward.  In  an  instant  followed  a chaise, 
which  was  entered  by  the  butler.  The  rest  of 
the  body  and  wdieels  were  forthwith  changed 
into  go-carts,  and  run  away  w’ith  by  the  nurses 
and  brats  of  the  rest  of  the  family.  What  makes 
these  misfortunes  in  the  affairs  of  Timon  the 
more  astonishing  is,  that  he  has  better  under- 
standing than  those  w’ho  cheat  him  ; so  that  a 
man  knows  not  which  more  to  wonder  at,  the 
indifference  of  the  master,  or  the  impudence  of 
the  servant. 

White's  Chocolate-house^  April  29. 

It  is  a matter  of  much  speculation  among  the 
beaux  and  oglers,  what  it  is  that  can  have  made 
so  sudden  a change,  as  has  been  of  late  observed, 
in  the  whole  behaviour  of  Pastorella,  who  never 
sat  still  a moment  until  she  was  eighteen,  which 
she  has  now  exceeded  by  two  months.  Her 
aunt,  who  has  the  care  of  her,  has  not  been  al- 
ways so  rigid  as  she  is  at  this  present  date  ; but 
has  so  good  a sense  of  the  frailty  of  wmman, 
and  falsehood  of  man,  that  she  resolved  on  all 
manner  of  methods  to  keep  Pastorella,  if  possi- 
ble, in  safety,  against  herself  and  all  her  admir- 
ers. At  the  same  time  the  good  lady  knew  by 
long  experience,  that  a gay  inclination,  curbed 
too  rashly,  would  but  run  to  the  greater  ex- 
cesses for  that  restraint ; she  therefore  intended 
to  watch  her,  and  take  some  opportunity  of  en- 
gaging her  insensibly  in  her  own  interests, 
without  the  anguish  of  an  admonition.  You 
are  to  know,  then,  that  miss,  with  all  her  flirt- 
ing and  ogling,  had  also  naturally  a strong  curi- 
osity in  her,  and  was  the  greatest  eaves-dropper 
breathing.  Parisatis  (for  so  her  prudent  aunt  is 
called)  observed  this  humour,  and  retires  one 
day  to  her  closet,  into  which  she  knew  Pastorella 


30 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  10. 


would  peep,  and  listen  to  know  how  she  was 
employed,  [t  happened  accordingly ; and  the 
young  lady  saw  her  good  governante  on  her 
knees,  and,  after  a mental  behaviour,  break  into 
these  words, — ‘ As  for  the  dear  child  committed 
to  my  care,  let  her  sobriety  of  carriage,  and  se- 
verity of  behaviour,  be  such  as  may  make  that 
noble  lord  who  is  taken  with  her  beauty,  turn 
his  designs  to  such  as  are  honourable.’  Here 
Parisatis  heard  her  niece  nestle  closer  to  the 
key-hole  : she  then  goes  on  ; ‘ Make  her  the 
joyful  mother  of  a numerous  and  wealthy  off- 
spring ; and  let  her  carriage  be  such,  as  may 
make  this  noble  youth  expect  the  blessings  of 
a happy  marriage,  from  the  singularity  of  her 
life,  in  this  loose  and  censorious  age.’  Miss, 
having  heard  enough,  sneaks  off  for  fear  of 
discovery,  and  immediately  at  her  glass  alters 
the  sitting  of  her  head ; then  pulls  up  her 
tucker,  and  forms  herself  into  the  exact  manner 
of  Lindamira  ; in  a word,  becomes  a sincere  con- 
vert to  every  thing  that  is  commendable  in  a 
fine  young  lady;  and  two  or  three  such  matches 
as  her  aunt  feigned  in  her  devotions,  are  at  this 
day  in  her  choice.  This  is  the  history  and 
original  cause  of  Pastorella’s  conversion  from 
coquetry.  The  prudence  in  the  management 
of  this  young  lady’s  temper,  and  good  judgment 
of  it,  is  hardly  to  be  exceeded.  I scarce  re- 
member a greater  instance  of  forbearance  of  the 
usual  peevish  way  with  which  the  aged  treat 
the  young  than  this,  except  that  of  our  famous 
Noy,  whose  good  nature  went  so  far  as  to  make 
him  put  off  his  admonitions  to  his  son,  even 
until  after  his  death  ; and  did  not  give  him  his 
thoughts  of  him,  until  he  came  to  rea/i  tliat  me- 
morable passage  in  his  will : ‘ All  the  rest  of 
my  estate,’  says  he,  ‘ I leave  to  my  son  Edward 
(who  is  executor  to  this  my  will)  to  be  squan- 
dered as  he  shall  think  fit ; I leave  it  him  for 
that  purpose,  and  hope  no  better  for  him.’  A 
generous  disdain,  and  reflection  upon  how  little 
he  deserved  from  so  excellent  a father,  reformed 
the  young  man,  and  made  Edward,  from  an 
arrant  rake,  become  a fine  gentleman. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  April  29. 

Letters  from  Portugal  of  the  eighteenth  in- 
stant, dated  from  Estremos,  say,  that  on  the 
sixth  the  earl  of  Galway  arrived  at  that  place, 
and  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  the  quarters  well 
furnished  with  all  manner  of  provisions,  and  a 
quantity  of  bread  sufficient  for  subsisting  the 
troops  for  sixty  days,  besides  biscuit  for  twenty- 
five  days.  The  enemy  give  out,  that  they  shall 
bring  into  the  field  fourteen  regiments  of  horse, 
and  twenty-four  battalions.  The  troops  in  tlic 
service  of  Portugal  will  make  up  14,000  foot,  and 
4000  horse.  On  the  day  these  letters  were  dis- 
patched, the  earl  of  Galway  received  advice,  that 
the  marquis  de  Bay  was  preparing  for  some  en- 
terprise, by  gathering  his  troops  together  on  the 
frontiers.  Whereupon  his  excellency  resolved 
to  go  that  same  night  to  Villa  Viciosa,  to  assem- 
ble the  troops  in  that  neighbourhood,  in  order  to 
disappoint  his  designs. 

Yesterday,  in  the  evening,  captain  Foxton, 
aid-de-camp  to  major-general  Cadogan,  arrived 
here  express  from  the  duke  of  Marlborough ; 


and  this  day  a mail  is  come  in  with  letters 
from  Brussels  of  the  sixth  of  May,  N.  S.  which 
advise,  that  the  enemy  had  drawn  together  a 
body,  consisting  of  20,000  men,  with  a design, 
as  was  supposed,  to  intercept  the  great  convoy 
on  the  march  towards  Lisle,  which  was  safely 
arrived  at  Menin  and  Courtray,  in  its  way  to 
that  place,  the  French  having  retired  without 
making  any  attempt. 

We  hear  from  the  Hague,  that  a person  of 
the  first  quality  is  arrived  in  the  Low  Countries 
from  France,  in  order  to  be  a plenipotentiary  in 
an  ensuing  treaty  of  peace. 

Letters  from  France  acknowledge,  that  mon- 
sieur Bernard  has  made  no  higher  offers  of  sa- 
tisfaction to  his  creditors  than  of  thirty-five 
pounds  per  cent. 

These  advices  add,  that  the  marshal  BoufHers, 
monsieur  Torcy  (who  distinguished  himself  for- 
merly, by  advising  the  court  of  France  to  adhere 
to  the  treaty  of  partition,)  and  monsieur  d’Har- 
court  (who  negotiated  with  cardinal  Portocar- 
rero  for  the  succession  of  the  crown  of  Spain  in 
the  house  of  Bourbon,)  are  all  three  joined  in  a 
commission  for  a treaty  of  peace.  The  marshal 
is  come  to  Ghent  : the  other  two  are  arrived  at 
the  Hague. 

It  is  confidently  reported  here,  that  the  right 
honourable  the  lord  Townshend  is  to  go  with 
his  grace  the  duke  of  Marlborough  into  Holland. 

Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  received  the  epistles 
of  Mrs.  Rebecca  Wagstaff,  Timothy  Pikestaff, 
and  Wagstaff,  which  he  will  acknowledge  far- 
ther as  occasion  shall  serve. 


No.  10.]  Tuesday,  May  3,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 8G. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

BY  MRS.  JENNY  DISTAFF.  HALF  SISTER  TO  MR. 

BICKERSTAFF. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  1. 

My  brother  Isaac,  having  a sudden  occasion 
to  go  out  of  town,  ordered  me  to  take  upon  me 
I the  despatch  of  the  next  advices  from  home, 
with  liberty  to  speak  in  my  own  way  : not 
! doubting  the  allowances  which  would  be  given 
j to  a writer  of  my  sex.  You  may  be  sure  I un- 
i dertook  it  with  much  satisfaction ; and  I confess, 
I am  not  a little  pleased  with  the  opportunity  of 
j running  over  all  the  papers  in  his  closet,  which 
1 he  has  left  open  for  my  use  on  this  occasion. 

I The  first  that  I lay  my  hands  on,  is  a treatise 
j concerning  ‘ the  empire  of  beauty,’  and  the  ef- 
I fects  it  has  had  in  all  nations  of  the  world,  upon 
; the  public  and  private  actions  of  men ; with 
j an  appendix,  which  he  calls,  ‘ The  Bachelor’s 
scheme  for  governing  his  wife.’  The  first  thing 
he  makes  this  gentleman  propose,  is,  that  she 
shall  be  no  woman  ; for  she  is  to  have  an  aver- 
' sion  to  balls,  to  operas,  to  visits  ; she  is  to  think 
his  company  sufficient  to  fill  up  all  the  hours  of 
j life  with  great  satisfaction ; she  is  never  to  be- 
I lieve  any  other  man  wise,  learned,  or  valiant , 
I or  at  least,  but  in  a second  degree.  In  the  next 


No.  10.] 


THE  TATLER. 


31 


place,  he  intends  she  shall  be  a cuckold ; but 
expects,  that  he  himself  must  live  in  perfect  se- 
curity from  that  tenor.  He  dwells  a great  while 
on  instructions  for  her  discreet  behaviour,  in 
case  of  his  falsehood.  I have  not  patience  with 
these  unreasonable  expectations,  therefore  turn 
back  to  the  treatise  itself  Here,  indeed,  my 
brother  deduces  all  the  revolutions  among  men 
from  the  passion  of  love ; and  in  his  preface 
answers  that  usual  observation  against  us,  ‘ that 
there  is  no  quarrel  without  a woman  in  it,’  with 
a gallant  assertion,  that  ‘ there  is  nothing  else 
worth  quarrelling  for.’  My  brother  is  of  a com- 
plexion truly  amorous  ; all  his  thoughts  and  ac- 
tions carry  in  tliem  a tincture  of  that  obliging 
inclination  ; and  this  turn  has  opened  his  eyes 
to  see,  that  we  are  not  the  inconsiderable  crea- 
tures which  unlucky  pretenders  to  our  favour 
would  insinuate.  He  observes  that  no  man  be- 
gins to  make  any  tolerable  figure  until  he  sets 
out  with  the  hopes  of  pleasing  some  one  of  us. 
No  sooner  he  takes  that  in  hand,  but  he  pleases 
every  one  else  by  the  bye.  It  has  an  immediate 
effect  upon  his  behaviour.  There  is  colonel  Ran- 
ter,* who  never  spoke  without  an  oath,  until  he 
saw  the  lady  Betty  Modish  ; now,  never  gives  his 
man  an  order,  but  it  is  ‘ Pray  Tom,  do  it.’  The 
drawers  where  he  drinks,  live  in  perfect  happi- 
ness. He  asked  Will  at  the  George  the  other 
day,  how  he  did  ? Where  he  used  to  say,  ‘ Damn 
it,  it  is  so  ;’  he  now  ‘ believes  there  is  some  mis- 
take ; he  must  confess,  he  is  of  another  opinion  ; 
but,  however,  he  will  not  insist.’ 

Every  temper,  except  downright  insipid,  is 
to  be  animated  and  softened  by  the  influence  of 
beauty  ; but  of  this  untractable  sort  is  a lifeless 
handsome  fellow  that  visits  us,  whom  I have 
dressed  at  this  twelvemonth  ; but  he  is  as  insen- 
sible of  all  the  arts  I use,  as  if  he  conversed 
all  that  time  with  his  nurse.  He  outdoes  our 
whole  sex  in  all  the  faults  our  enemies  impute 
to  us  ; he  has  brought  laziness  into  an  opinion, 
and  makes  his  indolence  his  philosophy : inso- 
much that  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday  in  the 
evening  he  gave  me  this  account  of  himself : ‘ I 
am,  madam,  perfectly  unmoved  at  all  that  passes 
among  men,  and  seldom  give  myself  the  fatigue 
of  going  among  them  ; but  when  I do,  I always 
appear  the  same  thing  to  those  whom  I converse 
with.  My  hours  of  existence,  or  being  awake, 
are  from  eleven  in  the  morning  to  eleven  at 
night;  half  of  which  I live  to  myself,  in  picking 
my  teeth,  washing  my  hands,  paring  my  nails, 
and  looking  in  the  glass.  The  insignificancy 
of  my  manners  to  the  rest  of  the  world, t makes 
the  laughers  call  me  a Quidnunc,  a phrase  which 
I neither  understand,  nor  shall  ever  inquire 
what  they  mean  by  it.  The  last  of  me  each 


* There  is  probably  an  allusion  here  to  the  celebrated 
Mrs.  Anne  Oldfield  and  brigadier-general  Churchill.  Mrs. 
O.  played  at  this  time  inimitably  well  the  character  of 
Lady  Betty  Modish  in  the  ‘Careless  Husband,’  which 
the  author,  Mr.  Cibber,  acknowledges  was  not  only 
written  for  her,  but  copied  from  her,  so  that  she  was 
both  the  player,  and  the  original  of  the  character.  Biog-. 
Brit.  Art.  Oldfield. 

t What  follows  is  inserted  as  a farther  specimen  of 
the  manner  of  the  Annotator  on  the  Tatler,  and  of  the 
nature  of  his  remarks.  Sec  Tatler,  Nos.  5,  and  7.  ‘ Noth- 
ing is  more  apropos,  than  to  talk  in  a dialect  that  is  not 
English,  of  a phrase  that  is  not  sense.’  Jin  notations  on 
the  Tatler,  part  i.  p.  b5. 


night  is  at  St.  James’s  coffee-house,  where  I 
converse,  yet  never  fall  into  a dispute  on  any 
occasion ; but  leave  the  understanding  I have, 
passive  of  all  that  goes  through  it,  without  en- 
tering into  the  business  of  life.  And  thus 
madam,  have  I arrived  by  laziness,  to  what 
others  pretend  to  by  philosophy,  a perfect  ne- 
glect of  the  wmrld.’  Sure,  if  our  sex  had  the 
liberty  of  frequenting  public  houses  and  conver- 
sations, we  should  put  these  rivals  of  our  faults 
and  follies  out  of  countenance.  However,  we 
shall  soon  have  the  pleasure  of  being  acquainted 
with  them  one  way  or  other  ; for  my  brother 
Isaac  designs,  for  the  use  of  our  sex,  to  give  the 
exact  characters  of  all  the  chief  politicians,  who 
frequent  any  of  the  coffee-houses  from  St.  James’s 
to  the  Exchange ; but  designs  to  begin  with  that 
cluster  of  wise-heads,  as  they  are  found  sitting 
every  evening  from  the  left  side  of  the  fire,  at 
the  Smyrna,  to  the  door.  This  will  be  of  great 
service  for  us,  and  I have  authority  to  promise 
an  exact  journal  of  their  deliberations  ; the  pub- 
lication of  which  I am  to  be  allowed  for  pin-mo- 
ney. In  the  meantime,  I cast  my  eye  upon  a 
new  book,  which  gave  me  more  pleasing  enter- 
tainment, being  a sixth  part  of  Miscellany  Poems 
published  by  Jacob  Tonson,* * * * §  which,  I find,  by 
my  brother’s  notes  upon  it,  no  way  inferior  to 
the  other  volumes.  There  is,  it  seems,  in  this, 
a collection  of  the  best  pastorals  that  have  hith- 
erto appeared  in  England  ; but  among  them, 
none  superior  to  that  dialogue  between  Sylvia 
and  Dorinda,  written  by  one  of  my  own  sex  ;f 
where  all  our  little  w’eaknesses  are  laid  open  in 
a manner  more  just,  and  with  truer  raillery, 
than  ever  man  yet  hit  upon. 

Only  tills  I now  discern, 

From  the  things  thon’dst  have  me  learn. 

That  womankind’s  peculiar  joys 
From  past  or  present  beauties  rise. 

But  to  reassume  my  first  design,  there  can- 
not be  a greater  instance  of  the  command  of 
females,  than  in  the  prevailing  charms  of  the 
heroine  in  the  play,  which  was  acted  this  night, 
called,  ‘ All  for  Love  ; or  The  World  well  Lost.’t 
The  enamoured  Anthony  resigns  glory  and 
power  to  the  force  of  the  attractive  Cleopatra, 
whose  charms  were  the  defence  of  her  diadem 
against  a people  otherwise  invincible.  It  is  so 
natural  for  women  to  talk  of  themselves,  that  it 
is  to  be  hoped,  all  my  own  sex  at  least  will  par- 
don me,  that  I could  fall  into  no  other  discourse. 
If  we  have  their  favour,  we  give  ourselves  very 
little  anxiety  for  the  rest  of  our  readers.  I be- 
lieve I see  a sentence  of  Latin  in  my  brother’s 
day-book  of  wit,  wiiich  seems  applicable  on  this 
occasion,  and  in  contempt  of  the  critics — ■ 

Tristitiam  et  metus 

Tradam  protervis  in  mare  Creticuni§ 

Potare  ventis.  Hor.  i.  Od.  xxvi.  2. 

No  boding  fears  shall  break  my  rest, 

Nor  anxious  cares  invade  my  breast; 


* Usually  called  ‘ Dryden’s  Collection.’ 

t By  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Singer,  celebrated  by  Prior  in 
many  parts  of  his  poems,  and  afterwards  Mrs.  Rowe. 

I By  Dryden,  first  acted  in  the  year  1678. 

§ The  humour  of  Mrs.  Jenny  Distaffs  Latin  quotation 
stands  in  need  of  some  illustration.  It  rises  out  of  the 
similarity  between  the  words  Cretccum  and  Criticum, 
which  are  sufficiently  alike  to  mislead  a lady  unskilled 
in  the  Latin  language,  into  this  misapplication  of  the 
passage. 


32 


THE  TATLER. 


Puff  them,  ye  wanton  gales,  away 

And  plunge  them  in  the  Cretan  sea.  R.  Winne. 

But  I am  interrupted  by  a packet  from  Mr. 
Kidney,  from  St.  James’s  coffee-house,  which  I 
am  obliged  to  insert  in  the  very  style  and  words 
which  Mr.  Kidney  uses  in  his  letter. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  May  2. 

We  are  advised  by  letters  from  Bern,  dated 
the  first  instant,  N.  S.  that  the  duke  of  Berwick 
arrived  at  Lyons  the  twenty-fifth  of  the  last 
month,  and  continued  his  journey  the  next  day 
to  visit  the  passes  of  the  mountains  and  other 
posts  in  Dauphine  and  Provence.  These  letters 
also  inform  us,  that  the  miseries  of  the  people 
in  France  are  heightened  to  that  degree,  that 
unless  a peace  be  speedily  concluded,  half  of 
that  kingdom  would  perish  for  want  of  bread. 
On  the  twenty-fourth,  the  marshal  de  Thesse 
passed  through  Lyons,  in  his  way  to  Versailles  ; 
and  two  battalions,  which  were  marcliing  from 
Alsace  to  reinforce  the  army  of  the  duke  of  Ber- 
wick, passed  also  through  that  place.  Those 
troops  were  to  be  followed  by  six  battalions 
more. 

Letters  from  Naples  of  the  sixteenth  of  April 
say,  that  the  marquis  de  Prie’s  son  was  arrived 
there,  with  instructions  from  his  father,  to  sig- 
nify to  the  viceroy  the  necessity  his  imperial 
majesty  was  under,  of  desiring  an  aid  from 
that  kingdom,  for  carrying  on  the  extraordi- 
nary expenses  of  the  war.  On  the  fourteenth 
of  the  same  month  they  made  a review  of  the 
Spanish  troops  in  that  garrison,  and  afterwards 
of  the  marines ; one  part  of  whom  will  embark 
with  those  designed  for  Barcelona,  and  the  rest 
are  to  be  sent  on  board  the  galleys  appointed  to 
convoy  provisions  to  that  place. 

We  hear  from  Rome,  by  letters  dated  the 
twentieth  of  April,  that  the  count  de  Mellos. 
envoy  from  the  king  of  Portugal,  had  made  his 
public  entry  into  that  city  with  much  state  and 
magnificence.  The  pope  has  lately  held  two 
other  consistories,  wherein  he  made  a promotion 
of  two  cardinals  ; but  the  acknowledgment  of 
king  Charles  is  still  deferred. 

Letters  from  other  parts  of  Italy  advise  us, 
that  the  doge  of  Venice  continues  dangerously 
ill ; that  the  prince  de  Carignan,  having  relapsed 
into  a violent  fever,  died  the  twenty-third  of 
April,  in  his  eightieth  year. 

Advices  from  Vienna  of  the  twenty-seventh 
of  April  import,  that  the  avchbishop  of  Saltz- 
burg  is  dead,  who  is  succeeded  by  count  Har- 
rach,  formerly  bishop  of  Vienna,  and  for  these 
last  three  years  coadjutor  to  the  said  archbishop ; 
and  that  prince  Maximilian  of  Lichtenstein  is 
likewise  departed  this  life,  at  his  country  seat 
called  Cromaw  in  Moravia.  These  advices  add, 
that  the  emperor  has  named  count  Zinzendorf, 
count  Goes,  and  monsieur  Consbruck,  for  his 
plenipotentiaries  in  an  ensuing  treaty  of  peace  ; 
and  they  hear  from  Hungary,  that  the  imperial- 
ists have  had  several  successful  skirmishes  with 
the  malcontents. 

liettcrs  from  Paris,  dated  May  the  sixth,  say 
that  the  marshal  de  Thesse  arrived  there  on 
tiie  twenty-ninth  of  last  month,  and  that  the 
die valier  cle  Beuil  was  sent  thither  by  Don 


[No.  10. 

Pedro  Ronquillo,  with  advice,  that  the  confed- 
erate squadron  appeared  before  Alicant  on  the 
seventeenth;  and,  having  for  some  time  cannon- 
aded the  city,  endeavoured  to  land  some  troops 
for  the  relief  of  the  castle;  but  general  Stanhope, 
finding  the  passes  well  guarded,  and  the  enter- 
prise dangerous,  demanded  to  capitulate  for  the 
castle ; which  being  granted  him,  the  garrison, 
consisting  of  six  hundred  regular  troops,  march- 
ed out  with  their  arms  and  baggage  the  day 
following;  and  being  received  on  board,  they 
immediately  set  sail  for  Barcelona.  These  let- 
ters add,  that  the  march  of  the  French  and 
Swiss  regiments  is  further  deferred  for  a few 
days;  and  that  the  duke  of  Noailles  was  just 
ready  to  set  out  for  Roussillon  as  well  as  the 
count  de  Bezons  for  Catalonia. 

The  same  advices  say,  bread  was  sold  at  Paris 
for  sixpence  a pound  ; and  that  there  was  not 
half  enough,  even  at  that  rate,  to  supply  the 
necessities  of  the  people,  which  reduced  them 
to  the  utmost  despair  ; that  three  hundred  men 
had  taken  up  arms,  and  having  plundered  the 
market  of  the  suburb  of  St.  Germain,  pressed 
down  by  their  multitude  the  king’s  guards  who 
opposed  them.  Two  of  those  mutineers  w^ere 
afterwards  seized  and  condemned  to  death  ; but 
four  others  went  to  the  magistrate  who  pro- 
nounced that  sentence,  and  told  him,  he  must 
expect  to  answer  with  his  own  life  for  those  of 
their  comrades.  All  order  and  sense  of  govern- 
ment being  thus  lost  among  the  enraged  people, 
to  keep  up  a show  of  authority,  the  captain  of 
the  guards,  who  saw  all  their  insolence,  pre- 
tended, that  he  had  represented  to  the  king 
their  deplorable  condition,  and  had  obtained 
their  pardon.  It  is  further  reported,  tliat  the 
dauphin  and  dutchess  of  Burgundy,  as  they 
went  to  the  opera,  were  surrounded  by  crowds 
of  people,  who  upbraided  them  with  their  neglect 
of  the  general  calamity,  in  going  to  diversions, 
when  the  whole  people  were  ready  to  perish  for 
want  of  bread.  Edicts  are  daily  published  to 
suppress  these  riots : and  papers  with  menaces 
against  the  government,  as  publicly  thrown 
about.  Among  others,  these  words  were  drop- 
ped in  a court  of  Justice.  ‘ France  wants  a 
Ravilliac  or  Jesuit  to  deliver  her.’  Besides  this 
universal  distress,  there  is  a contagious  sickness, 
which,  it  is  feared,  will  end  in  a pestilence. 
Letters  from  Bourdeaux  bring  accounts  no  less 
lamentable  ; the  peasants  are  driven  by  hunger 
from  their  abodes  into  that  city,  and  make 
lamentations  in  the  streets  without  redress. 

We  are  advised  by  letters  from  the  Hague, 
dated  the  tenth  instant,  N.  S.  that  on  the  sixth 
the  marquis  de  Torcy  arrived  there  from  Paris ; 
but  the  passport,  by  which  he  came,  having  been 
sent  blank  by  monsieur  Rouille,  he  was  there 
two  days  before  his  quality  was  known.  That 
minister  offered  to  communicate  to  monsieur 
Heinsius  the  proposals  which  he  had  to  make ; 
but  the  pensionary  refused  to  see  them,  and 
said,  he  would  signify  it  to  the  states,  who  de- 
puted some  of  their  own  body  to  acquaint  him, 
that  they  would  enter  into  no  negotiation  until 
the  arrival  of  his  grace  the  duke  of  Marlbo- 
rough,  and  the  other  ministers  of  the  alliance. 
Prince  Eugene  was  expected  there  the  twelfth 
instant  from  Brussels.  It  is  said,  that  besides 


THE  TATLER. 


33 


No.  11.] 

monsieur  de  Torcy,  and  monsieur  Pajot,  direc- 
tor-general of  the  posts,  there  are  two  or  three 
persons  at  the  Hague  whose  names  are  not 
known ; but  it  is  supposed,  that  the  duke  d’Alba, 
ambassador  from  the  duke  of  Anjou,  was  one 
of  them.  The  states  have  sent  letters  to  all 
the  cities  of  the  provinces,  desiring  them  to  send 
their  deputies  to  receive  the  propositions  of 
peace  made  by  the  court  of  France. 

***  In  the  absence  of  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  Mrs. 
Distaff  has  received  Mr.  Nathaniel  Broomstick’s 
letter. 

N.  B.  Under  the  signature  of  Nath.  Broom- 
stick, the  subsequent  paper,  or  hints  for  it, 
might  have  been  communicated  to  Steele  by 
Swift,  by  Anthony  Henley,  esq.  or  by  Mr.  Jabez 
Hughes.  See  Tatler,  No.  11. 


No.  11.]  Thursday^  May  5,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

BY  ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF,  ESOUIRE. 

Will's  Coffee-house^  May  3. 

A KINSMAN  has  sent  me  a letter,  wherein  he 
informs  me,  he  had  lately  resolved  to  write  an 
heroic  poem,  but  by  business  has  been  inter- 
rupted, and  has  only  made  one  similitude,  which 
he  should  be  afftieted  to  have  wholly  lost ; and 
begs  of  me  to  apply  it  to  something,  being  very 
desirous  to  see  it  well  placed  in  the  world.  I 
am  so  willing  to  help  the  distressed,  that  I have 
taken  it  in ; but,  though  his  greater  genius 
might  very  well  distinguish  his  verses  from 
mine,  I have  marked  where  his  begin.  His 
lines  are  a description  of  the  sun  in  eclipse, 
which  I know  nothing  more  like  than  a brave 
man  in  sorrow,  who  bears  it  as  he  should,  with- 
out imploring  the  pity  of  his  friends,  or  being 
dejected  with  the  contempt  of  his  enemies  ; as 
in  the  case  of  Cato. 

When  all  the  globe  to  Capsar’s  fortune  bowed, 
Cato  alone  his  empire  disallowed  ; 

With  inborn  strength,  alone  opposed  mankind, 
With  heaven  in  view,  to  all  below  it  blind  : 
Regardless  of  his  friends’  applause,  or  moan, 

Alone  triumphant,  since  he  falls  alone. 

‘ Thus  when  the  Ruler  of  the  genial  day 
Behind  some  dark’ning  planet  forms  his  way, 
Desponding  mortals,  with  officious  care. 

The  concave  drum  and  magic  brass  prepare  ; 
Implore  him  to  sustain  the  important  fight. 

And  save  depending  worlds  from  endless  night : 
Fondly  they  hope  their  labour  may  avail 
To  ease  his  conflict,  and  assist  his  toil. 

Whilst  he,  in  beams  of  native  splendour  bright,  1 
(Though  dark  his  orb  appear  to  human  sight)  v 
Shines  to  the  gods  with  more  diffusive  light;  ) 

To  distant  stars  with  equal  glory  burns. 

Inflames  their  lamps,  and  feeds  their  golden  urns. 
Sure  to  retain  his  known  superior  tract. 

And  proves  the  more  illustrious  by  defect.’ 

This  is  a very  lively  image ; but  I must  take 
the  liberty  to  say,  my  kinsmam  drives  the  sun 
a little  like  Phaeton  he  has  all  the  warmth 


* Ovid,  Metam.  ii.  1.- 

E 


of  Phoebus,  but  will  not  stay  for  his  direction 
of  it.  Avail  and  toil^  defect  and  tract,  will 
never  do  for  rhymes.  But,  however,  he  has  the 
true  spirit  in  him;  for  which  reason  I was 
willing  to  entertain  any  thing  he  pleased  to  send 
me.  The  subject  which  he  writes  upon,  natu- 
rally raises  great  reflections  in  the  soul,  and 
puts  us  in  mind  of  the  mixed  condition  which 
we  mortals  are  to  support ; which,  as  it  varies 
to  good  or  bad,  adorns  or  defaces  our  actions 
to  the  beholders  ; all  which  glory  and  shame 
must  end  in,  what  we  so  much  repine  at,  death. 
But  doctrines  on  this  occasion,  any  other  than 
that  of  living  well,  are  the  most  insignificant 
and  most  empty  of  all  the  labours  of  men. 
None  but  a tragedian  can  die  by  rule,  and  wait 
till  he  discovers  a plot,  or  says  a fine  thing  upon 
his  exit.  In  real  life,  this  is  a chimera ; and  by 
noble  spirits  it  will  be  done  decently,  without 
the  ostentation  of  it.  We  see  men  of  all  con- 
ditions and  characters  go  through  it  with  equal 
resolution ; and  if  we  consider  the  speeches  of 
the  mighty  philosophers,  heroes,  lawgivers,  and 
great  captains,  they  can  produce  no  more  in  a 
discerning  spirit,  than  rules  to  make  a man  a 
fop  on  his  death-bed.  Commend  me  to  that 
natural  greatness  of  soul,  expressed  by  an  inno- 
cent, and  consequently  resolute  country-fellow, 
who  said,  in  the  pains  of  the  colic,  ‘ If  I once 
get  this  breath  out  of  my  body,  you  shall  hang 
me  before  you  put  it  in  again.’  Honest  Ned  I 
and  so  he  died.f 

But  it  is  to  be  supposed,  that  from  this  place 
you  may  expect  an  account  of  such  a thing  as 
a new  play  is  not  to  be  omitted.  That  acted 
this  night  is  the  newest  that  ever  was  writ. 
The  author  is  my  ingenious  friend  Mr.  Thomas 
Durfey.  This  drama  is  called,  ‘The  Modern 
Prophets,’  and  is  a most  unanswerable  satire 
against  the  late  spirit  of  enthusiasm.  The 
writer  had  by  long  experience  observed  that, 
in  company,  very  grave  discourses  had  been 
followed  by  bawdry  ; and  therefore  has  turned 
the  humour  that  way  with  great  success,  and 
taken  from  his  audience  all  manner  of  super- 
stition,  by  the  agitations  of  pretty  Mrs.  Bignell, 
whom  he  has,  with  great  subtilty,  made  a lay- 
sister,  as  well  as  a prophetess  ; by  which  means 
she  carries  on  the  affairs  of  both  worlds  with 
great  success.  My  friend  designs  to  go  on 
with  another  work  against  winter,  which  he 
intends  to  call,  ‘ The  Modern  poets,’  a people 
no  less  mistaken  in  their  opinions  of  being  in- 
spired, than  the  other.  In  order  to  this,  he 
has  by  him  seven  songs,  besides  many  ambi- 
guities, which  cannot  be  mistaken  for  any 
thing  but  what  he  means  them.  Mr.  Durfey 
generally  writes  state-plays,  and  is  wonderfully 
useful  to  the  world  in  such  representations. 
This  method  is  the  same  that  was  used  by  the 
old  Athenians,  to  laugh  out  of  countenance,  or 
promote,  opinions  among  the  people.  My  friend 
has  therefore,  against  this  play  is  acted  for  his 
own  benefit,  made  two  dances,  which  may  be 
also  of  an  universal  benefit.  In  the  first,  ho 
has  represented  absolute  power  in  the  person 


t This  J^ed  was  a farmer  of  Anthony  Henley,  Esq. 
who  mentions  this  saying  of  his  in  a letter  to  Swift. — 
Stcift's  Works,  vol.  xviii.  p.  15. 


34 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  11. 


of  a tall  man  with  a hat  and  feather,  who  gives 
his  first  minister,  that  stands  just  before  him, 
a huge  kick  ; the  minister  gives  the  kick  to 
the  next  before  ; and  so  to  the  end  of  the  stage. 
In  this  moral  and  practical  jest,  you  are  made 
to  understand,  that  there  is,  in  an  absolute 
government,  no  gratification  but  giving  the 
kick  you  receive  from  one  above  you  to  one 
below  you.  This  is  performed  to  a grave  and 
melancholy  air  ; but  on  a sudden  tlie  tune  moves 
quicker,  and  the  whole  company  fall  into  a 
circle,  and  take  hands ; and  then,  at  a certain 
sharp  note,  they  move  round,  and  kick  as  kick 
can.  This  latter  performance  he  makes  to  be  the 
representation  of  a free  state  ; where,  if  you  all 
mind  your  steps,  you  may  go  round  and  round 
very  jollily,  with  a motion  pleasant  to  your- 
selves and  those  you  dance  with ; nay,  if  you 
put  yourselves  out,  at  the  worst,  you  only  kick 
and  are  kicked,  like  friends  and  equals. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  4. 

Of  all  the  vanities  under  the  sun,  I confess 
that  of  being  proud  of  one’s  birth  is  the  great- 
est. At  the  same  time,  since  in  this  unreason- 
able age,  by  the  force  of  prevailing  custom, 
things  in  which  men  have  no  hand  are  imputed 
to  them  ; and  that  I am  used  by  some  people, 
as  if  Isaac  BickerstalF,  though  I write  myself 
Esquire,  was  nobody  ; to  set  the  world  right 
in  that  particular,  I shall  give  you  my  genea- 
logy,  as  a kinsman  of  ours  has  sent  it  me  from 
the  herald’s  ofiice.  It  is  certain,  and  observed 
by  the  wisest  writers,  that  there  are  women 
who  arc  not  nicely  chaste,  and  men  not  severely 
honest,  in  all  families ; therefore  let  those  who 
may  be  apt  to  raise  aspersions  upon  ours,  please 
to  give  us  as  impartial  an  account  of  their  own, 
and  we  shall  be  satisfied.  The  business  of 
heralds  is  a matter  of  so 'great  nicety,  that,  to 
avoid  mistakes,  I shall  give  you  my  cousin’s 
letter  verbatim,  without  altering  a syllable. 

Dear  Cousin, — “ Since  you  have  been  pleased 
to  make  yourself  so  famous  of  late,  by  your  in- 
genious writings,  and  some  time  ago  by  your 
learned  predictions;  since  Partridge,  of  immortal 
memory,  is  dead  and  gone,  who,  poetical  as  he 
was,  could  not  understand  his  own  poetry ; and 
philomatical  as  he  was,  could  not  read  his  own 
destiny  ; since  the  pope,  the  king  of  France,  and 
great  part  of  his  court,  are  either  literally  or 
metaphorically  defunct;  since,  I say,  these  things 
(not  foretold  by  any  one  but  yourself)  have  come 
to  pass  after  so  surprising  a manner ; it  is  with 
no  small  concern  I see  tlie  original  of  the  Staf- 
fian  race  so  little  known  in  the  world  as  it  is  at 
this  time  ; for  which  reason,  as  you  have  em- 
ployed your  studies  in  astronomy,  and  the  occult 
sciences,  so  I,  my  mother  being  a Welch  woman, 
dedicated  mine  to  genealogy,  particularly  that 
of  our  own  family,  which,  for  its  antiquity  and 
number,  may  challenge  any  in  Great  Britain. 
The  Staffs  are  originally  of  Staffordshire,  which 
took  its  name  from  them : the  first  that  I find 
of  the  Staffs  was  one  Jacobstaff,  a famous  and 
renowned  astronomer,  who,  by  Dorothy  his  wife 
had  issue  seven  sons  : viz.  Bickerstaff,  Long- 
staff,  Wagstaff,  Quarterstaff,  Whitestaff,  Fal- 
staff,  and  Tipstaff.  He  also  had  a younger 


brother,  who  was  twice  married,  and  had  five 
sons  : viz.  Distaff,  Pikestaff,  Mopstaff,  Broom- 
staff,  and  Raggedstaff.  As  for  the  branch  from 
whence  you  spring,  I shall  say  very  little  of  it, 
only  that  it  is  the  chief  of  the  Staffs,  and  called 
Bickerstaff,  quasi  Biggerstaff ; as  much  as  to 
say,  the  Great  Staff,  or  Staff  of  Staffs ; and  that 
it  has  applied  itself  to  astronomy  with  great  suc- 
cess, after  the  example  of  our  aforesaid  fore- 
father. The  descendants  from  Longstaff,  the 
second  son,  were  a rakish  disorderly  sort  of 
people,  and  rambled  from  one  place  to  another, 
until,  in  the  time  of  Harry  the  Second,  they 
settled  in  Kent,  and  were  called  Long-tails, 
from  the  long  tails  which  were  sent  them  as  a 
punishment  for  the  murder  of  Thomas-a-Becket, 
as  the  legends  say.  They  have  always  been 
sought  after  by  the  ladies  ; but  whether  it  be  to 
show  their  aversion  to  popery,  or  their  love  to 
miracles,  I cannot  say.  The  Wagstaffs  are  a 
merry,  thoughtless  sort  of  people,  who  have  al- 
ways been  opinionated  of  their  own  wit ; they 
have  turned  themselves  mostly  to  poetry.  This 
is  the  most  numerous  brancli  of  our  family,  and 
the  poorest.  The  Quarterstafts  are  most  of  them 
prize-fighters  or  deer-stealers ; there  have  been 
so  many  of  them  hanged  lately,  that  there  are 
very  few  of  that  branch  of  our  family  left.  The 
Whitestaffs*  are  all  courtiers,  and  have  had 
very  considerable  places.  There  have  been  some 
of  them  of  that  strength  and  dexterity,  that  five 
hundredt  of  the  ablest  men  in  the  kingdom  have 
often  tugged  in  vain  to  pull  a staff  out  of  their 
hands.  The  Falstaffs  are  strangely  given  to 
whoring  and  drinking  ; there  are  abundance  of 
them  in  and  about  London.  One  thing  is  very 
remarkable  of  this  branch,  and  that  is,  there  are 
just  as  many  women  as  men  in  it.  There  was  a 
wicked  stick  of  wood  of  this  name  in  Harry  the 
Fourth’s  time,  one  sir  Jolm  Falstaff.  As  for 
Tipstaff,  the  youngest  son,  he  was  an  honest 
fellow  ; but  his  sons,  and  his  sons’  sons,  have  all 
of  them  been  the  veriest  rogues  living  ; it  is 
this  unlucky  branch  that  has  stocked  the  nation 
with  that  swarm  of  lawyers,  attorneys,  serjeants, 
and  bailiffs,  with  which  the  nation  is  over-run. 
Tipstaff,  being  a seventh  son,  used  to  cure  the 
king’s-evil ; but  his  rascally  descendants  are  so 
Far  from  having  that  healing  quality,  that,  by  a 
touch  upon  the  shoulder,  they  give  a man  such 
an  ill  habit  of  body,  that  he  can  never  come 
abroad  afterwards.  This  is  all  I know  of  the 
line  of  .Jacobstaff ; liis  younger  brother  Isaac- 
staff,  as  I told  you  before,  had  five  sons,  and  was 
married  twice  : his  first  wife  was  a Staff  (for 
they  did  not  stand  upon  false  heraldry  in  those 
days)  by  whom  he  had  one  son,  who,  in  process 
of  time,  being  a schoolmaster  and  well  read  in 
the  Greek,  called  himself  Distaff,  or  Twicestaff. 
He  was  not  very  rich,  so  he  put  his  children 
out  to  trades ; and  the  Distaffs  have  ever  since 
j been  employed  in  the  woollen  and  linen  manu- 
j factures,  except  myself,  who  am  a genealogist, 
j Pikestaff,  the  eldest  son  by  the  second  venter, 
I was  a man  of  business,  a downright  plodding 

*An  allusion  to  the  staff  carried  by  the  first  lord 
of  the  treasury,  afterwards  humourously  compared  by 
Steele  to  “ an  emmet  distinguished  from  his  fellows  by 
a white  straw.” 

t The  House  of  Commons. 


No.  12.] 


THE  TATLER. 


35 


fellow,  and  withal  so  plain,  that  he  became  a 
proverb.  Most  of  this  family  are  at  present  in 
tlie  army.  Ragg-edstaff  was  an  unlucky  boy,  and 
used  to  tear  his  cloathes  in  getting  birds’  nests,  and 
was  always  playing  with  a tame  bear  his  fatlier 
kept.  Mopstaff  fell  in  love  with  one  of  his 
father’s  maids,  and  used  to  help  her  to  clean  the 
' house.  Broomstaff  was  a chimney-sweeper.  The 
Mopstaffs  and  Broomstaffs  are  naturally  as  civil 
people  as  ever  went  out  of  doors  ; but  alas  ! if 
they  once  get  into  ill  hands,  they  knock  down 
all  before  them.  Pilgramstaff  ran  away  from 
his  friends,  and  went  strolling  about  the  coun- 
try ; and  Pipcstaff  was  a wine-cooper.  These 
two  were  the  unlawful  issue  of  Longstaff. 

N.  B.  The  Canes,  the  Clubs,  the  Cudgels,  the 
Wands,  the  Devil  upon  two  Sticks,  and  one 
Bread,  that  goes  by  the  name  of  Staff  of  Life, 
are  none  of  our  relations.  I am,  dear  cousin, 
your  humble  servant, 

‘ D.  DISTAFF.’ 

From  the  Herald’s  Office,  May  1, 1709. 

St.  James’s  Coffee-house^  May  4. 

As  political  news  is  not  the  principal  subject 
on  which  we  treat,  we  are  so  happy  as  to  have 
no  occasion  for  that  art  of  cookery  which  our 
brother  newsmongers  so  much  excel  in ; as  ap- 
pears by  their  excellent  and  inimitable  manner 
of  dressing  up  a second  time  for  your  taste  the 
same  dish  which  they  gave  you  the  day  before, 
in  case  there  come  over  no  new  pickles  from 
Holland.  Therefore,  when  we  have  nothing  to 
say  to  you  from  courts  and  camps,  we  hope  still 
to  give  you  somewhat  new  and  curious  from 
ourselves  ; the  women  of  our  house,  upon  occa- 
sion, being  capable  of  carrying  on  the  business, 
according  to  the  laudable  custom  of  the  v.'ives 
in  Holland  ; but,  withaat  farther  preface,  take 
what  we  have  not  mentioned  in  our  former  re- 
lations. 

Letters  from  Hanover  of  the  thirtieth  of  the 
last  month  say,  that  the  prince  royal  of  Prussia 
arrived  there  on  the  fifteenth,  and  left  that 
court  on  the  second  of  this  month,  in  pursuit  of 
his  journey  to  Flanders,  where  he  makes  the 
ensuing  campaign.  Those  advices  add,  that 
the  young  prince  Nassau,  hereditary  governor 
of  Friesland,  celebrated,  on  the  twenty-sixth  of 
the  last  month,  his  marriage  with  the  beauteous 
princess  of  Hesse-Cassel,  with  a pomp  and  mag- 
nificence suitable  to  their  age  and  quality. 

Letters  from  Paris  say,  his  most  Christian 
majesty  retired  to  Marley  on  the  first  instant, 
N.  S.  and  our  last  advices  from  Spain  inform 
us,  that  the  prince  of  x\sturias  had  made  his 
public  entry  into  Madrid  in  great  splendour. 
The  duke  of  Anjou  has  given  Don  Joseph  Har- 
tado  de  Amaraga  the  government  of  Terra 
firma  de  Veragua,  and  the  presidency  of  Pa- 
nama in  America.  They  add,  that  the  forces 
commanded  by  the  marquis  de  Bay  have  been 
reinforced  by  six  battalions  of  Spanish  Walloon 
guards.  Letters  from  Lisbon  advise,  that  the 
army  of  the  king  of  Portugal  was  at  Elvas  on 
the  twenty-second  of  the  last  month,  and  would 
decamp  on  the  twenty-fourth,  in  order  to  march 
upon  the  enemy  who  lay  at  Badajos. 

Yesterday,  at  four  in  the  morning,  his  grace 


the  duke  of  Marlborough  set  out  for  Margate, 
and  embarked  for  Holland  at  eight  this  morning. 

Yesterday  also  sir  George  Thorold  was  de- 
clared alderman  of  Cordwainers’  Ward,  in  the 
room  of  his  brother  sir  Charles  Thorold,  de- 
ceased. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Any  ladies  who  have  any  particular  stories 
of  their  acquaintance,  which  they  are  willing, 
privately,  to  make  public,  may  send  them  by 
the  penny-post  to  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esq.  in- 
closed to  Mr.  John  Morphew,  near  Stationers’ 
Hall. 


No.  12.]  Saturday,  May  7,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Blay  5. 

When  a man  has  engaged  to  keep  a stage 
coach,  he  is  obliged,  whether  he  has  passengers 
or  not,  to  set  out ; thus  it  fares  with  us  weekly 
historians  ; but  indeed,  for  my  particular,  I liope, 
I shall  soon  have  little  more  to  do  in  this  work, 
than  to  publish  what  is  sent  me  from  such  as 
have  leisure  and  capacity  for  giving  delight,  and 
being  pleased  in  an  elegant  manner.  The  pre- 
sent grandeur  of  the  British  nation  might  make 
us  expect,  that  we  should  rise  in  our  public  di- 
versions, and  manner  of  enjoying  life,  in  pro- 
portion to  our  advancement  in  glory  and  power. 
Instead  of  that,  survey  this  town,  and  you  will 
find  rakes  and  debauchees  are  your  men  of  plea- 
sure : thoughtless  atheists  ahd  illiterate  drunk- 
ards call  themselves  free-thinkers ; and  game- 
sters, banterers,  biters,  swearers,  and  twenty 
new-born  insects  more,  are,  in  tlieir  several 
species,  the  modern  men  of  vrit.  Hence  it  is, 
that  a man,  who  has  been  out  of  town  but  one 
half  year,  has  lost  the  language,  and  must  have 
some  friend  to  stand  by  him,  and  keep  him  in 
countenance  for  talking  common  sense.  To-day 
I saw  a short  interlude  at  Wliite’s  of  this  na- 
ture, which  I took  notes  of,  and  put  together  as 
well  as  I could  in  a public  place.  The  persons 
of  the  drama  are  Pip,  the  last  gentleman  that 
has  been  made  so  at  cards ; Trimmer,  a person 
half  undone  at  them,  and  who  is  now  between  a 
cheat  and  a gentleman  ; Acorn,  an  honest  En- 
glishman of  good  plain  sense  and  meaning  ; and 
Mr.  Friendly,  a reasonable  man  of  the  town. 

White’s  Chocolate-house,  May  5. 

Enter  Pip,  Trimmer,  and  Acorn. 

Ac.  What  is  the  matter,  gentlemen?  what! 
take  no  notice  of  an  old  friend  ? 

Pip.  Pox  on  it ! do  not  talk  to  me,  I am 
voweled  by  the  count  and  cursedly  out  of 
humour. 

Ac.  Voweled  I pry’thee.  Trimmer,  what  does 
he  mean  by  that  ? 

Trim.  Have  a care,  Hairy,  speak  softly ; do 


3G 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  12. 


not  show  your  ignorance : — if  you  do,  they 
will  bite  you  wherever  they  meet  you,  they  are 
such  cursed  curs — the  present  wits. 

Ac.  Bite  me  ! what  do  you  mean  ? 

Pip.  Why  ! do  not  you  know  what  biting  is  ? 
nay,  you  are  in  the  right  on  it.  However,  one 
would  learn  it  only  to  defend  one’s  self  against 
men  of  wit,  as  one  would  know  the  tricks  of 
play,  to  be  secure  against  the  cheats.  But  do 
not  you  hear.  Acorn,  that  report,  that  some  poten- 
tates of  the  alliance  have  taken  care  of  them- 
selves exclusively  of  us  ? 

Ac.  How  ! heaven  forbid  ! after  all  our  glori- 
ous victories  ; all  the  expense  of  blood  and  trea- 
sure ! 

Pip.  Bite. 

Ac.  Bite  I how  ? 

Trun.  Nay,  he  has  bit  you  fairly  enough ; 
that  is  certain. 

Ac.  Pox  ! I do  not  feel  it — How  ? where  ? 

[Exeunt  Pip  and  Trimmer  laughing. 

Ac.  Ho ! Mr.  Friendly,  your  most  humble 
servant ; you  heard  what  passed  between  those 
fine  gentlemen  and  me.  Pip  complained  to  me, 
that  he  had  been  voweled ; and  they  tell  me  I 
am  bit. 

Friend.  You  are  to  understand,  sir,  that  sim- 
plicity of  behaviour,  which  is  the  perfection  of 
good  breeding  and  good  sense,  is  utterly  lost 
in  the  world  ; and  in  the  room  of  it  there  are 
started  a thousand  little  inventions,  which  men, 
barren  of  better  things,  take  up  in  the  place  of 
it.  Thus,  for  every  character  in  conversation 
that  used  to  please,  there  is  an  impostor  put 
upon  you.  Him  whom  we  allowed,  formerly, 
for  a certain  pleasant  subtilty,  and  natural  way 
of  giving  you  an  unexpected  hit,  called  a 
droll.,  is  now  mimicked  by  a biter,  who  is  a dull 
fellow,  that  tells  you  a lie  with  a grave  face,  and 
laughs  at  you  for  knowing  him  no  better  than 
to  believe  him.  Instead  of  that  sort  of  compan- 
ion who  could  rally  you,  and  keep  his  counte- 
nance, until  he  made  you  fall  into  some  little 
inconsistency  of  behaviour,  at  which  you  your- 
self could  laugh  with  him,  you  have  the  sneerer, 
who  will  keep  you  company  from  morning  to 
night,  to  gather  your  follies  of  the  day  (which 
perhaps  you  commit  out  of  confidence  in  him) 
and  expose  you  in  the  evening  to  all  the  scorn- 
ers  in  towm.  For  your  man  of  sense  and  free 
spirit,  whose  set  of  thoughts  were  built  upon 
learning,  reason,  and  experience,  you  have  now 
an  impudent  creature  made  up  of  vice  only, 
who  supports  his  ignorance  by  his  courage,  and 
want  of  learning  by  contempt  of  it. 

Ac.  Dear  sir,  hold  : what  you  have  told  me 
already  of  this  change  in  conversation  is  too 
miserable  to  be  heard  with  any  delight ; but, 
methinks,  as  these  ne\i^  creatures  appear  in  the 
world,  it  might  give  an  excellent  field  to 
writers  for  the  stage,  to  divert  us  with  the  repre- 
sentation of  them  there. 

Friend.  No,  no ; as  you  say,  there  might  be 
some  hopes  of  redress  of  these  grievances,  if 
there  were  proper  care  taken  of  the  theatre  ; 
but  the  history  of  that  is  yet  more  lamentable 
than  that  of  the  decay  of  conversation  I gave  you. 

Ac.  Pray,  sir,  a little:  I have  not  been  in 
town  these  six  years,  until  within  this  fort- 
night. 


Friend.  It  is  now  some  time  since  several 
revolutions  in  the  gay  world  had  made  the  em- 
pire  of  the  stage  subject  to  very  fatal  convul- 
sions, which  were  too  dangerous  to  be  cured  by 
the  skill  of  little  king  Oberon,* * * §who  then  sat  in 
the  throne  of  it.  The  laziness  of  this  prince 
threw  him  upon  the  choice  of  a person  who  was 
fit  to  spend  his  life  in  contentions,  an  able  and 
profound  attorney,  to  whom  he  mortgaged  his 
whole  empire.  This  Divitot  is  the  most  skilful 
of  all  politicians;  he  has  a perfect  art  in  being 
unintelligible  in  discourse,  and  uncomeatable 
in  business.  But  he,  having  no  understanding 
in  this  polite  way,  brought  in  upon  us,  to  get  in 
his  mone}',  ladder  dancers,  jugglers,  and  moun- 
tebanks, to  strut  in  the  place  of  Shakspeare’s 
heroes,  and  Jonson’s  humorists.  When  the 
seat  of  wit  was  thus  mortgaged  without  equity 
of  redemption,  an  architect!  arose,  who  has 
built  the  muse  a new  palace,  but  secured  her 
no  retinue ; so  that,  instead  of  action  there,  we 
have  been  put  off  by  song  and  dance.  This 
latter  help  of  sound  has  also  begun  to  fail  for 
want  of  voices ; therefore  the  palace  has  since 
been  put  into  the  hands  of  a surgeon,  who  cuts 
any  foreign  fellow  into  a eunuch,§  and  passes 
him  upon  us  for  a singer  of  Italy. 

Ac.  I will  go  out  of  town  to-morrow. 

Friend.  Things  are  come  to  this  pass  ; and 
yet  the  world  will  not  understand,  that  the 
theatre  has  much  the  same  effect  on  the  man- 
ners of  the  age,  as  the  bank  on  the  credit  of 
the  nation.  VVit  and  spirit,  humour  and  good 
sense,  can  never  be  revived,  but  under  the  go- 
vernment of  those  who  are  judges  of  such 
talents ; who  know,  that  whatever  is  put  up  in 
their  stead,  is  but  a short  and  trifling  expedient, 
to  support  the  appearance  of  them  for  a season. 
It  is  possible,  a peace  will  give  leisure  to  put 
these  matters  under  new  regulations,  but,  at 
present,  all  the  assistance  we  can  see  towards 
our  recovery  is  as  far  from  giving  us  help,  as  a 
poultice  is  from  performing  what  can  be  done 
only  by  the  grand  elixir. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  May  6. 

According  to  our  late  design  in  the  applauded 
verses  on  the  morning,|l  which  you  lately  had 
from  hence,  we  proceed  to  improve  that  just 
intention,  and  present  you  with  other  labours, 
made  proper  to  the  place  in  which  they  were 
written.  The  following  poem  comes  from  Co- 
penhagen, and  is  as  fine  a winter -piece  as  we 
have  ever  had  from  any  of  the  schools  of  the 
most  learned  painters.  Such  images  as  these 
give  us  a new  pleasure  in  our  sight,  and  fix 


* ‘ Mr.  Owen,  or  Mac  Owen  Swiney,  was  born  in  Ire- 
land, and  formerly  a manager  of  Drury-lane  theatre, 
and  afterwards  of  the  Queens's  theatre  in  the  Haymarket. 
After  leaving  that  office,  he  resided  in  Italy  several 
years,  and  at  his  return,  procured  a place  in  the  custom- 
house, and  was  keeper  of  the  king's  mews.  He  died 
Oct.  2,  1754,  and  left  his  fortune  to  Mrs.  Woffington. 
He  was  the  author  of  several  dramatic  pieces.’ 

t Christopher  Rich, 

i Sir  John  Vanbrugh. 

§ John  James  Hegdegger,  esq.  styled  here  a surgeon, 
in  allusion  to  the  employment  assigned  to  him  : he  had 
at  that  time  the  direction  of  the  operas,  as  he  had  after- 
wards of  the  masquerades. 
l(B  y Swift. 


JNo.  13.] 


THE  TATLER. 


37 


upon  our  minds  traces  of  reflection,  which  ac- 
company  us  whenever  the  like  objects  occur. 
In  short,  excellent  poetry  and  description  dwell 
upon  us  so  agreeably,  that  all  the  readers  of 
them  are  made  to  think,  if  not  write,  like  men 
of  wit.  But  it  would  be  injury  to  detain  you 
longer  from  this  excellent  performance,  wliich 
is  addressed  to  the  earl  of  Dorset  by  Mr.  Philips, 
the  author  of  several  choice  poems  in  Mr.  Ton- 
son’s  new  Miscellany. 

Copenhagen,  March  9,  1709. 

From  frozen  climes,  and  endless  tracts  of  snow, 

From  streams  that  northern  winds  forbid  to  flow, 

What  present  shall  the  muse  to  Dorset  bring. 

Or  how,  so  near  the  pole,  attempt  to  sing? 

The  hoary  winter  here  conceals  from  sight 
All  pleasing  objects  that  to  verse  invite. 

The  hills  and  dales,  and  the  delightful  woods. 

The  flowery  plains,  and  silver-streaming  floods. 

By  snow  disguised,  in  bright  confusion  lie. 

And  with  one  dazzling  waste  fatigue  the  eye. 

No  gentle-breathing  breeze  prepares  the  spring, 

No  birds  within  the  desert  region  sing: 

The  ships  unmoved  the  boisterous  winds  defy, 

While  rattling  chariots  o’er  the  ocean  fly. 

The  vast  leviathan  wants  room  to  play. 

And  spout  his  waters  in  the  face  of  day. 

The  starving  wolves  along  the  main  sea  prowl, 

And  to  the  tnoon  in  icy  valleys  howl. 

For  many  a shining  league  the  level  main 
Here  spreads  itself  into  a glassy  plain  : 

There  solid  billows  of  enormous  size,  . 

Alps  of  green  ice,  in  wild  disorder  rise. 

And  yet  but  lately  have  I seen,  e’en  here. 

The  winter  in  a lovely  dress  appear. 

Ere  yet  the  clouds  let  fall  the  treasured  snow. 

Or  winds  began  through  hazy  skies  to  blow. 

At  evening  a keen  eastern  breeze  arose; 

And  the  descending  rain  unsullied  froze. 

Soon  as  the  silent  shades  of  night  withdrew. 

The  ruddy  morn  disclosed  at  once  to  view 
The  face  of  nature  in  a rich  disguise, 

And  brightened  every  object  to  my  eyes  : 

For  every  shrub,  and  every  blade  of  grass. 

And  every  pointed  thorn,  seemed  wrought  in  glass; 

In  pearls  and  rubies  rich  the  hawthorn’s  show. 

While  through  the  ice  the  crimson  berries  glow. 

The  thick-sprung  reeds  the  watery  marshes  yield 
Seem  polished  lances  in  a hostile  held. 

The  stag,  in  limpid  currents,  with  surprise. 

Sees  crystal  branches  on  his  forehead  rise. 

The  spreading  oak,  the  beech,  and  towering  pine. 
Glazed  over,  in  the  freezing  aether  shine. 

The  frighted  birds  the  rattling  branches  shun. 

That  wave  and  glitter  in  the  distant  sun. 

When,  if  a sudden  gust  of  wind  arise. 

The  brittle  forest  into  atoms  flies ; 

The  crackling  wood  beneath  the  tempest  bends, 

And  in  a spangled  shower  the  prospect  ends ; 

Or,  if  a southern  gale  the  region  warm. 

And  by  degrees  unbind  the  wintery  charm. 

The  traveller  a miry  country  sees. 

And  journeys  sad  beneath  the  drooping  trees. 

Like  some  deluded  peasant  Merlin  leads 
Through  fragrant  bowers,  and  through  delicious  meads ; 
While  here  enchanted  gardens  to  him  rise. 

And  airy  fabrics  there  attract  his  eyes. 

His  wandering  feet  the  magic  paths  pursue; 

And  while  he  thinks  the  fair  illusion  true. 

The  trackless  scenes  disperse  in  fluid  air. 

And  woods,  and  wilds,  and  thorny  ways  appear  : 

A tedious  road  the  weary  wretch  returns. 

And  as  he  goes,  the  transient  vision  mourns. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  6. 

There  has  a mail  this  day  arrived  from  Hol- 
land ; but  the  matter  of  the  advices  importing 
rather  what  gives  us  great  expectations,  than 
any  positive  assurances,  I shall,  for  this  time 


decline  giving  you  what  I know;  and  apply 
the  following  verses  of  Mr.  Dryden,  in  the 
second  part  of  ‘Almanzor,’  to  the  present  cir- 
cumstances of  things,  without  discovering  what 
my  knowledge  in  astronomy  suggests  to  me  : — 

Wlien  empire  in  its  childhood  first  appears, 

A watchful  fate  o’ersees  its  tender  years: 

Till  grown  more  strong  it  thrusts  and  stretches  out. 
And  elbows  all  the  kingdoms  round  about. 

The  place  thus  made  for  its  first  breathing  free. 

It  moves  again  for  ease  and  luxury  : 

Till,  swelling  by  degrees,  it  has  possest 

The  greater  space,  and  now  crowds  up  the  rest. 

When  from  behind  there  starts  some  petty  state, 

And  pushes  on  its  now  un wieldly  fate  : 

Then  down  the  precipice  of  time  it  goes, 

And  sinks  in  minutes,  which  in  ages  rose. 


No.  13.]  Tuesday  May  10,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’ermen  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  8. 

Much  hurry  and  business  has  to-day  per- 
plexed me  into  a mood  too  thoughtful  for  going 
into  company  ; for  which  reason,  instead  of  the 
tavern,  I went  to  Lincoln’s  Inn  walks  ; and, 
having  taken  a round  or  two,  I sat  down,  ac- 
cording to  the  allowed  familiarity  of  these 
places,  on  a bench ; at  the  other  end  of  which 
sat  a venerable  gentleman,  who,  speaking  with 
a very  afl'able  air, — ‘ Mr.  Bickerstatf,’  said  he, 
‘ I take  it  for  a very  great  piece  of  good  fortune 
that  you  have  found  me  out.’  ‘ Sir,’  said  I,  ‘ I 
had  never,  that  I know  of,  the  honour  of  seeing 
you  before.’  ‘ That,’  replied  he,  ‘ is  what  I 
have  often  lamented  ; but,  I assure  you,  I have 
for  many  years  done  you  good  offices,  without 
being  observed  by  you ; or  else,  when  you  had 
any  little  glimpse  of  my  being  concerned  in  an 
affair,  you  have  ffed  from  me,  and  shunned  me 
like  an  enemy ; but,  however,  the  part  I am  to 
act  in  the  world  is  such,  that  I am  to  go  on  in 
doing  good,  though  I meet  with  never  so  many 
repulses,  even  from  those  I oblige.’  This, 
thought  I,  shows  a great  good-nature,  but  little 
judgment  in  the  person  upon  whom  he  confers 
his  favours.  He  immediately  took  notice  to 
me,  that  he  observed  by  my  countenance  I 
thought  him  indiscreet  in  his  beneficence,  and 
proceeded  to  tell  me  his  quality  in  the  following 
manner  : ‘ I know  thee,  Isaac,  to  be  so  well 
versed  in  the  occult  sciences,  that  I need  not 
much  preface,  or  make  long  preparations  to  gain 
your  faith  that  there  are  airy  beings  who  are 
employed  in  the  care  and  attendance  of  men, 
as  nurses  are  to  infants,  until  they  come  to  an 
age  in  which  they  can  act  of  themselves.  These 
beings  are  usually  called  amongst  men,  guar- 
dian-angels ; and,  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  I am  to  ac- 
quaint you,  that  I am  to  be  yours  for  some  time 
to  come  ; it  being  our  orders  to  vary  our  sta- 
tions, and  sometimes  to  have  one  patient  under 
our  protection,  and  sometimes  another,  with  a 
power  of  assuming  what  shape  we  please,  to 
ensnare  our  wards  into  their  own  good.  I 
have  of  late  been  upon  such  hard  duty,  and 


38 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  13. 


know  you  have  so  much  work  for  me,  that  I 
think  fit  to  appear  to  you  face  to  face,  to  desire 
you  will  give  me  as  little  occasion  for  vigilance 
as  you  can.’  ‘ Sir,’  said  I,  ‘ it  will  be  a great 
instruction  to  me  in  my  behaviour,  if  you  please 
to  give  me  some  account  of  your  late  employ, 
ments,  and  what  hardships  or  satisfactions  you 
have  had  in  them,  that  I may  govern  myself 
accordingly.’  He  answered,  ‘ To  give  you  an 
example  of  the  drudgery  we  go  through,  I will 
entertain  you  only  with  my  three  last  stations  ; I 
was  on  the  first  of  April  last  put  to  mortify  a 
great  beauty,  with  whom  I was  a week  ; from 
her  I went  to  a common  swearer,  and  have  been 
last  with  a gamester.  When  I first  came  to  my 
lady,  I found  my  great  work  was  to  guard  well 
her  eyes  and  ears ; but  her  flatterers  were  so 
numerous,  and  the  house,  after  the  modern  way, 
so  full  of  looking-glasses,  that  I seldom  had  her 
safe  but  in  her  sleep.  Whenever  we  went 
abroad,  we  were  surrounded  by  an  army  of 
enemies  : when  a well-made  man  appeared,  he 
was  sure  to  have  a side  glance  of  observation  ; 
if  a disagreeable  fellow,  he  had  a full  face,  out 
of  mere  inclination  to  conquests.  But  at  the 
close  of  the  evening,  on  the  sixth  of  the  last 
month,  my  ward  was  sitting  on  a couch,  read- 
ing Ovid’s  Epistles  ; and  as  she  came  to  this 
line  of  Helen  to  Paris, 

‘ She  half  consents  who  silently  denies 

entered  Philander,t  who  is  the  most  skilful  of 
all  men  in  an  address  to  women.  He  is  arrived 
at  the  perfection  of  that  art  which  gains  them, 
which  is,  ‘to' talk  like  a very  miserable  man, 
but  look  like  a happy  one.’  I saw  Dictinna 
blush  at  his  entrance,  which  gave  me  the  alarm; 
but  he  immediately  said  something  so  agreea- 
bly on  her  being  at  study,  and  the  novelty  of 
finding  a lady  employed  in  so  grave  a manner, 
that  he  on  a sudden  became  very  familiarly  a 
man  of  no  consequence  ; and  in  an  instant  laid 
all  her  suspicions  of  his  skill  asleep,  as  he  had 
almost  done  mine,  until  I observed  him  very 
dangerously  turn  his  discourse  upon  the  ele- 
gance of  her  dress,  and  her  judgment  in  the 
choice  of  that  very  pretty  mourning.  Having 
had  women  before  under  my  care,  I trembled 
at  the  apprehension  of  a man  of  sense  who  could, 
talk  upon  trifles,  and  resolved  to  stick  to  my 
post  with  all  the  circufnspection  imaginable.  In 
short,  I prepossessed  her  against  all  he  could  say 
to  the  advantage  of  her  dress  and  person  ; but 
he  turned  again  the  discourse,  where  I found  I 
had  no  power  over  her,  on  the  abusing  her 
friends  and  acquaintance.  He  allowed,  indeed, 
that  Flora  had  a little  beauty,  and  a great  deal  of 
wit ; but  then  she  was  so  ungainly  in  her  be- 
haviour, and  such  a laughing  hoyden  ! — Pasto- 
rella  had,  with  him,  the  allowance  of  being 
blameless  ; but  what  was  that  towards  being 
praise-worthy  ? To  be  only  innocent,  is  not  to 
be  virtuous  ! He  afterwards  spoke  so  much 
against  Mrs.  Dipple’s  forehead,  Mrs.  Prim’s 
mouth,  Mrs.  Dentrifice’s  teeth,  and  Mrs.  Fid- 


* This  line  occurs  in  a joint  translation  of  ‘ Helen’s 
Epistle  to  Paris,’  by  the  Earl  of  Miilffrave  and  Dryden, 
in  the  edition  of'  Ovid’s  Epistles,’  1709. 
t Supposed  to  be  lord  Halifax. 


get’s  cheeks,  that  she  grew  downright  in  love 
with  him  ; for,  it  is  always  to  be  understood, 
that  a lady  takes  all  you  detract  from  the  rest 
of  her  sex  to  be  a gift  to  her.  In  a w’ord,  things 
went  so  far,  that  I was  dismissed,  and  she  will 
remember  that  evening,  nine  months  from  the 
sixth  of  April,  by  a very  remarkable  token.  The 
next,  as  I said,  I went  to,  was  a common  swear- 
er : never  was  a creature  so  puzzled  as  myself, 
when  I came  first  to  view  his  brain  : half  of  it 
was  worn  out,  and  filled  up  with  mere  expletives, 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  other  parts  of 
the  texture  ; therefore,  when  he  called  for  his 
clothes  in  a morning,  he  would  cry,  ‘ John  !’ — 
John  does  not  answer.  ‘ What  a plague  ! no- 
body there  ? What  the  devil,  and  rot  me,  John, 
for  a lazy  dog  as  you  are  !’  I knew  no  way  to 
cure  him,  but  by  writing  down  all  he  said  one 
morning  as  he  was  dressing,  and  laying  it  be- 
fore him  on  the  toilet  when  he  came  to  pick  his 
teeth.  The  last  recital  I gave  him  of  what  he 
said  for  half  an  hour  before  was,  ‘ What,  a pox 
rot  me  ! where  is  the  wash-ball  ? call  the  chair- 
men : damn  them,  I warrant  they  are  at  the 
alehouse  already  ! zounds,  and  confound  them !’ 
When  he  came  to  the  glass,  he  takes  up  my 
note — ‘ Ha  ! this  fellow  is  worse  than  I : — 
what,  does  he  swear  with  pen  and  ink  !’  But, 
reading  on,  he  found  them  to  be  his  own  words. 
The  stratagem  had  so  good  an  effect  upon  him, 
that  he  grew  immediately  a new  man,  and  is 
learning  to  speak  without  an  oath,  which  makes 
him  extremely  short  in  his  phrases  ; for,  as  I 
observed  before,  a common  swearer  has  a brain 
without  any  idea  on  the  swearing  side  ; there- 
fore  my  ward  has  yet  mighty  little  to  say,  and 
is  forced  to  substitute  some  other  vehicle  of 
nonsense,  to  supply  the  delect  of  his  usual  ex- 
pletives. When  I left  him,  he  made  use  of 
‘ Odsbodikins  ! Oh  me  ! and  never  stir  alive  !’ 
and  so  forth ; which  gave  me  hopes  of  his  re- 
covery. So  I went  to  the  next  I told  3mu  of, 
the  gamester.  When  we  at  first  take  our  place 
about  a man,  the  receptacles  of  the  pericranium 
are  immediately  searched.  In  his  I found  no 
one  ordinary  trace  of  thinking  ; but  strong  pas- 
sion, violent  desires,  and  a continued  series  of 
different  changes,  had  torn  it  to  pieces.  There 
appeared  no  middle  condition  ; the  triumph  of 
a prince,  or  the  misery  of  a beggar,  were  his 
alternate  states.  I was  with  him  no  longer  than 
one  day,  which  was  yesterday.  In  the  morning 
at  twelve,  we  were  worth  four  thousand  pounds  ; 
at  three,  we  were  arrived  at  six  thousand  ; half 
an  hour  after,  we  were  reduced  to  one  thousand; 
at  four  of  the  clock,  we  were  down  to  two  hun- 
dred ; at  five,  to  fifty  ; at  six,  to  five  ; at  seven, 
to  one  guinea  ; the  next  bet,  to  nothing.  This 
morning  he  borrowed  half-a-crown  of  the  maid 
who  cleans  his  shoes  ; and  is  now  gaming  in 
Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields  among  the  boys  for  farth- 
ings and  oranges,  until  he  has  made  up  three 
pieces,  and  then  he  returns  to  White’s  into  the 
best  company  in  town.’ 

Thus  ended  our  first  discourse ; and,  it  is 
hoped,  you  will  forgive  me  that  I have  pick^ 
so  little  out  of  my  companion  at  our  first  inter- 
view, In  the  next,  it  is  possible,  he  may  tell  me 
more  pleasing  incidents;  for  though  he  is  a fa- 
miliar, he  is  not  an  evil  spirit. 


No.  14.] 


THE  TATLER. 


39 


St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  9. 

We  hear  from  the  Hag’ue,  of  the  fourteenth 
instant,  N.  S.  that  monsieur  de  Torcy  hath  had 
frequent  conferences  with  the  grand  pensioner, 
and  the  other  ministers  who  were  heretofore 
commissioned  to  treat  with  monsieur  Rouille. 
The  preliminaries  of  a peace  are  almost  settled, 
and  the  proceedings  wait  only  for  the  arrival 
of  the  duke  of  Marlborough ; after  whose  ap- 
probation of  the  articles  proposed,  it  is  not 
doubted  but  the  methods  of  the  treaty  will  be 
publicly  known.  In  the  mean  time,  the  States 
have  declared  an  abhorrence  of  taking  any  step 
in  this  great  affair,  but  in  concert  with  the 
court  of  Great  Britain,  and  other  princes  of  the 
alliance.  The  posture  of  affairs  in  France  does 
necessarily  oblige  that  nation  to  be  very  much 
in  earnest  in  their  offers ; and  monsieur  de 
Torcy  hath  professed  to  the  grand  pensioner, 
that  he  will  avoid  all  occasions  of  giving  him 
the  least  jealousy  of  his  using  any  address  in 
private  conversation  for  accomplishing  the  ends 
of  his  embassy.  It  is  said,  that  as  soon  as  the 
preliminaries  are  adjusted,  that  minister  is  to 
return  to  the  French  court.  The  states  of  Hol- 
land have  resolved  to  make  it  an  instruction  to 
all  their  men-of-war  and  privateers,  to  bring 
into  their  ports  whatever  neutral  ships  they 
shall  meet  with,  laden  with  corn,  and  bound  for 
France ; and,  to  avoid  all  cause  of  complaint 
ij  from  the  potentates  to  whom  these  ships  shall 
belong,  their  full  demand  for  their  freiglit  shall 
be  paid  them  there.  The  French  Protestants 
, residing  in  that  country  have  applied  themselves 
' to  their  respective  magistrates,  desiring  that 
there  may  be  an  article  in  the  treaty  of  peace, 
I which  may  give  liberty  of  conscience  to  the 

I"!  Protestants  in  France.  Monsieur  Bosnage,  min- 

! ister  of  the  Walloon  church  at  Rotterdam,  has 

j been  at  the  Hague,  and  hath  had  some  confer- 

1 ences  with  the  deputies  of  the  States  on  that 

subject.  It  is  reported  there,  that  all  the  French 
refugees  in  those  dominions  are  to  be  natural- 
E ized,  that  they  may  enjoy  the  same  good  effects 
i of  the  treaty  with  the  Hollanders  themselves,  in 
' respect  of  France. 

Letters  from  Paris  say,  the  people  conceive 
great  hopes  of  a sudden  peace,  from  monsieur 
' Torcey’s  being  employed  in  the  negotiation  ; he 
being  a minister  of  too  great  weight  in  that  court, 
j to  be  sent  on  any  employment  in  which  his  mas- 

I ter  would  not  act  in  a manner  wherein  he  might 

^ justly  promise  himself  success.  The  French 

I advices  add,  that  there  is  an  insurrection  in 

i Poictou,  three  thousand  men  liaving  taken  up 

arms,  and  beaten  the  troops  which  were  ap- 
pointed to  disperse  them  ; three  of  the  muti- 
neers, being  taken,  were  immediately  executed  ; 
and  as  many  of  the  king’s  party  were  used  after 
. the  same  manner. 

! Our  late  act  of  naturalization  hath  had  so 
great  an  effect  in  foreign  parts,  that  some  prin- 
j cqs  have  prohibited  the  French  refugees  in  their 
(dominions  to  sell  or  transfer  their  estates  to  any 
mher  of  their  subjects;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
have  granted  them  greater  immunities  than 
I they  hitherto  enjoyed.  It  has  been  also  thought 
necessary  to  restrain  their  own  subjects  from 
leaving  their  country  on  pain  of  death. 


No.  14.]  Thursday,  May  12, 1709. 

Quicqiiid  ayiint  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  10. 

Had  it  not  been  that  my  familiar  had  ap- 
peared to  me,  as  I told  you  in  my  last,  in  per- 
son, I had  certainly  been  unable  to  have  found 
even  words  without  meaning,  to  keep  up  my 
intelligence  with  the  town  ; but  he  has  checked 
me  severely  for  my  despondence,  and  ordered 
me  to  go  on  in  my  design  of  observing  upon 
things,  and  forbearing  persons ; for,  said  he, 
the  age  you  live  in  is  such,  that  a good  picture 
of  any  vice  or  virtue  will  infallibly  be  misrep- 
resented ; and  though  none  will  take  the  kind 
descriptions  you  make  so  much  to  themselves, 
as  to  wish  well  to  the  author,  yet  all  will  resent 
the  ill  characters  you  produce,  out  of  fear  of 
their  own  turn  in  the  licence  you  must  be 
obliged  to  take,  if  you  point  at  particular  per- 
sons. I took  his  admonition  kindly,  and  imme- 
diately promised  him  to  beg  pardon  of  the  au- 
thor of  the  ‘ Advice  to  the  Poets,’  for  my  raillery 
upon  his  work  ; though  I aimed  at  no  more  in 
that  examination,  but  to  convince  him,  and  all 
men  of  genius,  of  the  folly  of  laying  themselves 
out  on  such  plans  as  are  below  their  characters. 
I hope  too  it  was  done  without  ill  breeding,  and 
nothing  spoken  below  wliat  a civilian  (as  it  is 
allowed  I am,)  may  utter  to  a physician.*  After 
this  preface,  all  the  world  may  be  safe  from  my 
writings;  for,  if  I can  find  nothing  to  com- 
mend, I am  silent,  and  will  forbear  the  subject  ; 
for,  though  I am  a reformer,  I scorn  to  be  an 
inquisitor. 

It  would  become  all  men,  as  well  as  me,  to 
lay  before  them  the  noble  character  of  Verus 
the  magistrate,!  who  always  sat  in  triumph 
over,  and  contempt  of,  vice  : he  never  searched 
after  it,  or  spared  it  when  it  came  before  him  : 
at  the  same  time  he  could  see  through  the  hy- 
pocrisy and  disguise  of  those,  who  have  no  pre- 
tence to  virtue  themselves,  but  by  their  severity 
to  the  vicious.  The  same  Verus  was,  in  times 
past,  chief  justice  (as  we  call  it  amongst  us,)  in 
Fclicia.t  He  was  a man  of  profound  knowledge 
of  the  laws  of  his  country,  and  as  just  an  ob- 
server of  them  in  his  own  person.  lie  consid- 
ered justice  as  a cardinal  virtue,  not  as  a trade 
for  maintenance.  Wherever  he  was  judge,  he 
never  forgot  that  he  was  also  counsel.  The 
criminal  before  him  was  always  sure  he  stood 
before  his  country,  and,  in  a sort,  a parent  of  it. 
The  prisoner  knew,  that  though  his  spirit  was 
broken  with  guilt,  and  incapable  of  language  to 
defend  itself,  all  would  be  gathered  from  him 
which  could  conduce  to  his  safety  ; and  that  his 
judge  would  wrest  no  law  to  destroy  him,  nor 
conceal  any  that  could  save  him.  In  this  time 
there  was  a nest  of  pretenders  to  justice,  who 


* Sir  Richard  Blackmore. 

tSir  John  Holt,  lord  chief  justice  in  the  reign  of 
king  William  III.  and  for  some  years  after  that  king's 
death. 

I Britain. 


40 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  14. 


happened  to  be  employed  to  put  things  in  a 
method  for  being  examined  before  him  at  his 
usual  sessions  : these  animals  were  to  Verus, 
as  monkeys  are  to  men,  so  like,  that  you  can 
hardly  disown  them  ; but  so  base,  that  you  are 
ashamed  of  their  fraternity.  It  grew  a phrase, 
‘ Who  would  do  justice  on  the  justices  ?’  That 
certainly  would  Verus.  I have  seen  an  old  trial 
where  he  sat  judge  on  two  of  them  ; one  was 
called  Trick-track,  the  other  Tear-shift : one 
was  a learned  judge  of  sharpers  ; the  other  the 
quickest  of  all  men  at  finding  out  a wench. 
Trick-track  never  spared  a pick-pocket,  but 
was  a companion  to  cheats  : Tear-shift  would 
make  compliments  to  wenches  of  quality,  but 
certainly  commit  poor  ones.  If  a poor  rogue 
wanted  a lodging.  Trick-track  sent  him  to 
gaol  for  a thief;  if  a poor  whore  went  only 
with  one  thin  petticoat.  Tear-shift  would  im- 
prison her  for  being  loose  in  her  dress.  These 
patriots  infested  the  days  of  Verus,  while  they 
alternately  committed  and  released  each  other’s 
prisoners.  But  Verus  regarded  them  as  crimi- 
nals, and  always  looked  upon  men  as  they 
stood  in  the  eye  of  justice,  without  respecting 
whether  they  sat  on  the  bench,  or  stood  at 
the  bar. 

Will's  Coffee-house^  May  11. 

Yesterday  we  were  entertained  with  the 
tragedy  of  the  Earl  of  Essex*  ; in  which  there 
is  not  one  good  line,  and  yet  a play  which  was 
never  seen  without  drawing  tears  from  some 
part  of  the  audience  ; a remarkable  instance 
that  the  soul  is  not  to  be  moved  by  words,  but 
things ; for  the  incidents  in  this  drama  are  laid 
together  so  happily,  that  the  spectator  makes 
the  play  for  himself,  by  the  force  which  the 
circumstance  has  upon  his  imagination.  Thus, 
in  spite  of  the  most  dry  discourses,  and  expres- 
sions almost  ridiculous  with  respect  to  pro- 
priety, it  is  impossible  for  one  unprejudiced  to 
see  it,  untouched  with  pity.  I must  confess, 
this  effect  is  not  wrought  on  such  as  examine 
why  they  are  pleased;  but  it  never  fails  to 
appear  on  those  who  are  not  too  learned  in 
nature,  to  be  moved  by  her  first  suggestions. 
It  is  certain,  the  person  and  behaviour  of  Mr. 
Wilks  has  no  small  share  in  conducing  to  the 
popularity  of  the  play  ; and  when  a handsome 
fellow  is  going  to  a more  coarse  exit  than  be- 
heading, his  shape  and  countenance  make  every 
tender  one  reprieve  him  with  all  her  heart,  with- 
out waiting  until  she  hears  his  dying  words. 

This  evening.  The  Alchymist  was  played.t 
This  comedy  is  an  example  of  Ben  Jonson’s 
extensive  genius,  and  penetration  into  the  pas- 
sions and  follies  of  mankind.  The  scene  in 
the  fourth  act,  where  all  the  cheated  people 
oppose  the  man  that  would  open  their  eyes,  has 
something  in  it  so  inimitably  excellent,  that  it 
is  certainly  as  great  a master-piece  as  has  ever 
appeared  by  any  hand.  The  author’s  great  ad- 
dress in  showing  covetousness,  the  motive  of  the 


* By  John  Banks,  4to.  1685 ; the  prologue  and  the  epi- 
logue by  Dryden. 

t ‘ The  Alchymist’  was  first  acted  in  1610,  and  pub- 
lished in  4to.  the  same  year 


actions  of  the  puritan,  the  epicure,  the  game- 
ster, and  the  trader  ; and  that  all  their  endea- 
vours, how  differently  soever  they  seem  to  tend, 
centre  only  in  that  one  point  of  gain,  shows  he 
had,  to  a great  perfection,  that  discernment  of 
spirit  which  constitutes  a genius  for  comedy. 

White’s  Chocolate-house,  May  11. 

It  is  not  to  be  imagined,  how  far  the  vio- 
lence of  our  desires  will  carry  us  towards  our 
own  deceit  in  the  pursuit  of  what  we  wish  for. 
A gentleman  here  this  evening  was  giving  me 
an  account  of  a dumb  fortune-teller*  who  out- 
does  Mr.  Partridge,  myself,  or  the  Unborn  doc- 
tor,! for  predictions ; all  his  visitants  come  to 
him  full  of  expectations,  and  pay  his  own  rate 
for  the  interpretations  they  put  upon  his  shrugs 
and  nods.  There  is  a fine  rich  city-widow  stole 
thither  the  other  day  (though  it  is  not  six  weeks 
since  her  husband’s  departure  from  her  com- 
pany to  rest,)  and  with  her  trusty  maid  de- 
manded of  him,  whether  she  should  marry 
again,  by  holding  up  two  fingers  like  horns  on 
her  forehead.  The  wizard  held  up  both  his 
hands  forked.  The  relict  desired  to  know, 
whether  he  meant,  by  his  holding  up  both 
hands,  to  represent  that  she  had  one  husband 
before,  and  that  she  should  have  another  ? or, 
that  he  intimated  she  should  have  two  more  ? 
The  cunning  man  looked  a little  sour,  upon 
which  Betty  jogged  her  mistress,  who  gave  the 
other  guinea  ; and  he  made  her  understand,  she 
should  positively  have  two  more  ; but  shaked 
his  head,  and  hinted  that  they  should  not  live 
long  with  her.  The  widow  sighed,  and  gave 
him  the  other  half-guinea.  After  this  prepos- 
session, all  that  she  had  next  to  do  was  to  make 
sallies  to  our  end  of  the  town,  and  find  out  who 
it  is  her  fate  to  have.  There  are  two  who  fre- 
quent this  place,  whom  she  takes  to  be  men  of 
vogue,  and  of  whom  her  imagination  has  given 
her  the  choice.  They  are  both  the  appearances 
of  fine  gentlemen,  to  such  as  do  not  know  when 
they  see  persons  of  that  turn  ; and,  indeed  they 
are  industrious  enough  to  come  at  that  charac- 
ter, to  deserve  the  reputation  of  being  such.  But 
this  town  will  not  allow  us  to  be  the  things  we 
seem  to  aim  at,  and  is  too  discerning  to  be  fobbed 
off  with  pretences.  One  of  these  pretty  fellows 
fails  by  his  laborious  exactness ; the  other,  by 
his  as  much  studied  negligence.  Frank  Care- 
less, as  soon  as  his  valet  has  helped  on  and  ad- 
justed his  clothes,  goes  to  his  glass,  sets  his  wig 
awry,  tumbles  his  cravat;  and,  in  short,  un- 
dresses himself  to  go  into  company.  Will  Nice 
is  so  little  satisfied  with  his  dress,  that  all  the 
time  he  is  at  a visit,  he  is  still  mending  it,  and 
is  for  that  reason  the  more  insufferable ; for  he 
who  studies  carelessness  has,  at  least,  his  work 
the  sooner  done  of  the  two.  The  widow  is  dis- 
tracted whom  to  take  for  her  first  man  ; for  Nice 
is  every  way  so  careful,  that  she  fears  his  length 
of  days  ; and  Frank  is  so  loose,  that  she  has  ap- 


* Duncan  Campbell,  said  to  be  deaf  and  dumb,  who 
practised  at  this  time  on  the  credulity  of  the  vulgar,  and 
pretended  to  predict  fortunes  by  the  second  sight,  &c. 

t The  real  name  of  the  quack-doctor  and  man-midwife, 
who  affected  to  be  distinguished  as  ‘ unborn,’  was  Kir- 
lens. 


No.  15.] 


THE  TATLER. 


41 


prehensions  for  her  own  health  with  him.  I am 
puzzled  how  to  give  a just  idea  of  them ; but  in 
a word,  Careless  is  a coxcomb,  and  Nice  a fop ; 
both,  you  will  say,  very  hopeful  candidates  for  a 
gay  young  woman  just  set  at  liberty.  But  there 
is  a whisper,  her  maid  will  give  her  to  Tom  Ter- 
ror the  gamester.  This  fellow  has  undone  so 
many  women,  that  he  will  certainly  succeed  if 
he  is  introduced  ; for  nothing  so  much  prevails 
with  the  vain  part  of  that  sex,  as  the  glory  of 
deceiving  them  who  have  deceived  others. 

Desunt  multa. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  May  11. 

Letters  from  Berlin,  bearing  date  May  the 
eleventh,  N.  S.  inform  us,  that  the  birth-day  of 
her  Prussian  majesty  has  been  celebrated  there 
with  all  possible  magnificence  ; and  the  king 
made  her,  on  that  occasion,  a present  of  jewels 
to  the  value  of  thirty-thousand  crowns.  The 
marquis  de  Quesne,  who  has  distinguished  him- 
self by  his  great  zeal  for  the  Protestant  interest, 
was,  at  the  time  of  the  despatch  of  these  letters, 
at  tliat  court,  soliciting  the  king  to  take  care, 
that  an  article  in  behalf  of  the  refugees,  admit- 
ting their  return  to  France,  should  be  inserted 
in  the  treaty  of  peace.  They  write  from  Han- 
over, of  the  fourteenth,  that  his  electoral  high- 
ness had  received  an  express  from  count  Merci, 
representing  how  necessary  it  was  to  the  com- 
mon cause,  that  he  would  please  to  hasten  to 
the  Rhine  ; for  that  nothing  but  his  presence 
could  quicken  the  measures  towards  bringing 
the  imperial  army  into  the  field.  There  are 
very  many  speculations  upon  the  intended  in- 
terview of  the  king  of  Denmark  and  king  Au- 
gustus. The  latter  has  made  such  preparations 
for  the  reception  of  the  other,  that  it  is  said,  his 
Danish  majesty  will  be  entertained  in  Saxony 
with  much  more  elegance  than  he  met  with  in 
Italy  itself. 

Letters  from  the  Hague,  of  the  eighteenth 
instant,  N.  S.  say,  that  his  grace  the  duke  of 
Marlborough  landed  the  night  before  at  the  Brill, 
after  having  been  kept  out  at  sea,  by  adverse 
winds,  two  days  longer  than  is  usual  in  that 
passage.  His  excellency  the  lord  Townshend, 
her  majesty’s  ambassador  extraordinary  and 
plenipotentiary  to  the  States-general,  was  driven 
into  the  Veer  in  Zealand  on  Thursday  last,  from 
whence  he  eame  to  the  Hague  within  a few  hours 
after  the  arrival  of  his  grace.  The  duke,  soon 
after  his  coming  to  the  Hague,  had  a visit  from 
the  pensioner  of  Holland.  All  things  relative 
to  the  peace  were  in  suspense  until  this  inter- 
view ; nor  is  it  yet  known  what  resolutions 
will  be  taken  on  that  subject ; for  the  troops 
of  the  allies  have  fresh  orders  despatehed  to 
them,  to  move  from  their  respective  quarters, 
and  march  with  all  expedition  to  the  frontiers, 
where  the  enemy  are  making  their  utmost  ef- 
forts for  the  defenee  of  their  country.  These 
advices  further  inform  us,  that  the  marquis  de 
Torcy  had  received  an  answer  from  the  court  of 
France,  to  his  letters  which  he  had  sent  thither 
by  an  express  on  the  Friday  before. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  received  letters  from 
Mr.  Colstaff,  Mr.  Whipstatf,  and  Mrs.  Rebecca 


Wag  staff ; all  which  relate  chiefly  to  their  being 
left  out  in  the  genealogy  of  the  family  lately 
published  but  my  cousin  _who  writ  that 
draught,  being  a clerk  in  the  Herald’s  office, 
and  being  at  present  under  the  displeasure  of 
the  chapter  ; it  is  feared,  if  that  matter  should 
be  touched  upon  at  this  time,  the  young  gen- 
tleman would  lose  his  place  for  treason  against 
the  king  of  arms. 

‘ Castabella’s  complaint  is  come  to  hand.’ 


No.  15.]  Saturday,  May  14,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 
Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 


From  my  own  Apartment,  May  12. 

I HAVE  taken  a resolution  hereafter,  on  any 
want  of  intelligence,  to  carry  my  familiar 
abroad  with  me,  who  has  promised  to  give  me 
very  proper  and  just  notices  of  persons  and 
things,  to  make  up  the  history  of  the  passing 
day.  He  is  wonderfully  skilful  in  the  know- 
ledge of  men  and  manners,  which  has  made  me 
more  than  ordinary  curious  to  know  how  he 
came  to  that  perfection,  and  I communicated 
to  him  that  doubt.  ‘ Mr.  Pacolet,’  said  I,  ‘ I 
am  mightily  surprised  to  see  you  so  good  a 
judge  of  our  nature  and  circumstances,  since 
you  are  a mere  spirit,  and  have  no  knowledge 
of  the  bodily  part  of  us.’  He  answered,  smiling, 
‘ You  are  mistaken  ; I have  been  one  of  you, 
and  lived  a month  amongst  you,  which  gives 
me  an  exact  sense  of  your  condition.  You  are 
to  know,  that  all,  who  enter  into  human  life, 
have  a certain  date  or  stamen  given  to  their 
being,  which  they  only  who  die  of  age  may  be 
said  to  have  arrived  at ; but  it  is  ordered  some- 
times by  fate,  that  such  as  die  infants  are,  after 
death,  to  attend  mankind  to  the  end  of  that 
stamen  of  being  in  themselves,  which  was  broke 
off  by  sickness  or  any  other  disaster.  These 
are  proper  guardians  to  men,  as  being  sensible 
of  the  infirmity  of  their  state.  You  are  philoso- 
pher enough  to  know,  that  the  difference  of 
men’s  understandings  proceeds  only  from  the 
various  dispositions  of  their  organs  ; so  that  he 
who  dies  at  a month  old,  is  in  the  next  life  as 
knowing,  though  more  innocent,  as  they  who 
live  to  fifty  ; and  after  death,  they  have  as  per- 
fect a memory  and  judgment  of  all  that  passed 
in  their  lifetime,  as  I have  of  all  the  revolutions 
in  that  uneasy  turbulent  condition  of  yours  ; 
and  you  would  say  I had  enough  of  it  in  a 
month,  were  I to  tell  you  all  my  misfortunes.’ 

‘ A life  of  a month  cannot  have,  one  would  think, 
much  variety.  But  pray,’  said  I,  ‘ let  us  have 
your  story.’ 

Then  he  proceeds  in  the  following  manner : 

‘ It  was  one  of  the  most  wealthy  families  in 
Great  Britain  into  which  I was  born,  and  it 
was  a very  great  happiness  to  me  that  it  so 


* See  a humourous  genealogical  account  of  the  Staf- 
fian  family,  No.  11. 


42 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  15. 


happened,  otherwise  I had  still,  in  all  proba- 
bility, been  living  ; but  I shall  recount  to  you 
all  the  occurrences  of  my  short  and  miserable 
existence,  just  as,  by  examining  into  the  traces 
made  in  my  brain,  they  appeared  to  me  at  that 
time.  The  first  thing  that  ever  struck  my 
senses  was  a noise  over  my  head  of  one  shriek- 
ing ; after  which,  methought,  I took  a full 
jump,  and  found  myself  in  the  hands  of  a 
sorceress,  who  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  long 
waking,  and  employed  in  some  incantation  : I 
was  thoroughly  frightened,  and  cried  out ; but 
she  immediately  seemed  to  go  on  in  some  magi- 
cal operation,  and  anointed  me  from  head  to 
foot.  What  they  meant,  I could  not  imagine  ; 
for  there  gathered  a great  crowd  about  me, 
crying,  “An  heir!  an  heir!”  upon  which  I 
grew  a little  still,  and  believed  this  was  a cere- 
mony to  be  used  only  to  great  persons,  and  such 
as  made  them,  wliat  they  called  heirs.  I lay 
very  quiet ; but  the  witch,  for  no  manner  of 
reason  or  provocation  in  the  world,  takes  me, 
and  binds  my  head  as  hard  as  possibly  she 
could  ; then  ties  up  both  my  legs,  and  makes 
me  swallow  down  a horrid  mixture.  I thought 
it  a harsh  entrance  into  life,  to  begin  with 
taking  physic  ; but  I was  forced  to  it,  or  else 
must  have  taken  down  a great  instrument  in 
which  she  gave  it  me.  When  I was  thus  dressed, 
I was  carried  to  a bod  side  where  a fine  young 
lady  (my  mother  I wot)  had  like  to  have  hugged 
me  to  death.  From  her,  they  faced  me  about, 
and  there  was  a thing  with  quite  another  look 
from  the  rest  of  the  company,  to  whom  they 
talked  about  my  nose.  He  seemed  wonderfully 
pleased  to  see  me ; but  I knew  since,  my  nose 
belonged  to  another  family.  That  into  which 
I was  born  is  one  of  the  most  numerous  amongst 
you  ; therefore  crowds  of  relations  came  every 
day  to  congratulate  my  arrival ; amongst  others, 
my  cousin  Betty,  the  greatest  romp  in  nature  : 
she  whisks  me  such  a height  over  her  head,  that 
I cried  out  for  fear  of  falling.  She  pinched 
me,  and  called  me  squealing  chit.,  and  threw 
me  into  a girl’s  arms  that  was  taken  in  to  tend 
me.  The  girl  was  very  proud  of  the  womanly 
employment  of  a nurse,  and  took  upon  her  to 
strip  and  dress  me  anew,  because  I made  a 
noise,  to  see  what  ailed  me  : she  did  so,  and 
stuck  a pin  in  every  joint  about  me.  I still 
cried  : upon  which,  she  lays  me  on  my  face  in 
her  lap ; and,  to  quiet  me,  fell  a-nailing  in  all 
the  pins  by  clai)ping  me  on  the  back,  and 
screaming  a lullaby.  But  my  pain  made  me 
exalt  my  voice  above  hers,  w’hich  brought  up 
the  nurse,  the  witch  I first  saw,  and  my  grand- 
mother. The  girl  is  turned  down  stairs,  and  I 
stripped  again,  as  well  to  find  what  ailed  me,  as 
to  satisfy  my  granam’s  further  curiosity.  This 
good  old  woman’s  visit  was  the  cause  of  all  my 
troubles.  You  are  to  understand,  that  I was 
hitherto  bred  by  hand,  and  any  body  that  stood 
next  gave  me  pap,  if  I did  but  open  my  lips  ; 
insomuch,  that  I was  growing  so  cunning,  as 
to  pretend  myself  asleep  when  I was  not,  to  pre- 
vent my  being  crammed.  But  my  grandmother 
began  a loud  lecture  upon  the  idleness  of  the 
wives  of  this  age,  who,  for  fear  of  their  shapes, 
forbear  suckling  their  own  otfspring  : and  ten 
nurses  were  immediately  sent  for ; one  was 


whispered  to  have  a wanton  eye,  and  would 
soon  spoil  her  milk  ; another  was  in  a consump- 
tion ; the  third  had  an  ill  voice,  and  would 
frighten  me  instead  of  lulling  me  to  sleep. 
Such  exceptions  v/ere  made  against  all  but  one 
country  milch-wench,  to  whom  I was  com- 
mitted, and  put  to  the  breast.  This  careless 
jade  was  eternally  romping  with  the  footman, 
and  downright  starved  me  ; insomuch  that  I 
daily  pined  away,  and  should  never  have  been 
relieved  had  it  not  been  that,  on  the  thirtieth 
day  of  my  life,  a Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society, 
who  had  writ  upon  Cold  Baths,  came  to  visit 
me,  and  solemnly  protested,  I was  utterly  lost 
for  w^ant  of  that  method  :*  upon  which  he  soused 
me  head  and  ears  into  a pail  of  water,  where  I 
had  the  good  fortune  to  be  drowned ; and  so  es- 
caped being  lashed  into  a linguist  until  sixteen, 
running  after  wenches  until  twenty-five,  and 
being  married  to  an  ill-natured  wife  until  sixty  : 
which  had  certainly  been  my  fate,  had  not  the 
enchantment  between  body  and  soul  been 
broke  by  this  philosopher.  Thus,  until  the  age 
I should  have  otherwise  lived,  I am  obliged  to 
watch  the  steps  of  men  ; and,  if  you  please, 
shall  accompany  you  in  your  present  walk,  and 
get  you  intelligence  from  the  aerial  lacquey, 
who  is  in  waiting,  what  are  the  thoughts  and 
purposes  of  any  whom  you  inquire  for.’ 

I accepted  his  kind  offer,  and  immediately 
took  him  with  me  in  a hack  to  White’s. 

White's  Chocolate-house.,  May  13. 

We  got  in  hither,  and  my  companion  threw 
a powder  round  us,  that  made  me  as  invisible 
as  himself ; so  that  we  could  see  and  hear  all 
others,  ourselves  unseen  and  unheard. 

The  first  thing  w^e  took  notice  of  w^as  a no- 
bleman of  a goodly  and  frank  aspect,  with  his 
generous  birth  and  temper  visible  in  it,  playing 
at  cards  with  a creature  of  a black  and  horrid 
countenance,  w’herein  were  plainly  delineated 
the  arts  of  his  mind,  cozenage,  and  falsehood. 
They  were  marking  their  game  with  counters, 
on  which  we  could  see  inscriptions,  impercep- 
tible to  any  but  us.  My  lord  had  scored  with 
pieces  of  ivory,  on  which  where  writ  ‘ Good 
Fame,  Glory,  Riches,  Honour,  and  Posterity. 
The  spectre  over-against  him  had  on  his  coun- 
ters the  inscriptions  of  ‘ Dishonour,  Impudence, 
Poverty,  Ignorance,  and  want  of  Shame.  ‘ Bless 
me  !’  said  I ; ‘ sure  my  Lord  does  not  see  what 
he  plays  for?’  ‘As  well  as  I do,’  says  Pacolet. 

‘ He  despises  that  fellow  he  plays  with,  and 
scorns  himself  for  making  him  his  companion.’ 
At  the  very  instant  he  was  speaking,  I 
saw  the  fellow  who  played  with  my  lord,  hide 
two  cards  in  the  roll  of  his  stocking : Pacolet 
immediately  stole  them  from  thence ; upon 
which  the  nobleman  soon  after  won  the  game. 
The  little  triumph  he  appeared  in,  when  he  got 
such  a trifling  stock  of  ready  money,  though 
he  had  ventured  so  great  sums  with  indiffer- 
ence, increased  my  admiration.  But  Pacolet 


*The  Fellow  of  the  Iv03-al  Society  here  alluded  to, 
was  probably  Sir  John  Flot  er,  Knight,  M.  D.  who  pub- 
lished. ‘ An  Inquiry  into  the  right  use  and  abuses  of 
the  hot,  cold,  and  temperate  Baths  in  England,  &c.'’ 


No.  16.] 


THE  TATLER. 


43 


beg-an  to  talk  to  me.  Mr.  Isaac,  tfiis  to  you 
looks  wonderful,  but  not  at  all  to  us  hig-her 
beings  : that  nobleman  has  as  many  good  quali- 
ties as  any  man  of  his  order,  and  seems  to  have 
no  faults  but  what,  as  I may  say,  are  excrescen- 
ces from  virtues.  He  is  generous  to  a prodi- 
gality, more  affable  than  is  consistent  with  his 
quality,  and  courageous  to  a rashness.  Yet, 
after  all  this,  the  source  of  his  whole  conduct 
is  (though  he  would  hate  himself  if  he  knew  it) 
mere  avarice.  The  ready  cash  laid  before  the 
gamester’s  counters  makes  him  venture,  as  you 
see,  and  lay  distinction  against  infamy,  abun- 
dance against  want ; in  a word,  all  that  is  de- 
sirable against  all  that  is  to  be  avoided.  How- 
ever, said  I,  be  sure  you  disappoint  the  sharpers 
to  night,  and  steal  from  them  all  the  cards  they 
hide.  Pacolet  obeyed  me,  and  my  lord  went 
home  with  their  whole  bank  in  his  pocket.’ 

Will's  Coffee-house^  May  13. 

To-night  was  acted  a second  time  a comedy 
called  The  Busy  Body  ; this  play  is  written  by 
a lady.* *  In  old  times,  we  used  to  sit  upon  a 
play  here  after  it  was  acted  ; but  now  the  enter- 
tainment is  turned  another  way  ; not  but  there 
are  considerable  men  in  all  ages,  who,  for  some 
eminent  quality  or  invention,  deserve  the  esteem 
and  thanks  of  the  public.  Such  a benefactor 
is  a gentleman  of  this  house  ; who  is  observed 
by  the  surgeons  with  much  envy,  and  is  ranked 
among,  and  received  by  modern  wits,  as  a great 
prompter  of  gallantry  and  pleasure.  But,  I fear, 
pleasure  is  less  understood  in  this  age,  wdiieh 
so  much  pretends  to  it,  than  in  any  since  the 
creation.  It  was  admirably  said  of  him  who 
first  took  notiee,  that  (res  est  severa  voluptas) 
‘ there  is  a certain  severity  in  pleasure.’  With- 
out that,  all  decency  is  banished ; and  if  reason 
is  not  to  be  present  at  our  greatest  satisfactions, 
of  all  the  race  of  creatures,  the  human  is  the 
most  miserable.  It  was  not  so  of  old  ; when 
Virgil  describes  a wit,  he  always  means  a 
virtuous  man ; and  all  his  sentiments  of  men  of 
genius,  are  such  as  show  persons  distinguished 
from  the  common  level  of  mankind ; such  as 
placed  happiness  in  the  contempt  of  low  fears 
and  mean  gratifications  ; fears  wdiich  we  are 
subject  to  with  the  vulgar  ; and  pleasures  which 
we  have  in  common  with  beasts.  With  these 
illustrious  personages,  the  wisest  man  was  the 
greatest  wit ; and  none  was  thought  worthy  of 
that  character,  unless  he  answered  this,  excel- 
lent description  of  the  poet. 

U'li metus  omnes  et  inexorabile  fatum 

Subjecit  pedibus,  strepitumque  Acherontis  avari. 

Firg.^  Georg,  ii.  492. 

Happy  the  man, 

His  mind  possessing  in  a quiet  state, 

Fearless  of  fortune,  and  resigned  to  fate.  Dryden. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  13. 

We  had  this  morning  advice  that  some  En- 
glish merchant-ships,  convoyed  by  the  Bristol, 


* By  Mrs.  Susannah  Centlivre,  1709,  4to. 
t Virgil  seems  to  speak  here  as  an  Epicurean,  and 
might  probably  allude  to  some  lines  in  Lucretius,  lib.  iii. 


of  fifty-four  guns,  were  met  with  by  a part  of 
Monsieur  du  Gui  Trouin’s  squadron,  who  en- 
gaged the  convoy.  That  ship  defended  itself 
until  the  English  merchants  got  clear  of  the 
enemy  ; but,  being  disabled,  was  herself  taken. 
Within  a few  hours  after,  my  lord  Dursley*  came 
up  with  part  of  his  squadron,  and,  engaging  the 
French,  retook  the  Bristol  (which,  being  very 
much  shattered,  sunk  ;)  and  took  the  Glorieux, 
a ship  of  forty-four  guns,  as  also  a privateer  of 
fourteen.  Before  this  action,  his  lordship  had 
taken  two  French  merchant-men,  and  had,  at 
the  despatch  of  these  advices,  brought  the  whole 
safe  into  Plymouth. 


No.  16.]  Tuesday,  May  17,  1 709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  May  15. 

Sir  Thomas,+  of  this  house,  has  showed  me 
some  letters  from  the  Bath,  which  give  accounts 
of  what  passes  among  the  good  company  of  that 
place  ; and  allow^ed  me  to  transcribe  one  of  them, 
that  seems  to  be  writ  by  some  of  sir  Thomas’s 
particular  acquaintance,  and  is  as  follows  : 

May  9, 1709. 

‘ Dear  Knight, — I desire  you  would  give  my 
humble  service  to  all  our  friends,  which  I speak 
of  to  you  (out  of  method)  in  the  very  beginning 
of  my  epistle,  lest  the  present  disorders,  by 
which  this  seat  of  gallantry  and  pleasure  is  torn 
to  pieees,  should  make  me  forget  it.  You  keep 
so  good  company,  that  you  know  Bath  is  stocked 
with  such  as  come  hither  to  be  relieved  from 
luxuriant  health,  or  imaginary  sickness  ; and 
consequently  is  always  as  well  stowed  with 
gallants,  as  invalids,  w'ho  live  together  in  a very 
good  understanding.  But  the  season  is  so  early, 
that  our  fine  company  is  not  yet  arrived ; and 
the  warm  bath,  which  in  heathen  times  was 
dedicated  to  Venus,  is  now  used  only  by  snch 
as  really  want  it  for  health’s  sake.  There  are, 
however,  a good  many  strangers,  among  whom 
are  two  ambitious  ladies,  who  being  both  in  the 
autumn  of  their  life,  take  the  opportunity  of 
placing  themselves  at  the  head  of  such  as  we 
are,  before  the  Chloe’s,  Clarisso’s,  and  Pasto- 
rella’s  come  down.  One  of  these  two  is  exces- 
sively in  pain,  that  the  ugly  being  called  Time, 
will  make  wrinkles  in  spite  of  the  lead  forehead 
cloth  and  therefore  hides,  with  the  gaiety  of 
her  air,  the  volubility  of  her  tongue,  and  quick- 
ness of  her  motion,  the  injuries  which  it  has 
done  her.  The  other  lady  is  but  two  years  be- 


37  and  995.  It  is  only  by  Christianity  that  men  can  be 
trained  to  that  elevation  of  soul,  which  the  doctrine  of 
Epicurus,  <fec.  aimed  at  in  vain  French  Tatler. 

* James  viscount  Dursley,  who  was  in  consequence 
raised  to  the  rank  of  vice  admiral  of  the  blue  in  Novem- 
ber 1709  ; and,  in  the  beginning  of  October  1710,  suc- 
ceeded his  father  in  the  title  of  earl  ofBerkeley. 
fThe  nick-name  of  a w'aiter  at  White’s. 
t To  which  the  black-lead  comb,  and  powder  of  every 
colour  in  the  rainbow,  have  since  been  the  succedane^. 


44 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  16. 


hind  her  in  life,  and  dreads  as  much  being 
laid  aside  as  the  former ; and  consequently  has 
taken  the  necessary  precautions  to  prevent  her 
reign  over  us.  But  she  is  very  discreet,  and 
wonderfully  turned  for  ambition,  being  never 
apparently  transported  either  with  affection  or 
malice.  Thus  while  Florimel  is  talking  in 
public,  and  spreading  her  graces  in  assemblies, 
to  gain  a popular  dominion  over  our  diversions, 
Prudentia  visits  very  cunningly  all  the  lame,  the 
splenetic,  and  the  superannuated,  who  have  their 
distinct  classes  of  followers  and  friends.  Among 
these  she  has  found,  that  somebody  has  sent  down 
printed  certificates  of  Florimel’s  age,  which  she 
has  read  and  distributed  to  this  unjoyful  set  of 
people,  who  are  always  enemies  to  those  in  pos- 
session of  the  good  opinion  of  the  company. 
This  unprovoked  injury  done  by  Prudentia,  was 
the  first  occasion  of  our  fatal  divisions  here, 
and  a declaration  of  war  between  these  rivals. 
Florimel  has  abundance  of  wit,  which  she  has 
lavished  in  decrying  Prudentia,  and  giving  de- 
fiance to  her  little  arts.  For  an  instance  of  her 
superior  power,  she  bespoke  the  play  of  Alex- 
ander the  Great,  to  be  acted  by  the  company  of 
strollers,  and  desired  us  all  to  be  there  on  Thurs- 
day last.  When  she  spoke  to  me  to  come,  ‘ as 
you  are,’  said  she,  ‘ a lover,  you  will  not  fail  the 
death  of  Alexander  ; the  passion  of  love  is  won- 
derfully hit — Statira  ! O that  happy  woman — 
to  have  a conqueror  at  her  feet ! — But  you  will 
be  sure  to  be  there.’  I,  and  several  others,  re- 
solved to  be  of  her  party.  But  see  the  irresisti- 
ble strength  of  that  unsuspected  creature,  a 
‘ silent  woman.’  Prudentia  had  counterplotted 
us,  and  had  bespoke  on  the  same  evening  the 
puppet  show  of  ‘ The  Creation  of  the  World.’* 
She  had  engaged  every  body  to  be  there ; and, 
to  turn  our  leader  into  ridicule,  had  secretly  let 
them  know,  that  the  puppet  Eve  was  made  the 
most  like  Florimel  that  ever  was  seen.  On 
Thursday  morning  the  puppet  drummer,  Adam 
and  Eve,  and  several  others  who  lived  before 
the  flood,  passed  through  the  streets  on  horse- 
back, to  invite  us  all  to  the  pastime,  and  the 
representation  of  such  things  as  we  all  knew  to 
be  true  : and  Mr.  Mayor  was  so  wise,  as  to  pre- 
fer these  innocent  people  the  puppets,  who, 
he  said,  were  to  represent  Christians,  before 
the  wicked  players  who  were  to  show  Alex- 
ander, an  heathen  philosopher.  To  be  short, 
this  Prudentia  had  so  laid  it,  that,  at  ten  of 
the  clock,  footmen  were  sent  to  take  places  at 
the  puppet-show,  and  all  we  of  Florimel’s  par- 
ty were  to  be  out  of  fashion,  or  desert  her. 
We  chose  the  latter.  All  the  world  crowded 
to  Prudentia’s  house,  because  it  was  given  out 
nobody  could  get  in.  When  we  came  to  Noah’s 
flood  in  the  show,  Punch  and  his  wife  were  in- 
troduced dancing  in  the  ark.  An  honest  plain 
friend  of  Florimel’s,  but  a critic  withal,  rose  up 
in  the  midst  of  the  representation,  and  made 
many  very  good  exceptions  to  the  drama  itself, 
and  told  us,  that  it  was  against  all  morality,  as 
well  as  rules  of  the  stage,  that  Punch  should  be 
in  jest  in  the  deluge,  or  indeed  that  he  should 


* A deformed  cripple  of  the  name  of  Powel  was  the 
master  of  a {xopnlar  puppet-show  at  this  time,  and  made 
Punch  utter  many  things  that  would  not  have  been  en- 
dured in  any  other  way  of  communication. 


appear  at  all.  This  was  certainly  a just  remark, 
and  I thought  to  second  him  ; but  he  was  hissed 
by  Prudentia’s  party  : upon  which,  really,  sir 
Thomas,  we,  who  were  his  friends,  hissed  him 
too.  Old  Mrs.  Petulant  desired  both  her  daugh- 
ters to  mind  the  moral ; then  whispered  Mrs. 
Mayoress,  ‘ This  is  very  proper  for  young  peo- 
ple to  see  !’  Punch,  at  the  end  of  the  play,  made 
Prudentia  a compliment,  and  was  very  civil  to 
the  whole  company,  making  bows  until  his  but- 
tons touched  the  ground.  All  was  carried  trium- 
phantly against  our  party.  In  the  mean  time 
Florimel  went  to  the  tragedy,  dressed  as  fine 
as  hands  could  make  her,  in  hopes  to  see  Pru- 
dentia pine  away  with  envy.  Instead  of  that, 
she  sat  a full  hour  alone,  and  at  last  was  enter- 
tained with  this  whole  relation  from  Statira, 
who  wdped  her  eyes  with  her  tragical  cut  hand- 
kerchief, and  lamented  the  ignorance  of  the 
quality.  Florimel  was  stung  with  this  affront, 
and  the  next  day  bespoke  the  puppet-show. 
Prudentia,  insolent  with  power,  bespoke  Alex- 
ander. The  whole  company  came  then  to  Alex- 
ander. Madam  Petulant  desired  her  daughters 
to  mind  the  moral,  and  believe  no  man’s  fair 
words  : ‘For  you  will  see  children,’  said  she, 

‘ these  soldiers  are  never  to  be  depended  upon  ; 
they  are  sometimes  here,  sometimes  there. — Do 
not  you  see,  daughter  Betty,  Colonel  Clod,  our 
next  neighbour  in  the  country,  pull  off  his  hat 
to  you  ? court’sy,  good  child  ; his  estate  is  just 
by  us.’  Florimel  was  now  mortified  down  to 
Prudentia’s  humour  ; and  Prudentia  exalted  into 
hers.  This  was  observed  ; Ilorimel  invites  us 
to  the  play  a second  time,  Prudentia  to  the 
show.  See  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs ! 
the  beaux,  the  wits,  the  gamesters,  the  prudes, 
the  coquettes,  the  valetudinarians  and  gallants, 
all  now  wait  upon  Florimel.  Such  is  the  state 
of  tilings  at  this  present  date  ; and  if  there  hap- 
pens any  new  commotions,  you  shall  have  im- 
mediate advice  from,  sir,  your  affectionate  friend 
and  servant. 

To  Castabella. 

May  16,  1709. 

Madam, — ‘ I have  the  honour  of  a letter  from 
a friend  of  yours,  relating  to  an  incivility  done 
to  you  at  the  opera,  by  one  of  your  own  sex ; 
but  I,  who  was  an  eye-witness  of  the  accident, 
can  testify  to  you,  that  though  she  pressed  be- 
fore you,  she  lost  her  ends  in  that  design ; for 
she  was  taken  notice  of  for  no  other  reason,  but 
her  endeavours  to  hide  a finer  woman  than  her- 
self. But,  indeed,  I dare  not  go  farther  in  this 
matter,  than  just  this  bare  mention  ; for  though 
it  was  taking  your  place  of  right,  rather  than 
place  of  precedence,  yet,  it  is  so  tender  a point, 
and  on  whfch  the  very  life  of  female  ambition 
depends,  that  it  is  of  the  last  consequence  to 
meddle  in  it : all  my  hopes  are  from  your  beau- 
tiful sex  ; and  those  bright  eyes,  which  are  the 
bane  of  others,  are  my  only  smi-shine.  My 
writings  are  sacred  to  you ; and  I hope  I shall 
always  have  the  good  fortune  to  live  under  your 
protection;  therefore  take  this  public  opportu- 
nity to  signify  to  all  the  world,  that  I design  to 
forbear  any  thing  that  may  in  the  least  tend  to 
the  diminution  of  your  interest,  reputation,  or 
power.  You  will  therefore  forgive  me,  that  I 


No.  17.] 


THE  TATLER. 


45 


strive  to  conceal  every  wrong-  step  made  by  any 
who  have  the  honour  to  wear  petticoats,  and 
shall  at  all  times  do  what  is  in  my  power  to 
make  all  mankind  as  much  their  slaves  as  myself. 
If  they  would  consider  things  as  they  ought,  there 
needs  not  much  argument  to  convince  them, 
that  it  is  their  fate  to  be  obedient  to  you,  and 
that  your  greatest  rebels  do  only  serve  with  a 
worse  grace.  I am.  Madam,  your  most  obedient 
and  most  humble  servant, 

‘ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF.’ 

St,  James's  Coffee-house^  May  16. 

Letters  from  the  Hague,  bearing  date  the 
twenty-first  instant,  N.  S.  advise,  that  his  grace 
the  duke  of  Marlborough,  immediately  after  his 
arrival,  sent  his  secretary  to  the  president  and 
the  pensionary,  to  acquaint  them  therewith. 
Soon  after,  these  ministers  visited  the  duke, 
and  made  him  compliments  in  the  name  of  the 
States-General ; after  which  they  entered  into  a 
conference  with  him  on  the  present  posture  of 
affairs,  and  gave  his  grace  assurances  of  the  firm 
adherence  of  the  States  to  the  alliance  ; at  the 
same  time  acquainting  him,  that  all  overtures 
of  peace  were  rejected,  until  they  had  an  op- 
portunity of  acting  in  concert  with  their  allies 
on  that  subject.  After  this  interview,  the  pen- 
sionary and  the  president  returned  to  the  as- 
sembly of  the  States.  Monsieur  Torcy  has  had 
a conference,  at  the  pensioner’s  house,  with  his 
grace  the  duke  of  Marlborough,  Prince  Eugene, 
and  his  excellency  the  lord  Townshend.  The 
result  of  what  was  debated  at  that  time  is  kept 
secret ; but  there  appears  an  air  of  satisfaction 
and  good  understanding  between  these  minis- 
ters. We  are  apt  also  to  give  ourselves  very 
hopeful  prospects  from  monsieur  Torcy’s  being 
employed  in  this  negotiation,  who  had  been 
always  remarkable  for  a particular  way  of 
thinking  in  his  sense  of  the  greatness  of 
France  ; which  he  has  always  said,  ‘ was  to 
be  promoted  rather  by  the  arts  of  peace,  than 
those  of  war.’  His  delivering  himself  freely 
on  this  subject  has  formerly  appeared  an  un- 
successful way  to  power  in  that  court ; but  in 
its  present  circumstances,  those  maxims  are 
better  received ; and  it  is  thought  a certain 
argument  of  the  sincerity  of  the  French  king’s 
intentions,  that  this  minister  is  at  present  made 
use  of.  The  marquis  is  to  return  to  Paris 
within  a few  days,  who  has  sent  a courier 
thither  to  give  notice  of  the  reasons  of  his  re- 
turn, that  the  court  may  be  the  sooner  able  to 
despatch  commissions  for  a formal  treaty. 

The  expectations  of  peace  are  increased  by 
advices  from  Paris  of  the  twelfth  instant,  which 
say,  the  Dauphin  has  altered  his  resolution  of 
commanding  in  Flanders  the  ensuing  campaign. 
The  Saxon  and  Prussian  reinforcements,  to- 
gether  with  count  Mercy’s  regiment  of  imperial 
horse,  are  encamped  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Brussels ; and  the  sufficient  stores  of  corn  and 
forage  are  transported  to  that  place  and  Ghent, 
for  the  service  of  the  confederate  army. 

They  write  from  Mons,  that  the  elector  of 
Bavaria  had  advice,  that  an  advanced  party  of 
the  Portuguese  army  had  been  defeated  by  the 
Spaniards. 


We  hear  from  Languedoc,  that  their  corn, 
olives,  and  figs,  were  wholly  destroyed ; but 
that  they  have  a hopeful  prospect  of  a plentiful 
vintage. 


No.  17.]  Tuesday^  May  19,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  May  18. 

The  discourse  has  happened  to  turn  this 
evening  upon  the  true  panegyric,  the  perfection 
of  which  was  asserted  to  consist  in  a certain 
artful  way  of  conveying  the  applause  in  an  in- 
direct manner.  There  was  a gentleman  gave 
us  several  instances  of  it.  Among  others,  he 
quoted  from  sir  Francis  Bacon,  in  his  ‘ Advance- 
ment of  Learning,’  a very  great  compliment 
made  to  Tiberius,*  as  follows  : In  a full  debate 
upon  public  affairs  in  the  senate,  one  of  the 
assembly  rose  up,  and  with  a very  grave  air 
said,  he  thought  it  for  the  honour  and  dignity 
of  the  commonwealth,  that  Tiberius  should  be 
declared  a god,  and  have  divine  worship  paid 
him.  The  emperor  was  surprised  at  the  pro- 
posal, and  demanded  of  him  to  declare,  whether 
he  had  made  any  application  to  incline  him  to 
that  overture  ? The  senator  answered,  with  a 
bold  and  haughty  tone,  ‘ Sir,  in  matters  that 
coneern  the  commonwealth,  I will  be  governed 
by  no  man.’  Another  gentleman  mentioned 
something  of  the  same  kind,  spoken  by  the  late 
duke  of  Buckingham  to  the  late  earl  of  Orrery  ; 
‘ My  lord,’  (says  the  duke,  after  his  libertine 
way,)  ‘ you  will  certainly  be  damned.’  ‘ How 
my  lord !’  says  the  earl  with  some  warmth. 
‘ Nay,’  said  the  duke,  ‘there  is  no  help  for  it, 
for  it  is  positively  said.  Cursed  is  he  of  whom 
all  men  speak  well.’t  This  is  taking  a man  by 
surprise,  and  being  welcome  when  you  have  so 
surprised  him.  The  person  flattered  receives 
you  into  his  closet  at  once  ; and  the  sudden 
change  of  his  heart,  from  the  expectation  of  an 
ill-wisher,  to  find  you  his  friend,  makes  you 
in  his  full  favour  in  a moment.  The  spirits 
that  were  raised  so  suddenly  against  you,  are 
as  suddenly  for  you.  There  was  another  in- 
stance given  of  this  kind  at  the  table : a gentle- 
man, who  had  a very  great  favour  done  him, 
and  an  employment  bestowed  upon  him,  with- 
out so  much  as  being  personally  known  to  his 
benefactor,  waited  upon  the  great  man  who  was 
so  generous,  and  was  beginning  to  say,  he  was 
infinitely  obliged. — ‘ Not  at  all,’  says  the  patron, 
turning  from  him  to  another,  ‘had  I known  a 
more  deserving  man  in  England,  he  should  not 
have  had  it.’ 

We  should  certainly  have  had  more  examples, 
had  not  a gentleman  produced  a book  which  he 
thought  an  instance  of  this  kind:*  it  was  a 


* An  allusion  to  an  instance  of  artful  flattery  practised 
by  Messala  Valerius. 

t Luke  vi.  26.  His  jjrace  did  not  understand,  nor  quote 
fairly,  the  passage  of  scripture,  to  which  he  thought  it 
so  witty,  thus  impiously  to  allude. 

t ft  has  been  said  that  the  pamphlet  called  ‘ The  IVaked 
Truth’  was  written  by  a lawyer  of  the  name  of  Nelmy : 


46 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  17 


pamphlet  called,  ‘ The  Naked  Truth.’  The 
idea  any  one  would  have  of  that  work  from  the 
title  was,  that  there  would  be  much  plain  deal- 
ing with  people  in  power,  and  that  we  should 
see  things  in  their  proper  light,  stripped  of  the 
ornaments  which  are  usually  given  to  the  ac- 
tions of  the  great : but  the  skill  of  this  author 
is  such,  that  he  has,  under  that  rugged  appear- 
ance approved  himself  the  finest  gentleman  and 
courtier  that  ever  writ.  The  language  is  ex- 
tremely sublime,  and  not  at  all  to  be  understood 
by  the  vulgar : the  sentiments  are  such  as  would 
make  no  figure  in  ordinary  words  ; but  such 
is  the  art  of  the  expression,  and  the  thoughts 
are  elevated  to  so  high  a degree,  that  I question 
whether  the  discourse  will  sell  much.  There 
was  an  ill-natured  fellow  present,  who  hates  all 

panegyric  mortally ; ‘ P take  him,’  said  he, 

‘what  the  devil  means  his  Naked  Truth,  in 
speaking  nothing  but  to  the  advantage  of  all 
whom  he  mentions  ? This  is  just  such  a great 
action  as  that  of  the  champion’s  on  a coronation- 
day,  who  challenges  all  mankind  to  dispute  with 
him  the  right  of  the  sovereign,  surrounded  with 
his  guards.’  I’he  gentleman  who  produced  the 
treatise  desired  him  to  be  cautious,  and  said,  it 
was  writ  by  an  excellent  soldier,  which  made 
the  company  observe  it  more  narrowly  ; and  (as 
critics  are  the  greatest  conjurers  at  finding  out 
a known  truth)  one  said,  he  was  sure  it  was 
writ  by  the  hand  of  his  sword-arm.  I could 
not  perceive  much  wit  in  that  expression  ; but 
it  raised  a laugh,  and,  I suppose,  was  meant  as 
a sneer  upon  valiant  men.  The  same  man 
pretended  to  see  in  the  style,  that  it  was  a 
horse-officer ; but  sure  that  is  being  too  nice ; 
for  though  you  may  know  officers  of  the  cavalry 
by  the  turn  of  their  feet,  I cannot  imagine  liow 
you  should  discern  their  hands  from  those  of 
other  men.  But  it  is  always  thus  with  pedants  ; 
they  will  ever  be  carping  ; if  a gentleman  or  a 
man  of  honour  puts  pen  to  paper.  I do  not 
doubt  but  this  author  will  find  this  assertion  too 
true,  and  that  obloquy  is  not  repulsed  by  the 
force  of  arms.  I will  therefore  set  this  excel- 
lent piece  in  a light  too  glaring  for  weak  eyes, 
and,  in  imitation  of  the  critic  Longinus,  shall, 
as  well  as  I can,  make  my  observations  in  a 
style  like  the  author’s  of  whom  I treat,  which 
perhaps  I am  as  capable  of  as  another,  having 
‘an  unbounded  force  of  thinking,  as  well  as  a 
most  exquisite  address,  extensively  and  wisely 
indulged  to  me  by  the  supreme  powers.’  My 
author,  I will  dare  to  assert,  shows  the  most 
universal  knowledge  of  any  writer  who  has 
appeared  this  century  : he  is  a poet  and  mer- 
chant, which  is  seen  in  two  master-words, 
‘credit  blossoms,’  he  is  a grammarian  and  a 
politician ; for  he  says,  ‘ The  uniting  of  the  two 
kingdoms  is  the  emphasis  of  the  security  of  the 
Protestant  succession.’  Some  would  be  apt  to 
say,  he  is  a conjuror;  for  he  has  found,  that  a 
republic  is  not  made  up  of  every  body  of  animals, 
but  is  composed  of  men  only,  and  not  of  horses. 

‘ Liberty  and  property  have  chosen  their  retreat 
within  the  emulating  circle  of  a human  com- 


bat if  William  viscount  Grimston  was  not  the  author  of 
it,  he  wrote  remarks  upon  this  critique  on  it,  in  a treatise 
which  he  dedicated  to  the  Hon.  Edward  Howard,  as  we 
are  informed  in  Tatler,  No.  21. 


monwealth.’  He  is  a physician;  for  he  says,  ‘I 
observe  a constant  equality  in  its  pulse,  and  a 
just  quickness  of  its  vigorous  circulation.’ 
And  again,  ‘ I view  the  strength  of  our  consti- 
tution  plainly  appear  in  the  sanguine  and  ruddy 
complexion  of  a well-contented  city.’  He  is  a 
divine  : for  he  says,  ‘ I cannot  but  bless  myself.’ 
And  indeed  this  excellent  treatise  has  had  that 
good  effect  upon  me,  who  am  far  from  being 
superstitious,  that  I also  ‘ cannot  but  bless  my- 
self.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  18. 

This  day  arrived  a mail  from  Lisbon,  with 
letters  of  the  thirteenth  instant,  N.  S.  contain- 
ing a particular  account  of  the  late  action  in 
Portugal.  On  the  seventeenth  instant,  the  army 
of  Portugal,  under  the  command  of  the  marquis 
de  Frontera,  lay  on  the  side  of  the  Caya,  and 
the  army  of  the  duke  of  Anjou,  commanded  by 
the  marquis  de  Bay,  on  the  other.  The  latter 
commander  having  an  ambition  to  ravage  the 
country,  in  a manner  in  sight  of  the  Portuguese, 
made  a motion  with  the  whole  body  of  his  horse 
toward  fort  Saint  Christopher,  near  the  town 
of  Badajos.  The  generals  of  the  Portuguese, 
disdaining  that  such  an  insult  should  be  offered 
to  their  arms,  took  a resolution  to  pass  the  river, 
and  oppose  the  designs  of  the  enemy.  The 
earl  of  Galway  represented  to  them,  that  the 
present  posture  of  affairs  was  such  on  the  side 
of  the  allies,  that  there  needed  no  more  to  be 
done  at  present  in  that  country,  but  to  carry  on 
a defensive  part.  But  his  argument  could  not 
avail  in  tlic  council  of  war.  Upon  which  a 
great  detachment  of  foot  and  the  whole  of  the 
horse  of  the  king  of  Portugal’s  army  passed  the 
river,  and  with  some  pieces  of  cannon  did  good 
execution  on  the  enemy.  Upon  observing  this, 
the  marquis  de  Bay  advanced  with  his  horse, 
and  attacked  the  right  wing  of  the  Portuguese 
cavalry,  who  faced  about,  and  fled,  without 
standing  the  first  encounter.  But  their  foot  re- 
pulsed the  same  body  of  horse,  in  three  succes- 
sive charges,  with  great  order  and  resolution. 
While  this  was  transacting,  the  British  Gene- 
ral commanded  the  brigade  of  Parce,  to  keep 
the  enemy  in  diversion  by  a new  attack.  This 
was  so  well  executed,  that  the  Portuguese  in- 
fantry had  time  to  retire  in  good  order,  and  re- 
pass  the  river.  But  that  brigade,  which  rescued 
them,  was  itself  surrounded  by  the  enemy,  and 
major-general  Sarkey,  brigadier  Pearce,  to- 
gether with  both  their  regiments,  and  that  of 
the  lord  Galway,  lately  raised,  were  taken  pri- 
soners. 

During  the  engagement,  the  earl  of  Barrimore, 
having  advanced  too  far  to  give  some  necessary 
order,  was  hemmed  in  by  a squadron  of  the 
enemy ; but  found  means  to  gallop  up  to  the 
brigade  of  Pearce,  with  which  he  remains  also 
a prisoner.  My  lord  Galway  had  his  horse  shot 
under  him  in  this  action ; and  the  Conde  de 
Saint  Juan,  a Portuguese  general,  was  taken 
prisoner.  The  same  night  the  arm}’^  encamped 
at  Aronches,  and  on  the  ninth  moved  to  Elvas, 
where  they  lay  when  these  despatches  came 
away.  Colonel  Stanwix’s  regiment  is  also  taken. 
The  whole  of  this  affair  has  given  the  Portu- 


N0.18.J 


THE  TATLER. 


47 


guese  a great  idea  of  the  capacity  and  courage 
of  my  lord  Galway,  against  whose  advice  they 
entered  upon  this  unfortunate  affair,  and  by 
whose  conduct  they  were  rescued  from  it.  The 
prodigious  constancy  and  resolution  of  that  great 
man  is  hardly  to  be  paralleled,  who,  under  the 
oppression  of  a maimed  body,  and  the  reflection 
of  repeated  ill-fortune,  goes  on  with  an  unspeak- 
able alacrity  in  the  service  of  the  common  cause. 
He  has  already  put  things  in  a very  good  posture 
after  this  ill  accident,  and  made  the  necessary 
dispositions  for  covering  the  country  from  any 
further  attempt  of  the  enemy,  who  still  lie  in  the 
camp  they  were  in  before  the  battle. 

Letters  from  Brussels,  dated  the  twenty-fifth 
instant,  advise,  that  notwithstanding  the  nego- 
tiations of  a peace  seem  so  far  advanced,  that 
some  do  confidently  report  the  preliminaries  of 
a treaty  to  be  actually  agreed  on,  yet  the  allies 
hasten  their  preparations  for  opening  the  cam- 
paign ; and  the  forces  of  the  empire,  the  Prus- 
sians, the  Danes,  the  Wirtembergers,  the  Pa- 
latines, and  Saxon  auxiliaries,  are  in  motion 
tov'ards  the  general  rendezvous,  they  being  al- 
ready arrived  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Brussels. 
These  advices  add,  that  the  deputies  of  the 
States  of  Holland,  having  made  a general  re- 
view of  the  troops  in  Flanders,  set  out  for  Ant- 
werp on  the  2ist  instant  from  that  place. 


No.  18.]  Saturday^  May  21,  1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  20. 

It  is  observed  too  often  that  men  of  wit  do  so 
much  employ  their  thoughts  upon  fine  specula- 
tions, that  things  useful  to  mankind  are  wholly 
neglected  ; and  they  are  busy  in  making  emen- 
dations upon  some  enclytics  in  a Greek  author, 
while  obvious  things,  that  every  man  may  have 
use  for,  are  wholly  overlooked.  It  would  be  a 
happy  thing,  if  such  as  have  real  capacities  for 
public  service  were  employed  in  works  of  gen- 
eral use  ; but  because  a thing  is  every  body’s 
business,  it  is  nobody’s  business  : this  is  for 
want  of  public  spirit.  As  for  my  part,  who  am 
only  a student,  and  a man  of  no  great  interest, 
I can  only  remark  things,  and  recommend  the 
correction  of  them  to  higher  powers.  There  is 
an  offence  I have  a thousand  times  lamented, 
but  fear  I shall  never  see  remedied ; which  is, 
that  in  a nation  where  learning  is  so  frequent  as 
in  Great  Britain,  there  should  be  so  many  gross 
errors  as  there  are,  in  the  very  directions  of 
things  wherein  accuracy  is  necessary  for  the 
conduct  of  life.  This  is  notoriously  observed 
by  all  men  of  letters  when  they  first  come  to 
town  (at  which  time  they  are  usually  curious 
that  way)  in  the  inscriptions  on  sign-posts.  I 
have  cause  to  know  this  matter  as  well  as  any 
body  ; for  I have,  when  I went  to  Merchant- 
Taylors’  school,  suffered  stripes  for  spelling 
after  the  signs  I observed  in  my  way ; though 
at  the  same  time,  I must  confess,  staring  at 


those  inscriptions  first  gave  me  an  idea  and 
curiosity  for  medals,  in  which  I have  since  ar- 
rived at  some  knowledge.  Many  a man  has 
lost  his  way  and  his  dinner  by  this  general  want 
of  skill  in  orthography ; for,  considering  that 
the  painters  are  usually  so  very  bad,  that  you 
cannot  know  the  animal  under  whose  sign  you 
are  to  live  that  day,  how  must  the  stranger  be 
misled  if  it  be  wrong  spelled,  as  well  as  ill 
painted  ? I have  a cousin  now  in  town,  who 
has  answered  under  bachelor  at  Queen’s  Col- 
lege, whose  name  is  Humphrey  Mopstaff ; (he  is 
a-kin  to  us  by  his  mother :)  this  young  man, 
going  to  see  a relation  in  Barbican,  wandered  a 
whole  day  by  the  mistake  of  one  letter,  for  it 
was  written,  ‘ this  is  the  Beer,’  instead  of  ‘ this 
is  the  Bear.’  He  was  set  right  at  last,  by  in- 
quiring for  the  house,  of  a fellow  who  could  not 
read,  and  knew  the  place  mechanically  only  by 
having  been  often  drunk  there.  But  in  the 
name  of  goodness,  let  us  make  our  learning 
of  use  to  us,  or  not.  Was  not  this  a shame, 
that  a philosopher  should  be  thus  directed  by  a 
cobbler  ? I will  be  sworn,  if  it  were  known  how 
many  have  suffered  in  this  kind  by  false  spell- 
ing since  the  Union,  this  matter  would  not  long 
lie  thus.  What  makes  these  evils  the  more  in- 
supportable is,  that  they  are  so  easily  amended, 
and  nothing  done  in  it.  But  it  is  so  far  from 
that,  that  the  evil  goes  on  in  other  arts  as  well  as 
orthography ; places  are  confounded,  as  well  for 
want  of  proper  distinctions,  as  things  for  want 
of  true  characters.  Had  I not  come  by  the 
other  day  very  early  in  the  morning,*  there 
might  have  been  mischief  done  : for  a worthy 
North  Briton  was  swearing  at  Stocks  Market, 
that  they  would  not  let  him  in  at  his  lodgings ; 
but  I,  knowing  the  gentleman,  and  observing 
him  look  often  at  the  king  on  horseback,  and 
then  double  his  oaths  that  he  was  sure  he  was 
right,  found  he  mistook  that  for  Charing  Cross, 
by  the  erection  of  the  like  statue  in  each  place. 
I grant,  private  men  may  distinguish  their  abodes 
as  they  please  : as  ene  of  my  acquaintance,  who 
lives  at  JVIarybone,t  has  put  a good  sentence  of 
his  own  invention  upon  his  dwelling-place, t to 
find  out  where  he  lives : he  is  so  near  London, 
that  his  conceit  is  this,  ‘ the  country  in  town  ;’ 
or,  ‘ the  town  in  the  country  for,  you  know, 

* Wit  has  its  prerogaiive,  ‘ and  about  it,  there  is  not 
and  there  oiiaht  not,  to  be  here,  either  dispute  or  obser- 
vation.’ Truth,  neverthele  s,  claims  the  privilege  to  re- 
mark, that  these  two  p(]iiestrian  statues  were  very  un- 
like. The  one  was  made  by  the  famous  La  Seur,  for 
King  Charles  I. ; the  other  was  originally  intended  for 
John  Sobieski,  king  of  Poland,  and,  mutatis  mutandis, 
erected  in  honour  of  King  Charles  II.  The  Turk  un- 
derneath the  horse  was  cleverly  metamorphosed  into 
Oliver  Cromwell ; but  his  turban  escaped  unnoticed,  or 
unaltered,  to  testify  the  truth.  The  one  is  of  brass  black- 
ened, the  other  was  of  white  marble,  &c.  The  statue 
in  Stocks  Market,  with  the  conduit  and  all  its  orna- 
ments, were  all  removed  to  make  way  for  the  Mansion- 
house,  the  first  stone  of  which  was  laid  by  Micajah 
Perry,  Esq.  then  lord  mayor,  Oct.  25,  1739.  See  Spect. 
No.  462,  and  note. 

t The  Duke  of  Buckingham  is  humorously  said  to  have 
lived  at  Marybone,  as  he  was  almost  every  day  on  the 
bowling-green  there,  and  seldom  left  it  until  he  could  see 
no  longer. 

J On  Buckingham-house,  now  the  Q-ueen’s  palace, 
were  originally  these  inscriptions.  On  the  front,  ‘ Sic 
siti  laBtantur  Lares.’  On  the  back  front,  ‘ Rus  in  urbe  ’ 
On  the  side  next  the  road,  ‘ Spectator  fastidiosus  sibi  mo 
lestus.’  On  the  north  side,  ‘Lente  inciepit.sitbperfecii.’ 


48 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  18. 


if  they  are  both  in  one,  they  are  all  one.  Besides 
that,  the  ambiguity  is  not  of  great  consequence ; 
if  you  are  safe  at  the  place,  it  is  no  matter 
if  you  do  not  distinctly  know  where  the  place 
is.  But  to  return  to  the  orthography  of  public 
places  ; I propose,  that  every  tradesman  in  the 
cities  of  London  and  Westminster  shall  give  me 
six  pence  a quarter  for  keeping  their  signs  in 
repair  as  to  the  grammatical  part ; and  Iwill  take 
into  my  house  a Swiss  count§  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, who  can  remember  all  their  names  with- 
out book,  for  despatch  sake,  setting  up  the  head 
of  the  said  foreigner  for  my  sign  ; the  features 
being  strong,  and  fit  for  hanging  high. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  20. 

This  day  a mail  arrived  from  Holland,  by 
whieh  there  are  advices  from  Paris,  that  the 
kingdom  of  France  is  in  the  utmost  misery  and 
distraction.  The  merchants  of  Lyons  have  been 
at  court  to  remonstrate  their  great  sufferings  by 
the  failure  of  their  public  credit ; but  have  re- 
ceived no  other  satisfaction,  than  promises  of  a 
sudden  peace  ; and  that  their  debts  will  be  made 
good  by  funds  out  of  the  revenue,  which  will 
not  answer,  but  in  case  of  the  peace  which  is 
promised.  In  the  mean  time,  the  cries  of  the 
common  people  are  loud  for  want  of  bread,  the 
gentry  have  lost  all  spirit  and  zeal  for  their 
country,  and  the  king  himself  seems  to  languish 
under  the  anxiety  of  the  pressing  calamities  of 
the  nation,  and  retires  from  hearing  those  griev- 
ances, which  he  hath  not  power  to  redress.  In- 
stead of  preparations  for  war,  and  the  defence 
of  their  country,  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  but 
evident  marks  of  a general  despair  ; processions, 
fastings,  public  mournings  and  humiliations,  are 
become  the  sole  employments  of  a people,  who 
were  lately  the  most  vain  and  gay  of  any  in  the 
universe. 

The  pope  has  written  to  the  French  king  on 
the  subject  of  a peace  ; and  his  majesty  has  an- 
swered in  the  lowliest  terms,  that  he  entirely 
submits  his  affairs  to  divine  providence,  and  shall 
soon  show  the  world,  that  he  prefers  the  tran- 
quillity of  his  people  to  the  glory  of  his  arms, 
and  extent  of  his  conquests. 

Letters  from  the  Hague  of  the  twenty-fourth 
say,  that  his  excellency  the  lord  Townshend 
delivered  his  credentials  on  that  day  to  the 
States  General,  as  plenipotentiary  from  the  queen 
of  Great  Britain  ; as  did  also  count  Zinzendorf, 
who  bears  the  same  character  from  the  emperor. 

Prince  Eugene  intended  to  set  out  the  next 
day  for  Brussels,  and  his  grace  the  duke  of 
Marlborough  on  the  Tuesday  following.  The 
marquis  de  Torcy  talks  daily  of  going,  but  still 
continues  there.  The  army  of  the  allies  is  to 
assemble  on  the  seventh  of  next  month  at  Hel- 
chin ; though  it  is  generally  believed  that  the 
preliminaries  to  a treaty  are  fully  adjusted. 

The  approach  of  the  peace  strikes  a panic 
through  our  armies,  though  that  of  a battle 
could  never  do  it,  and  they  almost  repent  of 
their  bravery,  that  made  such  haste  to  humble 
themselves  and  the  French  king.  The  duke  of 
Marlborough,  though  otherwise  the  greatest 


* Probably  John  James  Heidegger,  esq. 


general  of  the  age,  has  plainly  shown  himself 
unacquainted  with  the  arts  of  husbanding  a war. 
He  might  have  grown  as  old  as  the  duke  of 
Alva,  or  prince  Waldeck  in  the  Low  Countries, 
and  yet  have  got  reputation  enough  every  year 
for  any  reasonable  man ; for  the  command  of 
general  in  Flanders  hath  been  ever  looked  upon 
as  a provision  for  life.  For  my  part,  I cannot 
see  how  his  grace  can  answer  it  to  the  world, 
for  the  great  eagerness  he  hath  shown  to  send 
a hundred  thousand  of  the  bravest  fellows  in 
Europe  a-begging.  But  the  private  gentlemen 
of  the  infantry  w’ill  be  able  to  shift  for  them- 
selves ; a brave  man  can  never  starve  in  a coun- 
try stocked  with  hen-roosts.  ‘ There  is  not  a 
yard  of  linen,’  says  my  honoured  progenitor  sir 
John  Falstaff,  ‘ in  my  whole  company  : but  as 
for  that,’  says  this  worthy  knight,  ‘ I am  in  no 
great  pain  ; we  shall  find  shirts  on  every  hedge.’ 
There  is  another  sort  of  gentlemen  whom  I am 
much  more  concerned  for,  and  that  is  the  in- 
genious fraternity  of  w^hieh  I have  the  honour  to 
be  an  unwmrthy  member  ; I mean  the  news- 
writers  of  Great  Britain,  w'hether  post-men  or 
post-boys,* * * §  or  by  what  other  name  or  title  soever 
dignified  or  distinguished.  The  case  of  these 
gentlemen  is,  I think,  more  hard  than  that  of 
the  soldiers,  considering  that  they  have  taken 
more  towns,  and  fought  more  battles.  They 
have  been  upon  parties  and  skirmishes,  w'hen 
our  armies  have  lain  still ; and  given  the  general 
assault  to  many  a place,  when  the  besiegers 
were  quiet  in  their  trenches.  They  have  made 
us  masters  of  several  strong  towns  many  weeks 
before  our  generals  could  do  it ; and  completed 
victories,  when  our  greatest  captains  have  been 
glad  to  come  off  with  a drawn  battle.  Where 
prince  Eugene  has  slain  his  thousands,  Boyerf 
has  slain  his  ten  thousands.  This  gentleman 
can  indeed  be  never  enough  commended  for  his 
courage  and  intrepidity  during  this  whole  w^ar  : 
he  has  laid  about  him  with  an  inexpressible 
fury  ; and,  like  the  offended  Marius  of  ancient 
Rome,  has  made  such  havoc  among  his  country- 
men, as  must  be  the  work  of  two  or  three  ages 
to  repair.  It  must  be  confessed,  the  redoubted 
Mr.  Buekleyt  has  shed  as  much  blood  as  the 
former  ; but  I cannot  forbear  saying  (and  I hope 
it  wall  not  look  like  envy)  that  w’e  regard  our 
brother  Buckley  as  a kind  of  Drawcansir,  who 
spares  neither  friend  nor  foe  ; but  generally  kills 
as  many  of  his  own  side  as  the  enemy’s.  It  is 
impossible  for  this  ingenious  sort  of  men  to  sub- 
sist after  a peace : every  one  remembers  the 
shifts  they  w'ere  driven  to  in  the  reign  of  king 
Charles  the  Second,  when  they  could  not  furnish 
out  a single  paper  of  news,  without  lighting  up 
a comet  in  Germany,  or  a fire  in  Moscow. 
There  scarce  appeared  a letter  without  a para- 
graph on  an  earthquake.  Prodigies  w^ere  growm 
so  familiar,  that  they  had  lost  their  name,  as  a 
great  poet  of  that  age  has  it.  I remember  3Ir. 
Dyer,§  who  is  justly  looked  upon  by  all  the  fox- 

* ‘The  Post-boy’  was  a scandalous  weekly  paper,  by 
Abel  Roper  ; and  ‘The  Flying  Post,’  by  George  Ridpath, 
was  just  such  another, 

t Abel  Rover,  author  of  ‘ The  Political  State.’ 

j Samuel  Buckley,  printer  of  ‘ The  Gazette,’  and  also 
of  ‘ The  Daily  Courant.’ 

§ ‘ Dyer’s  Letter  ;’  a newspaper  of  that  time,  which, 
according  to  Mr.  Addison,  was  entitled  to  little  credit. 


No.  19.] 


THE  TATLER. 


49 


hunters  in  the  nation  as  the  greatest  statesman 
our  country  has  produced,  was  particularly  fa- 
mous for  dealing  in  whales  ; insomuch,  that  in 
five  months  time  (for  I had  th§  curiosity  to  ex- 
amine his  letters  on  that  occasion)  he  brought 
three  into  the  mouth  of  tlie  river  Thames,  be- 
sides two  porpoises  and  a sturgeon.  The  judi- 
cious and  wary  Mr.  Ichabod  Dawks*  hath  all 
along  been  the  rival  of  this  great  writer,  and 
got  himself  a reputation  from  plagues  and  fam- 
ines ; by  which,  in  those  days  he  destroyed  as 
great  multitudes  as  he  has  lately  done  by  the 
sword.  In  every  dearth  of  news,  Grand  Cairo 
was  sure  to  be  unpeopled. 

It  being  therefore  visible,  that  our  society 
will  be  greater  sufferers  by  the  peace  than  the 
soldiery  itself,  insomuch  that  the  Daily  Courant 
is  in  danger  of  being  broken,  my  friend  Dyer 
of  being  reformed,  and  the  very  best  of  the 
whole  band  of  being  reduced  to  half-pay  ; might 
I presume,  to  offer  any  thing  in  the  behalf  of 
my  distressed  brethren,  I vv^ould  humbly  move, 
that  an  appendix  of  proper  apartments,  furnish- 
ed with  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  other  necessa- 
ries of  life,  should  be  added  to  the  hospital  of 
Chelsea,  for  the  relief  of  such  decayed  news- 
writers  as  have  served  their  country  in  the  wars  ; 
and  that,  for  their  exercise,  they  should  compile 
the  annals  of  their  brother  veterans,  who  have 
been  engaged  in  the  same  service,  and  are  still 
obliged  to  do  duty  after  the  same  manner. 

I cannot  be  thought  to  speak  this  out  of  an 
eye  to  any  private  interest ; for,  as  my  chief 
scenes  of  action  are  coffee-houses,  play-houses, 
and  my  own  apartment,  I am  in  no  need  of 
camps,  fortifications,  and  fields  of  battle,  to  sup- 
port me ; I do  not  call  for  heroes  and  generals 
to  my  assistance.  Though  the  officers  are  bro- 
ken, and  the  armies  disbanded,  I shall  still  be 
safe,  as  long  as  there  are  men,  or  women,  or 
politicians,  or  lovers,  or  poets,  or  nymphs,  or 
swains,  or  cits,  or  courtiers,  in  being. 


No.  19.]  Tuesday,  May  24,  1709. 

Q.uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  23. 

There  is  nothing  can  give  a man  of  any  con- 
sideration greater  pain,  than  to  see  order  and 
distinction  laid  aside  amongst  men,  especially 
when  the  rank  (of  which  he  himself  is  member) 
is  intruded  upon  by  such  as  have  no  pretence  to 
that  honour.  The  appellation  of  Esquire  is  the 
most  notoriously  abused  in  this  kind,  of  any 
class  amongst  men  ; insomuch,  that  it  is  become 
almost  the  subject  of  derision  : but  I will  be 
bold  to  say,  this  behaviour  towards  it  proceeds 
from  the  ignorance  of  the  people  in  its  true 
origin.  I shall  therefore,  as  briefly  as  possible, 
do  myself  and  all  true  Esquires  the  justice  to 
look  into  antiquity  upon  this  subject. 

In  the  first  ages  of  the  world,  before  the  in- 

* Icabod  Dawfcs,  another  poor  epistolary  historian. 

G 


vention  of  jointures  and  settlements,  when  the 
noble  passion  of  love  had  possession  of  the  hearts 
of  men,  and  the  fair  sex  were  not  yet  cultivated 
into  the  merciful  disposition  which  they  have 
showed  in  latter  centuries,  it  was  natural  for 
great  and  heroic  spirits  to  retire  to  rivulets, 
woods,  and  caves,  to  lament  their  destiny,  and 
the  cruelty  of  the  fair  persons  who  are  deaf  to 
their  lamentations.  The  hero  in  this  distress  was 
generally  in  armour,  and  in  a readiness  to  fight 
any  man  he  met  with,  especially  if  distinguished 
by  any  extraordinary  qualifications  : it  being 
the  nature  of  heroic  love  to  hate  all  merit,  lest 
it  should  come  within  the  observation  of  the 
cruel  one  by  whom  its  own  perfections  are  ne- 
glected. A lover  of  this  kind  had  always  about 
him  a person  of  a second  value,  and  subordinate 
to  him,  who  could  hear  his  afflictions,  carry  an 
enchantment  for  his  wounds,  hold  his  helmet 
when  he  was  eating  (if  ever  he  did  eat,)  or  in  his 
absence,  when  he  was  retired  to  his  apartment  in 
any  king’s  palace,  tell  the  prince  himself,  or 
perhaps  his  daughter,  the  birth,  parentage,  and 
adventures  of  his  valiant  master.  7’his  trusty 
companion  w'as  styled  his  Esquire,  and  was  al- 
ways  fit  for  any  offices  about  him  ; was  as  gen- 
tie  and  chaste  as  a gentleman-usher,  quick  and 
active  as  an  equerry,  smooth  and  eloquent  as 
the  master  of  the  ceremonies.  A man  thus 
qualified  was  the  first,  as  the  ancients  affirm, 
who  was  called  an  Esquire ; and  none  without 
these  accomplishments  ought  to  assume  our 
order  : but,  to  the  utter  disgrace  and  confusion 
of  the  heralds,  every  pretender  is  admitted  into 
this  fraternity,  even  persons  the  most  foreign 
to  this  courteous  institution.  I have  taken  an 
inventory  of  all  within  this  city,  and  looked  over 
every  letter  in  the  Post-office,  for  my  better  in- 
formation.  There  are  of  the  middle  Temple, 
including  all  in  the  buttery-books,  and  in  the 
lists  of  the  house,  five  thousand.*  In  the  Inner, 
four  thousand. t In  the  King’s  Bench  Walks, 
the  whole  buildings  are  inhabited  by  Esquires 
only.  The  adjacent  street  of  Essex,  from  Mor- 
ris’s Coffee-house,!  and  the  turning  towards  the 
Grecian,  you  cannot  meet  one  who  is  not  an 
Esquire,  until  you  take  water.  Every  house  in 
Norfolk  and  Arundel  streets  is  also  governed  by 
an  Esquire,  or  his  Lady  ; Soho-square,  Blooms- 
bury-square,and  all  other  places  where  the  floors 
rise  above  nine  feet,  are  so  many  universities, 
where  you  enter  yourselves  and  become  of  our 
order.  However,  if  this  were  the  worst  of  the 
evil,  it  were  to  be  supported,  because  they  are 
generally  men  of  some  figure  and  use  ; though 
I know  no  pretence  they  have  to  an  honour 
which  had  its  rise  from  chivalry.  But  if  you 
travel  into  the  counties  of  Great  Britain,  we  are 
still  more  imposed  upon  by  innovation.  We  are 
indeed  derived  from  the  field : but  shall  that 
give  title  to  all  that  ride  mad  after  foxes  ; that 
halloo  when  they  see  a hare,  or  venture  their 
necks  full  speed  after  a hawk,  immediately  to 
commence  Esquires  ? No  ; our  order  is  temper- 
ate, cleanly,  sober,  and  chaste  ; but  these  rural 
Esquires  commit  immodesties  upon  haycocks, 


*In  Original  Taller,  4000. 
t In  Original  Taller,  5000. 
t Morris’s  Coffee-house  was  in  the  Strand. 


50 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  19. 


wear  shirts  half  a week,  and  are  drunk  twice  a 
day.  These  men  are  also,  to  the  last  degree, 
excessive  in  their  food  : an  Esquire  of  Norfolk 
eats  two  pounds  of  dumplin  every  meal,  as  if 
obliged  to  it  by  our  order  : an  Esquire  of  Hamp- 
shire is  as  ravenous  in  devouring  hog’s  flesh : 
one  of  Essex  has  as  little  mercy  on  calves.  But 
I must  take  the  liberty  to  protest  against  them, 
and  acquaint  those  persons,  that  it  is  not  the 
quantity  they  eat,  but  the  manner  of  eating,  that 
shows  an  Esquire.  But,  above  all,  I am  most 
oftended  at  small-quillmen,  and  transcribing 
clerks,  who  are  all  come  into  our  order,  for  no 
reason  that  I know  of,  but  that  they  can  easily 
flourish  at  the  end  of  their  name.  I will  un- 
dertake that,  if  you  read  the  superscriptions  to 
all  the  oflices  in  the  kingdom,  you  will  not  find 
three  letters  directed  to  any  but  Esquires.  I 
have  myself  a couple  of  clerks,  and  the  rogues 
make  nothing  of  leaving  messages  upon  eaeh 
other’s  desk  : one  directs,  ‘ To  Gregory  Goose- 
quill,  Esquire  ;’  to  which  the  other  replies  by  a 
note,  ‘ To  Nehemiah  Dashwell,  Esquire,  with 
respect ;’  in  a word,  it  is  now  Populus  Armige- 
rorum,  a people  of  Esquires.  And  I do  not  know 
but,  by  the  late  act  of  naturalization,  foreigners 
will  assume  that  title,  as  part  of  the  immunity 
of  being  Englishmen.  All  these  improprieties 
flow  from  the  negligence  of  the  Herald’s  office. 
Those  gentlemen  in  party-coloured  habits  do 
not,  so  rightly  as  they  ought,  understand  them- 
selves ; though  they  are  dressed  cap-a-pee  in 
hieroglyphics,  they  are  inwardly  but  ignorant 
men.  I asked  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  who 
is  a man  of  wit,  but  of  no  fortune,  and  is  forced 
to  appear  as  a jack-pudding  on  the  stage  to  a 
mountebank  ; ‘ Pr’ythee,  Jack,  why  is  your  coat 
of  so  many  colours  ?’  He  replied,  ‘ I act  a fool ; 
and  this  spotted  dress  is  to  signify,  that  every 
man  living  has  a weak  place  about  him  ; for  I 
am  knight  of  the  shire,  and  represent  you  all.’ 
I wish  the  heralds  would  know  as  well  as  this 
man  does,  in  his  way,  that  they  are  to  act  for 
us  in  the  case  of  our  arms  and  appellations : we 
should  not  then  be  jmnbled  together  in  so  pro- 
miscuous and  absurd  a manner.  I design  to 
take  this  matter  into  further  consideration ; and 
no  man  shall  be  received  as  an  Esquire,  who 
cannot  bring  a certificate,  that  he  has  conquered  _ 
some  lady’s  obdurate  heart;  that  he  can  lead 
up  a country  dance  ; and  carry  a message 
between  her  and  her  lover,  with  address, 
secrecy,  and  diligence.  A Squire  is  properly 
born  for  the  service  of  the  sex,  and  his  creden- 
tials shall  be  signed  by  three  toasts  and  one 
prude,  before  his  title  shall  be  received  in  my 
office. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  May  23. 

On  Satruday  last  was  presented  the  Busy 
Body,  a comedy  written  (as  I have  heretofore 
remarked)  by  a woman.  The  plot  and  inci- 
dents of  the  play  are  laid  with  that  subtilty  of 
spirit  which  is  peculiar  to  females  of  wit,  and 
is  very  seldom  well  performed  by  those  of  the 
other  sex,  in  whom  craft  in  love  is  an  act  of 
invention,  and  not  as  with  women  the  effect  of 
nature  and  instinct. 


To-morrow  will  be  acted  a play,  called.  The 
Trip  to  the  Jubilee.*  This  performance  is  the 
greatest  instance  we  can  have  of  the  irresistible 
force  of  proper  action.  The  dialogue  in  itself 
has  something  too  low  to  bear  a criticism  upon 
it : but  Mr.  Wilks  enters  into  the  part  with  so 
much  skill,  that  the  gallantry,  the  youth,  and 
gayety  of  a yotmg  man  of  a plentiful  fortune, 
are  looked  upon  with  as  much  indulgence  on 
the  stage,  as  in  real  life,  without  any  of  those 
intermixtures  of  wit  and  humour,  which  usually 
prepossess  us  in  favour  of  such  characters  in 
other  plays. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  23 

Letters  from  the  Hague  of  the  twenty-third 
instant,  N.  S.  say,  that  Mr.  Walpole  (who  is 
since  arrived)  was  going  with  all  expedition  to 
Great  Britain,  whither  they  doubted  not  but  he 
carried  with  him  the  preliminaries  to  a treaty 
of  peace.  The  French  minister,  monsieur  Torcy, 
has  been  observed  in  this  whole  negociation,  to 
turn  his  discourse  upon  the  calamities  sent  down 
by  heaven  upon  France,  and  imputed  the  neces- 
sities  they  were  under  to  the  immediate  hand  of 
Providence,  in  inflicting  a general  scarcity 
of  provision,  rather  than  the  superior  genius  of 
the  generals,  or  the  bravery  of  the  armies 
against  them.  It  would  be  impious  not  to  ac- 
knowledge the  indulgence  of  heaven  to  us  ; but, 
at  the  same  time,  as  we  are  to  love  our  enemies, 
we  are  glad  to  see  them  mortified  enough  to 
mix  Christianity  with  their  politics.  An  au- 
thentic letter  from  madam  Maintenon  to  mon- 
sieur Torey  has  been  stolen  by  a person  about 
him,  who  has  communicated  a copy  of  it  to 
some  of  the  dependents  of  a minister  of  the 
allies.  That  epistle  is  writ  in  the  most  pathetic 
manner  imaginable,  and  in  a style  which  shows 
her  genius,  that  has  so  long  engrossed  the  heart 
of  this  great  monarch. 

‘ SIR, — I received  yours,  and  am  sensible  of 
the  address  and  capacity  with  which  you  have 
hitherto  transacted  the  great  aflair  under  your 
management.  You  will  observe,  that  our  wants 
here  are  not  to  be  concealed  : and  that  it  is 
vanity  to  use  artifices  with  the  knowing  men 
with  whom  you  are  to  deal.  Let  me  beg  you, 
therefore,  in  this  representation  of  our  circum- 
stances, to  lay  aside  art,  which  ceases  to  be 
sueh  when  it  is  seen,  and  rriake  use  of  all  your 
skill  to  gain  us  what  advantages  you  can  from 
the  enemies’  jealousy  of  each  other’s  greatness  ; 
which  is  the  place  where  only  you  have  room 
for  any  dexterity.  If  you  have  any  passion  for 
your  unhappy  country,  or  any  affection  for  your 
distressed  master,  come  home  with  peace.  Oh 
heaven  ! do  I live  to  talk  of  Lewis  the  Great, 
as  the  object  of  pity  ? The  king  shows  a great 
uneasiness  to  be  infor)iied  of  all  that  passes  : 
but,  at  the  same  time,  is  fearful  of  every  one 
who  appears  in  his  presence,  lest  he  should 
bring  an  account  of  some  new  calamity.  I 
know  not  in  what  terms  to  represent  my 
thoughts  to  you,  when  I speaJi  of  the  king,  with 


* By  Mr.  George  Farquhar. 


No.  20.] 


THE  TATLER. 


51 


relation  to  his  bodily  health.  Figure  to  your- 
eelf  that  immortal  man,  who  stood  in  our  public 
places  represented  with  trophies,  armour,  and 
terrors,  on  his  pedestal : consider  the  invincible, 
the  great,  the  good,  the  pious,  the  mighty,  which 
were  the  usual  epithets  we  gave  him,  both  in 
our  language  and  thoughts.  I say,  consider 
him  whom  you  knew  tiie  greatest  and  most 
glorious  of  monarchs,  and  now  think  you  see 
the  same  man  an  unhappy  lazar,  in  the  lowest 
circumstances  of  human  nature  itself,  without 
regard  to  the  state  from  whence  he  is  fallen. 
I write  from  his  bed-side  : he  is  at  present  in  a 
slumber.  I have  many,  many  things  to  add  : 
but  my  tears  flow  too  fast,  and  my  sorrow  is 
too  big  for  utterance.  ‘ I am,  &c.’ 

There  is  such  a veneration  due  from  all  men 
to  the  persons  of  princes,  that  it  were  a sort  of 
dishonesty  to  . represent  further  the  condition 
which  the  king  is  in ; but  it  is  certain,  that, 
soon  after  the  receipt  of  these  advices,  monsieur 
Torcy  waited  upon  his  grace  the  duke  of  Marl- 
borough and  the  lord  Townshend ; and  in  that 
conference  gave  up  many  points,  which  he  had 
before  said  were  such  as  he  must  return  to 
France  before  he  could  answer. 


No.  20.]  Thursday,  May  26,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 


White's  Chocolate-house,  May  24. 

It  is  not  to  be  imagined  how  far  preposses- 
sion will  run  away  with  people’s  understand- 
ings, in  cases  wherein  they  are  under  present 
uneasiness.  The  following  narration  is  a suf- 
ficient testimony  of  the  truth  of  this  observa- 
tion. 

I had  the  honour  the  other  day  of  a visit  from 
r a gentlewoman  (a  stranger  to  me)  who  seemed 
to  be  about  thirty.  Her  complexion  is  brown  ; 
but  the  air  of  her  face  has  an  agreeableness 
which  surpasses  the  beauties  of  the  fairest  wo- 
men. There  appeared  in  her  look  and  mien  a 
sprightly  health  ; and  her  eyes  had  too  much 
vivacity  to  become  the  language  of  complaint, 
which  she  began  to  enter  into.  She  seemed 
sensible  of  it ; and  therefore,  with  downcast 
looks,  said  she,  ‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,  you  see  before 
you  the  unhappiest  of  women  ; and  therefore, 
as  you  are  esteemed  by  all  the  world  both  a 
great  civilian,  as  well  as  an  astrologer,  I must 
desire  your  advice  and  assistance,  in  putting 
me  in  a method  of  obtaining  a divorce  from  a 
marriage,  which  I know  the  law  will  pronounce 
void.’  ‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘ your  grievance  is  of 
such  a nature,  that  you  must  be  very  ingenious 
in  representing  the  causes  of  your  complaint, 
or  I cannot  give  you  the  satisfaction  you  desire.’ 
‘ Sir,’  she  answers,  ‘ I believe  there  would  be 
no  need  of  half  your  skill  in  the  art  of 
divination,  to  guess  why  a woman  would  part 
from  her  husband.’  ‘ It  is  true,’  said  I ; ‘ but 


suspicions,  or  guesses  at  what  you  mean,  nay 
certainty  of  it,  unless  you  plainly  speak  it,  are 
no  foundation  for  a formal  suit.’  Slie  clapped 
her  fan  before  her  face ; ‘My  husband,’  said  she, 
‘is  no  more  a husband’  (liere  she  burst  into 
tears)  ‘ tlian  one  of  the  Italian  singers.’ 

‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘ the  affliction  you  com- 
plain  of  is  to  be  redressed  by  law ; but  at  the 
same  time,  consider  what  mortifications  you 
are  to  go  through,  in  bringing  it  into  open 
court  how  will  you  be  able  to  bear  the  imperti- 
nent whispers  of  the  people  present  at  the  trial, 
the  licentious  reflections  of  the  pleaders,  and 
the  interpretations  that  will  in  general  be  put 
upon  your  conduct  by  all  the  world  ? “ How 

little  (will  they  say)  could  that  lady  command 
her  passions  !”  Besides,  consider,  that  curbing 
our  desires  is  the  greatest  glory  we  can  arrive 
at  in  this  world,  and  wull  be  most  rewarded  in 
the  next.’  She  answered,  like  a prudent  ma- 
tron : ‘ Sir,  if  you  please  to  remember  the  office 
of  matrimony,  the  first  cause  of  its  institution 
is  that  of  liaving  posterity.  Therefore,  as  to 
the  curbing  desires,  I am  willing  to  undergo  any 
abstinence  from  food  as  you  please  to  enjoin 
me ; but  I cannot,  with  any  quiet  of  mind,  live 
in  the  neglect  of  a necessary  duty,  and  an  ex- 
press commandment.  Increase  and  multiply.' 
Observing  she  was  learned,  and  knew  so  well 
the  duties  of  life,  I turned  my  arguments  rather 
to  dehort  her  from  this  public  procedure  by 
examples  than  precepts.  ‘ Do  but  consider, 
madam,  what  crowds  of  beauteous  women  live 
in  nunneries,  secluded  for  ever  from  the  sight 
and  conversation  of  men,  with  all  the  alacrity 
of  spirit  imaginable ; they  spend  their  time  in 
heavenly  raptures,  in  constant  and  frequent 
devotions,  and  at  proper  hours  in  agreeable 
conversations.’  ‘ Sir,’  said  she  liastily,  ‘ tell  not 
me  of  Papists,  or  any  of  their  idolatries.’  ‘ Well 
then,  madam,  consider  how  many  fine  ladies 
live  innocently  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and 
this  gay  town,  in  the  midst  of  temptation : 

there  is  the  witty  Mrs.  W is  a virgin  of 

forty-four  Mrs.  T s is  thirty-nine,  Mrs. 

L ce  thirty-three  ; yet  you  see  they  laugh, 

and  are  gay,  at  the  park,  at  the  playhouse,  at 
balls,  and  at  visits  ; and  so  much  at  ease,  that 
all  this  seems  hardly  a self-denial.’  ‘ Mr.  Bick- 
erstaff,’  said  she,  with  some  emotion,  ‘ you  are 
an  excellent  casuist ; but  the  last  word  destroy- 
ed your  whole  argument ; if  it  is  not  self-denial 
it  is  no  virtue.  I presented  you  with  a half- 
guinea, in  hopes  not  only  to  have  my  conscience 
eased,  but  my  fortune  told.  Yet,— ‘ Well  madam,’ 
said  I,  ‘ pray  of  what  age  is  your  husband  ?’ 
‘He  is,’  replied  my  injured  client,  ‘fifty;  and  I 
have  been  his  wife  fifteen  years.’  How  hap- 
pened it  you  never  communicated  your  distress, 
in  all  this  time  to  your  friends  and  relations  ?’ 
She  answered,  ‘ He  has  been  thus  but  a fort- 
night.’ I am  the  most  serious  man  in  the 
world  to  look  at,  and  yet  could  not  forbear 
laughing  out.  ‘ Why,  madam,  in  case  of  in- 
firmity which  proceeds  only  from  age,  the  law 
gives  no  remedy.’  ‘Sir,’  said  she,  ‘I  find  you 
have  no  more  learning  than  Dr.  Case ; and  I 
am  told  of  a young  man,  not  five  and  twenty, 
just  come  from  Oxford,  to  whom  I will  com- 
municate this  whole  matter,  and  doubt  not  but 


52 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  20. 


he  will  appear  to  have  seven  times  more  useful 
and  satisfactory  knowledge  than  you  and  all 
your  boasted  family.’  Thus  I have  entirely 
lost  my  client : but  if  this  tedious  narrative  pre- 
serves Pastorella  from  the  intended  marriage 
with  one  twenty  years  her  senior — to  save  a 
fine  lady,  I am  contented  to  have  my  learning 
decried,  and  my  predictions  bound  up  with  poor 
Robin’s  almanacks.* 

Will's  Coffee-house^  May  25. 

This  evening  was  acted  the  Recruiting  Offi- 
cer,! in  which  Mr.  Eastcourt’s  proper  sense 
and  observation  is  what  supports  the  play. 
There  is  not,  in  my  humble  opinion,  the  hu- 
mour hit  in  Sergeant  Kite  ; but  it  is  admirably 
supplied  by  his  action.  If  I have  skill  to  judge, 
that  man  is  an  excellent  actor ; but  the  crowd 
of  the  audience  are  fitter  for  representations 
at  May-fair,  than  a theatre-royal.  Yet  that  fair 
is  now  broke,  as  well  as  the  theatre  is  break- 
ing ; but  it  is  allowed  still  to  sell  animals  there. 
Therefore,  if  any  lady  or  gentleman  have  oc- 
casion for  a tame  elephant,  let  them  inquire  of 
Mr.  Pinkethrnan,  who  has  one  to  dispose  of  at 
a reasonable  rate.  The  downfall  of  May-fair 
has  quite  sunk  the  price  of  this  noble  creature, 
as  well  as  of  many  other  curiosities  of  nature. 
A tiger  will  sell  almost  as  cheap  as  an  ox ; and, 
I am  credibly  informed,  a man  may  purchase 
a cat  with  three  legs,  for  very  near  the  value 
of  one  with  four.  I hear  likewise  that  there  is 
a great  desolation  among  the  gentlemen  and 
ladies  who  were  the  ornaments  of  the  town, 
and  used  to  shine  in  plumes  and  diadems ; the 
heroes  being  most  of  them  pressed,  and  the 
queens  beating  hemp.  Mrs.  Sarabrand  so  fa- 
mous for  her  ingenious  puppet-show,  has  set 
up  a shop  in  the  Exchange,  where  she  sells  her 
little  troop  under  the  term  of  jointed  babies.  I 
could  not  but  be  solicitous  to  know  of  her,  how 
she  had  disposed  of  that  rake-hell.  Punch,  whose 
lewd  life  and  conversation  had  given  so  much 
scandal,  and  did  not  a little  contribute  to  the 
ruin  of  the  fair.  She  told  me  with  a sigh,  ‘ That, 
despairing  of  ever  reclaiming  him,  she  would 
not  offer  to  place  him  in  a civil  family,  but  got 
him  in  a post  upon  a stall  in  Wapping,  where 
he  may  be  seen  from  sun-rising  to  sunset- 
ting, with  a glass  in  one  hand,  and  a pipe  in 
the  other,  as  centry  to  a brandy-shop.’  The 
great  revolutions  of  this  nature  bring  to  my 
mind  the  distresses  of  the  unfortunate  Camilla,! 
who  has  had  the  ill  luck  to  break  before  her 
voice,  and  to  disappear  at  a time  when  her 
beauty  was  in  the  height  of  its  bloom.  This 
lady  entered  so  thoroughly  into  the  great  charac- 
ters she  acted,  that  when  she  had  finished  her 
part,  she  could  not  think  of  retrenching  her 
equipage,  but  would  appear  in  her  own  lodgings 
with  the  same  magnificence  that  she  did  upon 
the  stage.  This  greatness  of  soul  had  reduced 


* Poor  Robin  began  to  publish  his  almanack  early  in 
the  reign  of  Charles  II. 
t A comedy  by  Mr.  Farquhar. 

! Mrs.  Tofts,  who  performed  Camilla  in  the  opera  of 
that  name,  was  the  Daughter  of  a person  in  the  family 
of  bishop  Burnet.  She  lived  at  the  introduction  of  the 
opera  into  this  kingdom,  and  sang  with  Nicolini. 


that  unhappy  princess  to  an  involuntary  retire- 
ment, where  she  now  passes  her  time  among 
the  woods  and  forests,  thinking  on  the  crowns 
and  sceptres  she  has  lost,  and  often  humming 
over  in  her  solitude, 

I was  born  of  royal  race. 

Yet  must  w'ander  in  disgrace,  &c. 

But  for  fear  of  being  over-heard,  and  her  qual- 
ity known,  she  usually  sings  it  in  Italian, 

Naqui  al  regno,  naqui  al  trono, 

E per  sono 

I venturata  pastorella. 

Since  I have  touched  upon  this  subject,  I 
shall  communicate  to  my  reader  part  of  a letter 
I have  received  from  an  ingenious  friend  at 
Amsterdam,  where  there  is  a very  noble  theatre ; 
though  the  manner  of  furnishing  it  with  actors 
is  something  peculiar  to  that  place,  and  gives 
us  occasion  to  admire  both  the  politeness  and 
frugality  of  the  people. 

‘ My  friends  have  kept  me  here  a week 
longer  than  ordinary,  to  see  one  of  their  plays, 
which  was  performed  last  night  with  great  ap- 
plause. The  actors  are  all  of  them  tradesmen  ; 
who,  after  their  day’s  work  is  over,  earn  about 
a guilder  a-night  by  personating  kings  and 
generals.  The  hero  of  the  tragedy  I saw  was  a 
journeyman  tailor,  and  his  first  minister  of  state 
a coffee-man.  The  empress  made  me  think  of 
Parthenope  in  the  Rehearsal ; for  her  mother 
keeps  an  alehouse  in  the  suburbs  of  Amsterdam. 
When  the  tragedy  was  over,  they  entertained 
us  with  a short  farce,  in  which  the  cobbler  did 
his  part  to  a miracle ; but,  upon  inquiry,  I 
found  he  had  really  been  working  at  his  own 
trade,  and  representing  on  the  stage  what  he 
acted  every  day  in  his  shop.  The  profits  of  the 
theatre  maintain  a hospital ; for,  as  here  they  do 
not  think  the  profession  of  an  actor  the  only 
trade  that  a man  ought  to  exercise  ; so  they 
will  not  allow  any  body  to  grow  rich  in  a pro- 
fession that,  in  their  opinion,  so  little  conduces 
to  the  good  of  the  commonwealth.  If  I am  not 
mistaken,  your  playhouses  in  England  have 
done  the  same  thing  ; for,  unless  I am  misin- 
formed, the  hospital  at  Dulwich  was  erected 
and  endowed  by  Mr.  Alleyn,  a player  :*  and  it 
is  also  said,  a famous  she-tragedian  has  settled 
her  estate,  after  her  death,  for  the  maintenance 
of  decayed  wits,  who  are  to  be  taken  in  as  soon 
as  they  grow  dull,  at  whatever  time  of  their  life 
that  shall  happen.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  25. 

Letters  from  the  Hague  of  the  thirty-first 
instant,  N.  S.  say,  that  the  articles  preliminary 
to  a general  peace  were  settled,  communicated 
to  the  States-general,  and  all  the  foreign  minis- 
ters residing  there,  and  transmitted  to  their 
respective  masters  on  the  twenty-eighth.  Mon- 
sieur Torcy  immediately  returned  to  the  court 


* Edward  Alleyn,  esq.  the  protodramatist  of  his  time, 
in  1614i  founded,  raised,  and  built  an  hospital  at  Dul- 
wich in  Surrey,  called  ‘ The  College  of  God’s  Gift,’  with 
a revenue  which  is  reckoned  at  7001.  per  annum. 


THE  TATLER. 


53 


No.  20.] 

of  France,  from  whence  he  is  expected  again 
on  the  fourth  of  the  next  month,  with  tliose 
articles  ratified  by  that  court.  The  Hague  is 
agreed  upon  for  the  place  of  treaty,  and  the 
fifteenth  of  the  next  month  the  day  on  which 
it  is  to  commence.  The  terms  whereon  this 
negotiation  is  founded  are  not  yet  delivered  by 
public  authority  ; but,  what  is  most  generally 
received,  is  as  follows  : 

Her  majesty’s  right  and  title,  and  the  Pro- 
testant succession  to  these  dominions,  is  forth- 
with to  be  acknowledged.  King  Charles  is  to 
be  owned  the  lawful  sovereign  of  Spain.  The 
French  King  shall  not  only  recall  his  troops  out 
of  that  kingdom,  and  deliver  up  to  the  allies 
the  towns  of  Roses,  Fonterabia,  and  Pampelona, 
but,  in  case  the  duke  of  Anjou  shall  not  retire 
out  of  the  Spanish  dominions,  he  shall  be  obliged 
to  assist  the  allies  to  force  him  from  thence.  A 
cessation  of  arms  is  agreed  upon  for  two  months 
from  the  first  day  of  the  treaty.  The  port  and 
fortifications  of  Dunkirk  are  to  be  demolished 
within  four  months ; but  the  town  itself  left  in 
the  hands  of  the  Freneh.  The  pretender  is  to 
be  obliged  to  leave  France.  All  Newfoundland 
is  to  be  restored  to  the  English.  As  to  the  other 
parts  of  America,  the  French  are  to  restore 
whatever  they  may  have  taken  from  the  En- 
glish, as  the  English  in  like  manner  are  to  give 
up  what  they  have  taken  from  the  French,  be- 
fore the  commencement  of  the  treaty.  The 
trade  between  Great  Britain  and  France,  shall 
be  settled  upon  the  same  foundation  as  in  the 
reign  of  king  Charles  the  Second. 

The  Dutch  are  to  have  for  their  barriers, 
Newport,  Berg,  St.  Vinox,  Fumes,  Ipres,  Lisle, 
Tournay,  Douay,  Valenciennes,  Conde,  Mau- 
beuge,  Mons,  Charleroy,  Namur,  and  Luxem- 
burg ; all  which  places  shall  be  delivered  up  to 
the  allies  before  the  end  of  June.  The  trade 
between  Holland  and  France  shall  be  on  the 
same  foot  as  in  1664.  The  cities  of  Strasburg, 
Brisac,  and  Alsatia,  shall  be  restored  to  the  em- 
peror and  empire;  and  the  king  of  France,  pur- 
suant to  the  treaty  of  Westphalia  in  1648,  shall 
only  retain  the  protection  of  ten  imperial  cities, 
viz.  Colmar,  Schlestat,  Haguenau,  Munster, 
Turkeim,  Keisember,  Obrenheim,  Rosheim, 
Weisemberg,  and  Landau.  Huninguan,  Fort- 
Louis,  Fort-Khiel,  and  New-Brisac,  shall  be  de- 
molished, and  all  the  fortifications  from  Basil  to 
Philipsburg.  The  king  of  Prussia  shall  remain 
in  the  peaceable  possession  of  Neufchatel.  The 
affair  of  Orange,  as  also  the  pretensions  of  his 
Prussian  majesty  in  the  Franche  Comte,  shall 
be  determined  at  this  general  negotiation  of 
peace.  The  duke  of  Savoy  shall  have  a restitu- 
tion made  of  all  that  has  been  taken  from  him 
by  the  French,  and  remain  master  of  Exilles, 
Chamont,  Fenestrelles,  and  the  valley  of  Pra- 
gelas.* 


* In  the  first  edition  of  the  Tatler,  in  folio,  there  is 
the  following  addition  to  this  paper:  ‘It  is  said  that 
monsieur  Torcy,  when  he  signed  this  instrument,  broke 
into  this  exclamation.  “Would  Colbert  have  signed 
such  a treaty  for  France  ?”  on  which  a minister  present 
was  pleased  to  say,  “ Colbert  himself  would  have  been 
proud  to  have  saved  Fiance  in  these  circumstances  on 
such  terms." 


No.  21.]  Saturday.,  May  28,  1709. 

Ciuicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house.,  May  26. 

A GENTLEMAN  has  Writ  to  me  out  of  the 
country  a very  civil  letter,  and  said  things 
which  I suppress  with  great  violence  to  my  va- 
nity. There  are  many  terms  in  my  narratives 
which  he  complains  want  explaining  ; and  has 
therefore  desired  that,  for  the  benefit  of  my 
country  readers,  I would  let  him  know  what 
I mean  by  a Gentleman,  a Pretty  Fellow,  a 
Toast,  a Coquet,  a Critic,  a Wit,  and  all  other 
appellations  of  those  now  in  the  gayer  world, 
who  are  in  possession  of  tliese  several  charac- 
ters ; together  with  an  account  of  those  who 
unfortunately  pretend  to  them.  I shall  begin 
with  him  we  usually  call  a Gentleman,  or  man 
of  conversation. 

It  is  generally  thought,  that  warmth  of  ima-  . 
gination,  quick  relish  of  pleasure,  and  a man-  \ 
ner  of  becoming  it,  are  the  most  essential  quali- 
ties for  forming  this  sort  of  man.  But  any 
one  that  is  much  in  company  will  observe,  that 
the  height  of  good  breeding  is  shown  rather  in 
■ nevgr  ^riving  than  in  doing  obliging 

things.  Thus  he  that  never  shocks  you,  though 
he  is  seldom  entertaining,  is  more  likely  to 
keep  your  favour,  than  he  who  often  entertains, 
and  sometimes  displeases  you.  The  most  neces- 
sary talent  therefore  in  a man  of  conversation, 
which  is  what  we  ordinarily  intend  by  a fine 
gentleman,  is  a good  judgment.  He  that  has 
this  in  perfection,  is  master  of  his  companion, 
without  letting  him  see  it ; and  has  the  same 
advantage  over  men  of  any  other  qualifications 
whatsoever,  as  one  that  can  see  would  have 
over  a blind  man  of  ten  times  his  strength. 

This  is  what  makes  Sophronius  the  darling 
of  all  who  converse  with  him,  and  the  most 
powerful  with  his  acquaintance  of  any  man  in 
town.  By  the  light  of  this  faculty  he  acts  with 
great  ease  and  freedom  among  the  men  of 
pleasure,  and  acquits  himself  with  skill  and  de- 
spatch among  the  men  of  business.  All  which 
he  performs  with  such  success,  that,  with  as 
much  discretion  in  life  as  any  man  ever  had, 
he  neither  i.s,  nor  appears  cunning.  But  as  he 
does  a good  office,  if  ever  he  does  it,  with  readi- 
ness  and  alacrity,  so  he  denies  what  he  does 
not  care  to  engage  in,  in  a manner  that  con- 
vinces you  that  you  ought  not  to  have  asked  it. 
His  judgment  is  so  good  and  unerring,  and  ac- 
companied with  so  cheerful  a spirit,  that  his 
conversation  is  a continual  feast,  at  which  he 
helps  some,  and  is  helped  bj'^  others,  in  such 
manner,  that  the  equality  of  society  is  perfectly 
kept  up,  and  every  man  obliges  as  much  as  he 
is  obliged  ; for  it  is  the  greatest  and  justest  skill 
in  a man  of  superior  understanding,  to  know 
how  to  be  on  a level  with  his  companions.  This 
sweet  disposition  runs  through  all  the  actions 
of  Sophronius,  and  makes  his  company  desired 
by  women,  without  being  envira  by  men.  So- 


54 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  21. 


phronius  would  be  as  just  as  he  is,  if  there 
were  no  law ; and  would  be  as  discreet  as  he  is, 
if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  calumny. 

In  imitation  of  this  agreeable  being,  is  made 
that  animal  we  call  a Pretty  Fellow  ; who,  be- 
ing just  able  to  find  out,  that  what  makes  So- 
phronius  acceptable,  is  a natural  behaviour,  in 
order  to  the  same  reputation,  makes  his  own  an 
artificial  one.  Jack  Dimple  is  his  perfect  mimic, 
whereby  he  is,  of  course,  the  most  unlike  him 
of  all  men  living.  Sophronius  just  now  passed 
into  the  inner  room  directly  forward ; Jack 
comes  as  fast  after  as  he  can  for  the  right  and 
left  looking-glass,  in  which  he  had  but  just  ap- 
proved himself  by  a nod  at  each,  and  marched 
on.  He  will  meditate  within  for  half  an  hour, 
until  he  thinks  he  is  not  careless  enough  in  his 
air,  and  come  back  to  the  mirror  to  recollect  his 
forgetfulness. 

WilPs  Coffee-house,  May  27. 

This  night  was  acted  the  comedy  called  ‘ The 
Fox  but  I wonder  the  modern  writers  do  not 
use  their  interest  in  the  house  to  suppress  such 
representations.  A man  that  has  been  at  this 
will  hardly  like  any  other  play  during  the  sea- 
son: therefore  I humbly  move,  that  the  writings, 
as  well  as  dresses,  of  the  last  age  should  give 
way  to  the  present  fashion.  We  are  come  into 
a good  method  enough  (if  we  were  not  inter- 
rupted in  our  mirth  by  such  an  apparition  as  a 
play  of  Jonson’s)  to  be  entertained  at  more 
ease,  both  to  the  spectator  and  the  writer,  than 
in  the  days  of  old.  It  is  no  difficulty  to  get  hats 
and  swords,  and  wigs  and  shoes,  and  every 
thing  else  from  the  shops  in  town ; and  make 
a man  show  himself  by  his  habit,  without  more 
ado,  to  be  a counsellor,  a fop,  a courtier,  or  a 
citizen,  and  not  be  obliged  to  make  those  char- 
acters talk  in  different  dialects  to  be  distin- 
guished from  each  other.  This  is  certainly  the 
surest  and  best  way  of  writing  : but  such  a play 
as  this  makes  a man  for  a month  after  over-run 
with  criticism,  and  inquire,  ‘ What  every  man 
on  the  stage  said  ? what  had  such  a one  to  do 
to  meddle  with  such  a thing  ? how  came  the 
other,  who  was  bred  after  this  or  that  manner, 
to  speak  so  like  a man  conversant  among  a dif-' 
ferent  people  V These  questions  rob  us  of  all 
our  pleasure ; for,  at  this  rate,  no  sentence  in  a 
play  should  be  spoken  by  any  one  character 
which  could  possibly  enter  into  the  head  of  any 
other  man  represented  in  it ; but  every  senti- 
ment should  be  peculiar  to  him  only  who  utters 
it.  Laborious  Ben’s  works  will  bear  this  sort 
of  inquisition  ; but  if  the  present  writers  were 
thus  examined,  and  the  offences  against  this 
rule  cut  out,  few  plays  would  be  long  enough 
for  the  whole  evening’s  entertainment. 

But  I do  not  know  how  they  did  in  those  old 
times  : this  same  Ben  Jonson  has  made  every 
one’s  passion  in  this  play  to  be  towards  money  ; 
and  yet  not  one  of  them  expresses  that  desire, 
or  endeavours  to  obtain  it,  any  way  but  what  is 
peculiar  to  him  only  : one  sacrifices  his  wife, 
another  his  profession,  another  his  posterity. 


* Ben  Jonson’a  ‘ Fox’ : first  printed  in  1605. 


from  the  same  motive  ; but  their  characters  are 
kept  so  skilfully  apart,  that  it  seems  prodigious 
their  discourses  should  rise  from  the  invention 
of  the  same  author. 

But  the  poets  are  a nest  of  hornets,  and  I will 
drive  these  thoughts  no  farther  ; but  must  men- 
tion some  hard  treatment  I am  likely  to  meet 
with  from  my  brother-writers.  I am  credibly 
informed,  that  the  author  of  a play,  called  ‘ Love 
in  a Hollow  Tree,’*  has  made  some  remarks 
upon  my  late  discourse  on  ‘ The  Naked  Truth.’ 
I cannot  blame  a gentlemen  for  writing  against 
any  error  ; it  is  for  the  good  of  the  learned 
world.  But  I would  have  the  thing  fairly  left 
between  us  two,  and  not  under  the  protection  of 
patrons.  But  my  intelligence  is,  that  he  hath 
dedicated  his  treatise  to  the  honourable  Mr. 
Ed rd  H rd.t 

Froyn  my  own  Apartment,  May  27. 

TO  ISAAC  BICKERSTAEF,  ESO- 

York,  May  16,  1709.  '• 

‘ Sir, — Being  convinced,  as  the  whole  world 
is,  how  infallible  your  predictions  are,  and  hav- 
ing the  honour  to  be  your  near  relation  of  the 
Staffian  family,  I w^as  under  great  concern  at 
one  of  your  predictions  relating  to  yourself, 
wherein  you  foretold  your  own  death  would  hap- 
pen on  the  seventeenth  instant,  unless  it  were 
prevented  by  the  assistance  of  well  disposed 
people  : I have  therefore  prevailed  on  my  own 
modesty  to  send  you  a piece  of  news,  which  may 
serve  instead  of  Goddard’sf  drops,  to  keep  you 
alive  for  two  days7  unfiT~ nature  be  able  to  re- 
cover itself,  or  until  you  meet  with  some  better 
help  from  other  hands.  Therefore,  without  fur- 
ther ceremony,  I will  relate  a singular  adventure 
just  happened  in  the  place  where  I am  writing, 
wlierewith  it  may  be  highly  useful  for  the  pub- 
lic to  be  informed. 

‘ Three  young  ladies  of  our  towm  were  on 
Saturday  last  indicted  for  wutchcraft.  The  wit- 
nesses against  the  first  deposed  upon  oath  be- 
fore justice  Bindover,  that  she  kept  spirits  lock- 
ed up  in  vessels,  which  sometimes  appeared  in 
flames  of  blue  fire  ; that  she  used  magical  herbs, 
with  some  of  which  she  drew  in  hundreds  of 
men  daily  to  her,  who  went  out  from  her  pres- 
ence all  inflamed,  their  mouths  parched,  and  a 
hot  steam  issuing  from  them,  attended  with  a 
grievous  stench  : that  many  of  the  said  men 
were  by  the  force  of  that  herb,  metamorphosed 
into  swine,  and  lay  wallowing  in  the  kennels 
for  twenty-four  hours,  before  they  could  reas- 
sume their  shapes  or  their  senses. 

‘ It  was  proved  against  the  second.  That  she 
cut  off  by  night  the  limbs  from  dead  bodies 


* The  comedy,  called  ‘ Love  in  a Hollow  Tree,’  or 
‘ The  Lawyer’s  Fortune,’  (see  Tatler,  No.  17,)  was  pub- 
lished by  William  lord  viscount  Grimston,  when  he  was 
only  thirteen  years  of  a^e,  which  is  some  apology  for 
the  many  absurdities  in  it. 

t Hon.  Edward  Howard,  author  of  seven  plays,  and 
of  an  epic  poem  called  ‘ The  British  Princess.’ 
t Dr.  Jonathan  Goddard  was  the  physician  and  confi- 
dant of  Cromwell,  a member  of  the  Royal  Society,  and 
medical  professor  of  Gresham  College.  He  was  the  first 
Englishman  who  made  telescopes ; and,  in  the  course  of 
his  accurate  chemical  experiments,  discovered  the  fa 


No.  21.] 


THE  TATLER. 


55 


that  were  hanged,  and  was  seen  to  dig  holes  in 
the  ground,  to  mutter  some  conjuring  words, 
and  bury  pieces  of  the  flesh  after  the  usual  man- 
ner of  witches. 

‘ The  third  was  accused  for  a notorious  piece 
of  sorcery,  long  practised  by  hags,  of  moulding 
up  pieces  of  dough  into  the  shapes  of  men,  wo- 
men, and  children ; then  heating  them  at  a 
gentle  fire,  which  had  a sympathetic  power  to 
torment  the  bowels  of  those  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

* This  was  the  sum  of  what  was  objected 
against  the  three  ladies,  who  indeed  had  nothing 
to  say  in  their  own  defence  but  downright  deny 
the  facts,  which  is  like  to  avail  very  little  when 
they  come  upon  their  trials. 

‘ But  the  parson  of  our  parish,  a strange  re- 
fractory man,  will  believe  nothing  of  all  this : 
so  that  the  whole  town  cries  out  ‘ Shame,  that 
one  of  his  coat  should  be  such  an  atheist !’  and 
design  to  complain  of  him  to  the  bishop.  He 
goes  about  ver}’’  oddly  to  solve  the  matter.  He 
supposes,  that  the  first  of  these  ladies  keeping  a 
brandy  and  tobacco  shop,  the  fellows  went  out 
smoking  ; and  got  drunk  towards  evening,  and 
made  themselves  beasts.  He  says,  the  second 
is  a butcher’s  daughter,  and  sometimes  brings 
a quarter  of  mutton  from  the  slaughter-house 
over-night  against  a market-day,  and  once 
buried  a bit  of  beef  in  the  ground,  as  a known 
receipt  to  cure  warts  on  her  hands.  The  parson 
affirms,  that  the  third  sells  gingerbread,  which, 
to  please  the  children,  she  is  forced  to  stamp 
with  images  before  it  is  baked ; and  if  it  burns 
their  guts,  it  is  because  they  eat  too  much,  or 
do  not  drink  after  it. 

‘ These  are  the  answers  he  gives  to  solve 
those  wonderful  phenomena ; upon  which  I 
shall  not  animadvert,  but  leave  it  among  phi- 
losophers : and  so,  wishing  you  all  success  in 
your  undertakings  for  the  amendment  of  the 
world,  I remain,  dear  cousin,  your  most  affec- 
tionate kinsman,  and  humble  servant, 

EPHRAIM  BEDSTAFF.’ 

ijj  ‘ P.  S.  Those  who  were  condemned  to  death 
among  the  Athenians  were  obliged  to  take  a 
dose  of  poison,  which  made  them  die  upwards  ; 
seizing  first  upon  their  feet,  making  them  cold 
and  insensible,  and  so  ascending  gradually, 
until  it  reached  the  vital  parts.  I believe  your 
death,  which  you  foretold  would  happen  on  the 
seventeenth  instant  will  fall  out  the  same  way, 
and  that  your  distemper  hath  already  seized 
on  you,  and  makes  progress  daily.  The  lower 
part  of  you,  that  is,  the  advertisements,  is  dead ; 
and  these  have  risen  for  these  ten  days  last  past, 
so  that  they  now  take  up  almost  a whole  para- 
graph.* Pray,  sir,  do  you  endeavour  to  drive 
this  distemper  as  much  as  possible  to  the  ex- 
treme parts,  and  keep  it  there,  as  wise  folks  do 
the  gout  : for  if  it  once  gets  into  your  stomach 
it  will  soon  fly  up  into  your  head,  and  you  are 
a dead  man.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  27. 

We  hear  from  Leghorn,  that  sir  Edward 
Whitaker,  with  five  men-of-war,  four  trans- 
ports, and  two  fire  ships,  were  arrived  at  that 


port ; and  admiral  Byng  was  suddenly  expected. 
Their  squadrons  being  joined,  they  designed 
to  sail  directly  for  Final,  to  transport  the  re- 
inforcements lodged  in  those  parts  to  Barcelona. 

They  write  from  Milan,  that  count  Thaun 
arrived  there  on  the  sixteenth  instant,  N.  S.  and 
proceeded  on  his  journey  to  Turin  on  the  twen- 
ty-first, in  order  to  concert  such  measures  with 
his  royal  highness,  as  shall  appear  necessary  for 
the  operations  of  the  ensuing  campaign. 

Advices  from  Dauphine  say,  that  the  troops 
of  the  duke  of  Savoy  begin  already  to  appear  in 
those  valleys,  whereof  he  made  himself  master 
the  last  year  ; and  that  the  duke  of  Berwick 
applied  himself  with  all  imaginable  diligence  to 
secure  the  passes  of  the  mountains,  by  ordering 
intrenchments  to  be  made  towards  Brianqon, 
Tourneau,  and  the  valley  of  Queiras.  That 
general  has  also  been  at  Marseilles  and  Toulon, 
to  hasten  the  transportation  of  the  corn  and  pro- 
visions designed  for  his  army. 

Letters  from  Vienna  bearing  date  May  the 
twenty-third,  N.  S.  import,  that  the  cardinal  of 
Saxe  Zeits  and  the  prince  of  Lichtenstein  were 
preparing  to  set  out  for  Presburg,  to  assist  at  the 
diet  of  the  States  of  Hungary,  which  is  to  be 
assembled  at  that  place  on  the  twenty-fifth  of 
this  month.  General  Heister  will  shortly  appear 
at  the  head  of  his  army  at  Trenchin,  which 
place  is  appointed  for  the  general  rendezvous  of 
the  imperial  forces  in  Hungary  ; from  whence 
he  will  advance  to  lay  siege  to  Newhausel.  In 
the  mean  time  reinforcements,  with  a great 
train  of  artillery,  are  marching  the  same  way. 
The  king  of  Denmark  arrived  on  the  tenth  in- 
stant at  Inspruck,  and  on  the  twenty-fifth  at 
Dresden,  under  a triple  discharge  of  the  artil- 
lery of  that  place ; but  his  majesty  refused  the 
ceremonies  of  a public  entry. 

Our  letters  from  the  Upper  Rhine  say,  that 
the  imperial  army  began  to  form  itself  at  Etlin- 
gen  ; where  the  respective  deputies  of  the  elec- 
tor Palatine,  the  prince  of  Baden  Durlach,  the 
bishoprick  of  Spires,  &c.  were  assembled,  and 
had  taken  the  necessary  measures  for  the  pro- 
vision of  forage,  the  security  of  the  country 
against  the  incursions  of  the  enemy,  and  laying 
a bridge  over  the  Rhine.  Several  vessels  laden 
with  corn  are  daily  passing  before  Frankfort  for 
the  Lower  Rhine. 

Letters  from  Poland  inform  us,  that  a de- 
tachment of  Muscovite  cavalry,  under  the  com- 
mand of  general  Instand,  had  joined  the  con- 
federate army;  and  the  infantry,  commanded 
by  general  Goltz,  was  expected  to  come  up 
within  few  days.  These  succours  will  amount 
to  twenty  thousand  men. 

Our  last  advices  from  the  Hague,  dated  June 
the  fourth,  N.  S.  say,  that  they  expected  a courier 
from  the  French  court,  with  a ratification  of  the 
preliminaries,  that  night  or  the  day  following. 
His  grace  the  duke  of  Marlborough  will  set  out 
for  Brussels  on  Wednesday  or  Thursday  next, 
if  the  despatches  which  are  expected  from  Paris 
do  not  alter  his  resolutions.  Letters  from  Ma- 
jorca confirm  the  honourable  capitulation  of  the 
castle  of  Alicant,  and  also  the  death  of  the  gov- 
ernor, major-general  Richards,  colonel  Sibourg, 
and  major  Vignolles,  who  were  all  buried  in  the 
ruins  of  that  place  by  the  springing  of  the  great 


56 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  22. 


mine,  which  did,  it  seems,  more  execution  than 
was  reported.  Monsieur  Torcy  passed  through 
Mons  in  his  return,  and  had  there  a long  con- 
ference with  the  elector  of  Bavaria ; after  which, 
the  prince  spoke  publicly  of  the  treatment  he 
had  received  from  France,  with  the  utmost  in- 
dignation. 

‘ Any  person  that  shall  come  publicly  abroad 
in  a fantastical  habit,  contrary  to  the  present 
mode  and  fashion,  except  Don  Diego  Dismallo,* 
or  any  other  out  of  poverty,  shall  have  his  name 
and  dress  inserted  in  our  next.’ 

‘ N.  B.  Mr.  How’d’yecall  is  desired  to  leave 
off  those  buttons.’ 


No.  22.]  Tuesday,  May  31,  1709. 

Q.uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  May  28. 

I CAME  hither  this  evening  to  see  fashions ; 
and  who  should  I first  encounter  but  my  old 
friend  Cynthio  (encompassed  by  a crowd  of 
young  fellows)  dictating  on  the  passion  of  love 
with  the  gayest  air  imaginable!  ‘Well,’  says 
he,  ‘ as  to  what  I know  of  the  matter,  there  is 
nothing  but  ogling  with  skill  carries  a woman  ; 
but  indeed  it  is  not  every  fool  that  is  capable  of 
this  art ; you  will  find  twenty  can  speak  elo- 
quently, fifty  that  can  fight  manfully,  and  a 
thousand  that  can  dress  genteelly  at  a mistress, 
where  there  is  one  that  can  gaze  skilfully.  This 
requires  an  exquisite  judgment,  to  take  the  lan- 
guage of  her  eyes  to  yours  exactly,  and  not  let 
yours  talk  too  fast  for  hers  ; as  at  a play  between 
the  acts,  when  beau  Frisk  stands  upon  a bench 
full  in  Lindamira’s  face,  and  her  dear  eyes  are 
searching  round  to  avoid  that  flaring  open  fool ; 
she  meets  the  watchful  glance  of  her  true  lover, 
and  sees  his  heart  attentive  on  her  charms,  and 
waiting  for  a second  twinkle  of  her  eye  for  its 
next  motion.’  Here  the  good  company  sneered  ; 
but  he  goes  on.  ‘Nor  is  this  attendance  a slavery, 
when  a man  meets  with  encouragement,  and  her 
eye  comes  often  in  his  way ; for  after  an  even- 
ing so  spent,  and  the  repetition  of  four  or  five 
significant  looks  at  him,  the  happy  man  goes 
home  to  his  lodging  full  of  ten  thousand  pleas- 
ing images  ; his  brain  is  dilated,  and  gives  him 
all  the  ideas  and  prospects  which  it  ever  lets 
into  its  seat  of  pleasure.  Thus  a kind  look  from 
Lindamira  revives  in  his  imagination  all  the 
beauteous  lawns,  green  fields,  woods,  forests, 
rivers,  and  solitudes,  which  he  had  ever  before 
seen  in  picture,  description,  or  real  life  : and  all 
with  this  addition,  that  he  now  sees  them  with 
the  eyes  of  a happy  lover,  as  before  only  with 
those  of  a common  man.  You  laugh,  gentle- 
men, but  consider  yourselves  (you  common  peo- 
ple that  were  never  in  love)  and  compare  your- 

*This is  well  known  to  have  been  a nick-name  given, 
in  the  rage  of  party,  to  a very  respectable  nobleman,  the 
earl  of  Nottingham,  who  is  mentioned  under  that  name 
in  the  ‘ History  of  John  Bull,’  in  the  ‘ Examiner,’  and  in 
Swift’s  works,  vol.  xix.  p.  168.  and  vol.  xx.  p.  22.  and 
‘ Examiner,’  vol.  iii.  No.  44. 


selves  in  good  humour  with  yourselves  out  of 
humour,  and  ye  will  then  acknowledge,  that  all 
external  objects  affect  you  according  to  the  dis- 
positions ye  are  in  to  receive  their  impressions, 
and  not  as  those  objects  are  in  their  own  nature. 
How  much  more  shall  all  that  passes  within  his 
view  and  observation  touch  with  delight  a man 
who  is  prepossessed  with  successful  love,  which 
is  an  assemblage  of  soft  affection,  gay  desires, 
and  hopeful  resolutions  ?’ 

Poor  Cynthio  w^ent  on  at  this  rate  to  the  crowd 
about  him,  without  any  purpose  in  his  talk,  but 
to  vent  a heart  overflowing  with  sense  of  success. 
I wondered  what  could  exalt  him  from  the  dis- 
tress in  which  he  had  long  appeared,  to  so  much 
alacrity  : but  my  familiar  has  given  me  the  state 
of  his  affairs.  It  seems,  then,  that  lately  com- 
ing out  of  the  play-house,  his  mistress,  who 
knows  he  is  in  her  livery,  as  the  manner  of  in- 
solent beauties  is,  is  resolved  to  keep  him  still 
so,  and  gave  him  so  much  wages  as  to  complain 
to  him  of  the  crowd  she  was  to  pass  through. 
He  had  his  wits  and  resolution  enough  about 
him  to  take  her  hand,  and  say,  he  would  attend 
her  to  the  coach.  All  the  way  thither  my  good 
young  man  stammered  at  every  word,  and  stum- 
bled at  every  step.  His  mistress,  wonderfully 
pleased  with  her  triumph,  put  to  him  a thou- 
sand questions,  to  make  a man  of  his  natural 
wit  speak  with  hesitation  ; and  let  drop  her  fan, 
to  see  him  recover  it  awkwardly.  This  is  the 
wliole  foundation  of  Cynthio’s  recovery  to  the 
sprightly  air  he  appears  with  at  present. 

I grew  mighty  curious  to  know  something 
more  of  that  lady’s  affairs,  as  being  amazed  how 
she  could  dally  with  an  offer  of  one  of  his  merit 
and  fortune.  I sent  Pacolet  to  her  lodgings,  who 
immediately  brought  me  back  the  following  letter 
to  her  friend  and  confidant,  Amanda,  in  the  coun- 
try, wherein  she  has  opened  her  heart  and  all 
its  folds. 

‘ Dear  Amanda, — The  town  grows  so  empty, 
that  you  must  expect  my  letter  so  too,  except 
you  will  allow  me  to  talk  of  myself  instead  of 
others  : you  cannot  imagine  what  pain  it  is, 
after  a whole  day  spent  in  public,  to  want  your 
company,  and  the  ease  which  friendship  allows 
in  being  vain  to  each  other,  and  speaking  all 
our  minds.  An  account  of  the  slaughter  which 
these  unhappy  eyes  have  made  within  ten  days 
last  past,  would  make  me  appear  too  great  a 
tyrant  to  be  allowed  in  a Christian  country.  I 
shall  therefore  confine  myself  to  my  principal 
conquests,  which  are  the  hearts  of  beau  Frisk 
and  Jack  Freeland,  besides  Cynthio,  who  you 
know,  wore  my  fetters  before  you  went  out  of 
town.  Shall  I tell  you  my  weakness  ? I begin 
to  love  Frisk  : it  is  the  best-humoured  imperti- 
nent thing  in  the  world  : he  is  always  too  in 
waiting,  and  will  certainly  carry  me  off  one 
time  or  other.  Freeland’s  father  and  mine  have 
been  upon  treaty  without  consulting  me  ; and 
Cynthio  has  been  eternally  watching  my  eyes, 
without  approaching  me,  my  friends,  my  maid, 
or  any  one  about  me  : he  hopes  to  get  me,  I be- 
lieve, as  they  say  the  rattle-snake  does  the 
squirrel,  by  staring  at  me  until  I drop  into  his 
mouth.  Freeland  demands  me  for  a jointure, 
which  he  thinks  deserves  me : Cynthio  thinks 


No.  22.] 


THE  TATLER. 


5/ 


nothing'  high  enough  to  be  my  value  : Freeland 
therefore  will  take  it  for  no  obligation  to  have 
me ; and  Cynthio’s  idea  of  me  is  what  will 
vanish  by  knowing  me  better.  Familiarity  will 
equally  turn  the  veneration  of  the  one,  and  the 
indifference  of  the  other,  into  contempt.  I will 
stick  therefore  to  my  old  maxim,  to  have  that 
sort  of  man,  who  can  have  no  greater  views 
than  whatare  in  my  power  to  give  him  possession 
of.  The  utmost  of  my  dear  Frisk’s  ambition  is, 
to  be  thought  a man  of  fashion  ; and  therefore 
has  been  so  much  in  mode,  as  to  resolve  upon 
me,  because  the  whole  town  likes  me.  Thus  I 
choose  rather  a man  who  loves  me  because 
others  do,  than  one  who  approves  me  on  his 
own  judgment.  He  that  judges  for  himself  in 
love  will  often  change  his  opinion  ; but  he  that 
follows  the  sense  of  others  must  be  constant,  as 
long  as  a woman  can  make  advances.  The 
visits  I make,  the  entertainments  I give,  and 
the  addresses  I receive,  will  be  all  arguments 
for  me  with  a man  of  Frisk’s  second-hand 
genius ; but  would  be  so  many  bars  to  my  hap- 
piness with  any  other  man.  However,  since 
Frisk  can  wait,  I shall  enjoy  a summer  or  two 
longer,  and  remain  a single  woman,  in  the  sub- 
lime pleasure  of  being  followed  and  admired ; 
which  nothing  can  equal,  except  that  of  being 
beloved  by  you. — I am,  &c.’ 

Will's  Coffee-house,  May  30. 

My  chief  business  here  this  evening  was  to 
speak  to  my  friends  in  behalf  of  honest  Cave 
Underhill,*  who  has  been  a comie  for  tliree 
generations  : my  father  admired  him  extremely 
when  he  was  a boy.  There  is  certainly  nature 
excellently  represented  in  his  manner  of  action  : 
in  which  he  ever  avoided  that  general  fault  in 
players,  of  doing  too  much.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed, he  has  not  the  merit  of  some  ingenious 
persons  now  on  the  stage,  of  adding  to  his  au- 
thors ; for  the  actors  were  so  dull  in  the  last 
age,  that  many  of  them  have  gone  out  of  the 
world,  without  having  ever  spoke  one  word  of 
their  own  in  the  theatre.  Poor  Cave  is  so 
mortified,  that  he  quibbles  and  tells  you,  he 
pretends  only  to  act  a part  fit  for  a man  who 
has  one  foot  in  the  grave,  mz.  a grave-digger. 
All  admirers  of  true  comedy,  it  is  hoped,  will 
have  the  gratitude  to  he  present  on  the  last  day 
of  his  acting,  who,  if  he  does  not  happen  ,to 
please  them,  will  have  it  even  then  to  say,  that 
it  is  his  first  offence. 

But  there  is  a gentleman  here,  who  says  he 
has  it  from  good  hands,  that  there  is  actually 


* Colley  Cibber  says,  ‘Underhill  was  a correct  and 
natural  comedian  ; his  particularexcellencewas  in  cha- 
racters that  may  be  called  still-life,  I mean  the  stiff,  the 
heavy,  and  the  stupid  ; to  these  he  "ave  the  exactest  and 
most  expressive  colours,  and  in  some  of  them  looked  as 
if  it  were  not  in  the  power  of  human  passions  to  alter 
a feature  of  him.  A countenance  of  wood  could  not  be 
more  fixed  than  his,  when  the  blockhead  of  a character 
required  it ; his  face  was  full  and  long ; from  his  crown 
to  the  end  of  his  nose,  was  the  shorter  half  of  it,  so  that 
the  disproportion  of  his  lower  features,  when  soberly 
composed,  threw  him  into  the  most  lumpish,  moping 
mortal,  that  ever  made  beholders  merry!  not  but,  at 
other  times,  he  could  be  awakened  into  spirit  equally 
ridiculous.’ 


a subscription  made  by  many  persons  of  wit 
and  quality  for  the  encouragement  of  new 
comedies.  This  design  will  very  much  contri- 
bute to  the  improvement  and  diversion  of  the 
town  : but  as  every  man  is  most  concerned  for 
himself,  I,  who  am  of  a saturnine^  and  melan- 
choly complexion,  cannot  but  murmur,  that 
there  is  not  an  equal  invitation  to  write  tra- 
gedies ; having  by  me,  in  my  book  of  common 
places,  enough  to  enable  me  to  finish  a very 
sad  one  by  the  fifth  of  the  next  month.  I have 
the  farewell  of  a general,  with  a truncheon  in 
his  hand,  dying  for  love,  in  six  lines.  I have 
the  principles  of  a politician,  (who  does  all  the 
mischief  in  the  play,)  together  with  his  decla- 
ration on  the  vanity  of  ambition  in  his  last 
moments,  expressed  in  a page  and  a half.  I 
have  all  my  oaths  ready,  and  my  similies  want 
nothing  but  application.  I will  not  pretend  to 
give  you  an  account  of  the  plot,  it  being  the 
same  design  upon  which  all  tragedies  have  been 
writ  for  several  years  last  past ; and  from  the 
beginning  of  the  first  scene,  the  frequenters  of 
the  house  may  know  as  well  as  the  autlnw, 
when  the  battle  is  to  be  fought,  the  lady  to 
yield,  and  the  hero  proceed  to  his  M’edding  and 
coronation.  Besides  these  advantages  which 
I have  in  readiness,  I have  an  eminent  tragedian 
very  much  my  friend,  who  shall  come  in  and  go 
through  the  whole  five  acts,  without  troubling 
me  for  one  sentence,  whether  he  is  to  kill  or  be 
killed,  love  or  be  loved,  win  battles  or  lose  them, 
or  whatever  other  tragical  performance  I shall 
please  to  assign  him. 

F’rom  my  own  Apartment,  May  30. 

I have  tliis  day  received  a letter,  subscribed 
Fidelia,  that  gives  me  an  account  of  an  enchant- 
ment under  which  a young  lady  suffers,  and 
desires  my  help  to  exorcise  her  from  the  power 
of  the  sorcerer.  Her  lover  is  a rake  of  sixty  ; 
the  lady  a virtuous  woman  of  twenty-five  : her 
relations  are  to  the  last  degree  afflicted  and 
amazed  at  this  irregular  passion : their  sorrow 
I know  not  how  to  remove,  but  can  their  aston- 
ishment ; for  there  is  no  spirit  in  woman  half  so 
prevalent  as  that  of  contradiction,  which  is  the 
sole  cause  of  her  perseverance.  Let  the  whole 
family  go,  dressed,  in  a body,  and  call  the  bride 
to-morrow  morning  to  her  nuptials,  and  I will 
undertake  the  inconstant  will  forget  her  lover 
in  the  midst  of  all  his  aches.  But  if  this  ex- 
pedient does  not  succeed,  I must  be  so  just  to 
the  young  lady’s  distinguishing  sense,  as  to  ap- 
plaud her  choice.  A fine  young  woman,  at  last, 
is  but  wliat  is  due  from  fate  to  an  honest  fellow, 
who  has  suffered  so  unmercifully  by  the  sex ; 
and  I think  we  cannot  enough  celebrate  her 
heroic  virtue,  who  (like  the  patriot  that  ended 
a pestilence  by  plunging  himself  into  a gulph) 
gives  herself  up  to  gorge  that  dragon  which  has 
devoured  so  many  virgins  before  her. 

A letter  directed  ‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff, 
esquire.  Astrologer,  and  Physician  in  Ordinary 
to  her  majesty’s  subjects  of  Great-Britain,  with 
respect,’  is  come  to  hand. 


H 


58 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  23. 


No.  23.]  Thursday,  June  2, 1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

— nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  May  31. 

The  generality  of  mankind  are  so  very  fond 
of  tliis  world,  and  of  staying  in  it,  that  a man 
cannot  have  eminent  skill  in  any  one  art,  but 
they  will,  in  spite  of  his  teeth,  make  him  a 
physician  also,  that  being  the  science  the  world- 
lings have  most  need  of.  I pretended,  when  I 
first  set  up,  to  astrology  only  ; but,  I am  told,  I 
have  deep  skill  also  in  medicine.  I am  applied 
to  now  by  a gentleman  for  my  advice  in  behalf 
of  his  wife,  who,  upon  the  least  matrimonial 
difficulty,  is  excessively  troubled  with  fits,  and 
can  bear  no  manner  of  passion  without  falling 
into  immediate  convulsions.  I must  confess  it 
is  a case  I have  known  before,  and  remember 
the  party  was  recovered  by  certain  words  pro- 
nounced in  the  midst  of  the  fit,  by  the  learned 
doctor  who  performed  the  cure.  These  ails  have 
usually  their  beginning  from  the  affections  of  the 
mind  : therefore  you  must  have  patience  to  let 
me  give  you  an  instance,  whereby  you  may 
discern  the  cause  of  the  distemper,  and  then 
proceed  in  the  cure  as  follows  : 

A fine  town  lady  was  married  to  a gentleman 
of  ancient  descent  in  one  of  the  counties  of 
Great-Britain,  who  had  good-humour  to  a weak- 
ness, and  was  that  sort  of  person, .of  whom  it  is 
usually  said,  he  is  no  man’s  enemy  but  his  own  : 
one  who  had  too  much  tenderness  of  soul  to 
have  any  authority  with  his  wife  ; and  she  too 
little  sense  to  give  him  any  authority,  for  that 
reason.  His  kind  wife  observed  this  temper  in 
him,  and  made  proper  use  of  it.  But,  knowing 
it  was  below  a gentlewoman  to  wrangle,  she  re- 
solved upon  an  expedient  to  save  decorum,  and 
wear  her  dear  to  her  point  at  the  same  time. 
She  therefore  took  upon  her  to  govern  him,  by 
falling  into  fits  whenever  she  was  repulsed  in  a 
request,  or  contradicted  in  a discourse.  It  was 
a fish-day,  when,  in  the  midst  of  her  husband’s 
good-humour  at  table,  she  bethought  herself  to 
try  her  project.  She  made  signs  that  she  had 
swallowed  a bone.  The  man  grew  pale  as 
ashes,  and  ran  to  her  assistance,  calling  for 
drink.  ‘ No,  my  dear,’  said  she,  recovering, 

‘ it  is  down  ; do  not  be  frightened.’  This  acci- 
dent betrayed  his  softness  enough.  The  next 
day  she  complained,  a lady’s  chariot,  whose 
husband  had  not  half  his  estate,  had  a crane- 
neck,  and  hung  with  twice  the  air  that  her'sdid. 
He  answered,  ‘ Madam,  you  know  my  income  ; 
you  know  I have  lost  two  coach-horses  this 
spring down  she  fell. ‘ Hartshorn  ! Bet- 

ty, Susan,  Alice,  throw  water  in  her  face.’  With 
much  care  and  pains,  she  was  at  last  brought 
to  herself,  and  the  vehicle  in  which  she  visited 
was  amended  in  the  nicest  manner,  to  prevent 
relapses ; but  they  frequently  happened  during 
that  husband’s  whole  life,  which  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  end  in  few  years  after.  The 
disconsolate  soon  pitched  upon  a very  agreeable 
successor,  whom  she  very  prudently  designed 


to  govern  by  the  same  method.  This  man 
knew  her  little  arts,  and  resolved  to  break 
through  all  tenderness,  and  be  absolute  master 
as  soon  as  occasion  offered.  One  day  it  hap- 
pened, that  a discourse  arose  about  furniture, 
he  was  very  glad  of  the  occasion,  and  fell  into 
an  invective  against  china,  protesting,  he  would 
never  let  five  pounds  more  of  his  money  be  laid 
out  that  way  as  long  as  he  breathed.*  She  im- 
mediately fainted. — He  starts  up  as  amazed, 
and  calls  for  help. — The  maids  run  to  the 
closet. — He  chafes  her  face,  bends  her  forward, 
and  beats  the  palms  of  her  hands : her  convul- 
sions increase,  and  down  she  tumbles  on  the 
floor,  where  she  lies  quite  dead,  in  spite  of 
what  the  whole  family,  from  the  nursery  to  the 
kitchen,  could  do  for  her  relief. 

While  every  servant  was  thus  helping  or  la- 
menting their  mistress,  he,  fixing  his  cheek  to 
hers,  seemed  to  be  following  in  a trance  of  sor- 
row ; but  secretly  whispers  her,  ‘ My  dear,  this 
will  never  do : what  is  within  my  power  and 
fortune,  you  may  always  command ; but  none 
of  your  artifices  : you  are  quite  in  other  hands 
than  those  you  passed  these  pretty  passions 
upon.’  This  made  her  almost  in  the  condition 
she  pretended ; her  convulsions  now  came 
thicker,  nor  was  she  to  be  held  down.  The 
kind  man  doubles  his  care,  helps  the  servants 
to  throw  water  in  her  face  by  full  quarts  ; and 
when  the  sinking  part  of  the  fit  came  again, 
‘Well,  my  dear,’  said  he,  ‘I  applaud  your 
action  ; but  I must  take  my  leave  of  you  until 
you  are  more  sincere  with  me ; farewell  for 
ever : you  shall  always  know  where  to  hear  of 
me,  and  want  for  nothing.’  With  that  he  or- 
dered the  maids  to  keep  plying  her  with  harts- 
horn, while  he  went  for  a physician : he  was 
scarce  at  the  stair-head  when  she  followed, 
and,  pulling  him  into  a closet,  thanked  him 
for  her  cure  ; which  was  so  absolute,  that  she 
gave  me  this  relation  herself,  to  be  communi- 
cated for  the  benefit  of  all  the  voluntary  invalids 
of  her  sex. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  June  1. 

Advices  from  Brussels  of  the  sixth  instant, 
N.  S.  say,  his  highness  prince  Eugene  had  re- 
ceived a letter  from  monsieur  Torcy,  wherein 
that  minister,  after  many  expressions  of  great 
respect,  acquaints  him,  that  his  master  had 
absolutely  refused  to  sign  the  preliminaries  to 
the  treaty  which  he  had,  in  his  majesty’s  be- 
half, consented  to  at  the  Hague.  Upon  the 
receipt  of  this  intelligence,  the  face  of  things 
at  that  place  was  immediately  altered,  and  the 
necessary  orders  were  transmitted  to  the  troops 
(which  lay  most  remote  from  thence)  to  move 
toward  the  place  of  rendezvous  with  all  expe- 
dition. The  enemy  seems  also  to  prepare  for 
the  field,  and  have  at  present  drawn  together 
twenty-five  thousand  men  in  the  plains  of 
Lentz.  Marshal  Villars  is  at  the  head  of  those 
troops ; and  has  given  the  generals  under  his 
command  all  possible  assurances,  that  he  will 

* About  this  time  a fashion  of  collecting  useless  pieces 
of  china  began  to  be  very  prevalent.  It  was  indulged 
for  some  years  at  great  expense,  and  to  astonishing 
degrees. 


THE  TATLER. 


59 


No.  23.] 

turn  the  fate  of  the  war  to  the  advantage  of 
his  master. 

They  write  from  the  Hague  of  the  seventh, 
that  monsieur  Rouille  had  received  orders  from 
the  court  of  France,  to  signify  to  the  states- 
general,  and  the  ministers  of  the  high  allies, 
that  the  king  could  not  consent  to  the  prelimi- 
naries of  a treaty  of  peace,  as  it  was  offered 
to  him  by  monsieur  Torcy.  The  great  diffi- 
culty is  the  business  of  Spain,  on  which  parti- 
cular his  ministers  seemed  only  to  say,  during 
the  treaty,  that  it  was  not  so  immediately  under 
their  master’s  direction,  as  that  he  could  engage 
for  its  being  relinquished  by  the  duke  of  Anjou  : 
but  now  he  positively  answers,  that  he  cannot 
comply  with  what  his  minister  has  promised  in 
his  behalf,  even  in  such  points  as  are  wholly  in 
himself  to  act  in,  or  not.  This  has  had  no  other 
effect  than  to  give  the  alliance  fresh  arguments 
for  being  diffident  of  engagements  entered  into 
by  France.  The  pensioner  made  a report  of 
all  which  this  minister  had  declared  to  the 
deputies  of  the  states-general,  and  all  things 
turn  towards  a vigorous  war.  7’he  duke  of 
Marlborough  designed  to  leave  the  Hague  with- 
in two  da}^s,  in  order  to  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  army,  which  is  to  assemble  on  the  seven- 
teenth instant  between  the  Scheld  and  the  Lis. 
A fleet  of  eighty  sail,  laden  with  corn  from  the 
Baltic,  is  arrived  in  the  Texel.  The  states  have 
sent  circular  letters  to  all  the  provinces,  to  notify 
this  change  of  affairs,  and  animate  their  sub- 
jects to  new  resolutions  in  defence  of  their 
country. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  31. 

The  public  is  not  so  little  my  concern,  though 
I am  but  a student,  as  that  I should  not  interest 
myself  in  the  present  great  things  in  agitation. 
I am  still  of  opinion  the  French  king  will  sign 
the  preliminaries.  With  that  view,  I have  sent 
him,  by  my  familiar,  the  following  epistle,  and 
admonished  him,  on  pain  of  what  I shall  say  of 
him  to  future  generations,  to  act  with  sincerity 
on  this  occasion. 

London,  May  31. 

ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF,  ESaUIRE,  OF  GREAT  BRI- 
TAIN, TO  LEWIS  XIV.  OF  FRANCE. 

‘ The  surprising  news  which  arrived  this  day, 
of  your  majesty’s  having  refused  to  sign  the 
treaty  your  ministers  have  in  a manner  sued  for, 
is  what  gives  ground  to  this  application  to  your 
majesty,  from  one,  whose  name  perhaps,  is  too 
obscure  to  have  ever  reached  your  territories  ; 
but  one,  who,  with  all  the  European  world,  is 
affected  with  your  determinations.  Therefore, 
as  it  is  mine  and  the  common  cause  of  man- 
kind, I presume  to  expostulate  with  you  on  this 
occasion.  It  will,  I doubt  not,  appear  to  the 
vulgar  extravagant,  that  the  actions  of  a mighty 
prince  should  be  balanced  by  the  censure  of  a 
private  man,  whose  approbation  or  dislike  are 
equally  contemptible  in  their  eyes,  when  they 
regard  the  thrones  of  sovereigns.  But  your 
majesty  has  shown,  through  the  whole  course 
of  your  reign,  too  great  a value  for  liberal  arts, 


to  be  insensible  that  true  fame  lies  only  in  the 
hands  of  learned  men,  by  whom  it  is  to  be  trans- 
mitted to  futurity,  with  marks  of  honour  or  re- 
proach to  the  end  of  time.  The  date  of  human 
life  is  too  short  to  recompense  the  cares  which 
attend  the  most  private  condition.  Therefore 
it  is  that  our  souls  are  made,  as  it  w^ere,  too  big 
for  it ; and  extend  themselves  in  the  prospect  of 
a longer  existence,  in  a good  fame,  and  memory 
of  worthy  actions,  after  our  decease.  The  whole 
race  of  men  have  this  passion  in  some  degree 
implanted  in  their  bosoms,  which  is  the  strong- 
est and  noblest  incitation  to  honest  attempts : 
but  the  base  use  of  the  arts  of  peace,  eloquence, 
poetry,  and  all  the  parts  of  learning,  have  been 
possessed  by  souls  so  unworthy  of  those  facul- 
ties, that  the  names  and  appellations  of  things 
have  been  confounded  by  the  labours  and  writ- 
ings of  prostituted  men,  who  have  stamped  a 
reputation  upon  such  actions  as  are  in  tliem- 
selves  the  objects  of  contempt  and  disgrace. 
This  is  that  which  has  misled  your  majesty  in 
the  conduct  of  your  reign,  and  made  that  life, 
which  might  have  been  the  most  inimitable, 
the  most  to  be  avoided.  To  this  it  is,  that  the 
great  and  excellent  qualities,  of  which  your  ma- 
jesty is  master,  are  lost  in  their  application  : 
and  your  majesty  has  been  carrying  on  for 
many  years  the  most  cruel  tyranny,  with  all  the 
noble  methods  which  are  used  to  support  a just 
reign.  Thus  it  is,  that  it  avails  nothing  that 
you  are  a bountiful  master;  that  you  are  so 
generous  as  to  reward  even  the  unsuccessful 
with  honour  and  riches ; that  no  laudable  action 
passes  unrewarded  in  your  kingdom  ; that  you 
have  searched  all  nations  for  obscure  merit : in 
a word,  that  you  are  in  your  private  character 
endowed  with  every  princely  quality  ; when  all 
that  is  subjected  to  unjust  and  ill-taught  ambition, 
which,  to  the  injury  of  the  world,  is  gilded  by 
those  endowments.  However,  if  your  majesty 
will  condescend  to  look  into  your  own  soul,  and 
consider  all  its  faculties  and  weaknesses  with  im- 
partiality ; if  you  will  but  be  convinced,  that  life 
is  supported  in  you  by  the  ordinary  methods  of 
food,  rest,  and  sleep ; you  will  think  it  impos- 
sible that  you  could  ever  be  so  much  imposed 
on,  as  to  have  been  wrought  into  a belief,  that 
so  many  thousands  of  the  same  make  with 
yourself  were  formed  by  Providence  for  no 
other  end,  but  by  the  hazard  of  their  very  be- 
ing to  extend  the  conquests  and  glory  of  an 
individual  of  their  own  species.  A very  little 
reflection  will  convince  your  majesty,  that  such 
cannot  be  the  intent  of  the  Creator  ; and,  if 
not,  what  horror  must  it  give  your  majesty  to 
think  of  the  vast  devastations  your  ambition 
has  made  among  your  fellow-creatures  I While 
the  warmth  of  youth,  the  flattery  of  crowds,  and 
a continual  series  of  success  and  triumph,  in- 
dulged your  majesty  in  this  illusion  of  mind,  it 
was  less  to  be  wondered  at,  that  you  proceeded 
in  this  mistaken  pursuit  of  grandeur ; but  when 
age,  disappointments,  public  calamities,  personal 
distempers,  and  the  reverse  of  all  that  makes 
men  forget  their  true  being,  are  fallen  upon 
you ; heavens  ! is  it  possible  you  can  live  with- 
out remorse  ? can  the  wretched  man  be  a 
tyrant  ? can  grief  study  torments  ? can  sorrow 
be  cruel ? 


60 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  24. 


‘ Your  majesty  will  observe,  1 do  not  bring- 
against  you  a railing  accusation;  but,  as  you 
are  a strict  professor  of  religion,  I beseech  your 
majesty  to  stop  the  effusion  of  blood,  by  receiv- 
ing the  opportunity  which  presents  itself  for  the 
preservation  of  your  distressed  people.  Be  no 
longer  so  infatuated,  as  to  liope  for  renown  from 
murder  and  violence : but  consider  that  the  great 
day  will  come,  in  which  this  world  and  all  its 
glory  shall  change  in  a moment ; when  nature 
shall  sicken,  and  the  earth  and  sea  give  up  the 
bodies  committed  to  them,  to  appear  before  the 
last  tribunal.  Will  it  then,  O king  ! be  an  an- 
swer for  the  lives  of  millions,  who  have  fallen  by 
the  SNVord,  ‘ They  perished  for  my  glory  V That 
day  will  come  on,  and  one  like  it  is  immediately 
approaching  : injured  natrons  advance  towards 
thy  habitation:  vengeance  has  begun  its  march, 
which  is  to  be  diverted  only  by  the  penitence  of 
the  oppressor.  Awake,  O monarch,  from  thy 
lethargy  ! disdain  the  abases  thou  hast  received : 
pull  down  the  statue  which  calls  thee  immortal : 
be  truly  great:  tear  thy  purple,  and  put  on  sack- 
cloth. I am,  thy  generous  enemy, 

ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF. 


No.  24.]  Saturday,  June  4, 1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  2. 

In  my  paper  of  the  twenty-eighth  of  the  last 
month,  I mentioned  several  characters  which 
W’ant  explanation  to  the  generality  of  readers  : 
among  others  I spoke  of  a Pretty  Fellow.  I have 
received  a kind  admonition  in  a letter,  to  take 
care  that  I do  not  omit  to  show  also  what  is 
meant  by  a Very  Pretty  Fellow,  wliich  is  to  be 
allowed  as  a character  by  itself,  and  a person 
exalted  above  the  other  by  a peculiar  sprightli- 
ness ; as  one  who,  by  a distinguishing  vigour, 
outstrips  his  companions,  and  has  thereby  de- 
served and  obtained  a particular  appellation  or 
nick-name  of  familiarity.  Some  have  this  dis- 
tinction from  the  fair-sex,  who  are  so  generous 
as  to  take  into  their  protection  such  as  are  laugh- 
ed at  by  the  men,  and  place  ti'.em  for  that  rea- 
son in  degrees  of  favour. 

The  chief  of  this  sort  is  colonel  Brunett,  who 
is  a man  of  fashion,  because  he  will  be  so ; and 
practises  a very  janty  way  of  behaviour,  because 
he  is  too  careless  to  know  when  he  offends,  and 
too  sanguine  to  be  mortified  if  he  did  know  it. 
Thus  the  colonel  has  met  with  a town  ready  to 
receive  him,  and  cannot  possibly  see  why  he 
should  not  make  use  of  their  favour,  and  set 
himself  in  the  first  degree  of  conversation. 
Therefore  he  is  very  successfully  loud  among 
the  wits,  and  familiar  among  the  ladies,  and  dis- 
solute among  the  rakes.  Thus  he  is  admitted 
in  one  place  because  he  is  so  in  another ; and 
every  man  treats  Brunett  well,  not  out  of  his 
particular  esteem  for  him,  but  in  respect  to  the 
opinion  of  others.  It  is  to  me  a solid  pleasure 
to  see  the  world  thus  mistaken  on  the  good- 
natured  side ; for  it  is  ten  to  one  but  the  colonel 


mounts  into  a general  officer,  marries  a fine 
lady,  and  is  master  of  a good  estate,  before  they 
come  to  explain  upon  him.  What  gives  most 
delight  to  me  in  this  observation  is,  that  all  this 
arises  from  pure  nature,  and  the  colonel  can  ac- 
count  for  his  success  no  more  than  those  by 
whom  he  succeeds.  For  these  causes  and  con- 
siderations, I pronounce  him  a true  woman’s 
man,  and  in  the  first  degree  ‘ A very  Pretty 
Fellow.’ 

The  next  to  a man  of  this  universal  genius,  is 
one  who  is  peculiarly  formed  for  the  service  of 
the  ladies,  and  his  merit  chiefly  is  to  be  of  no 
consequence.  I am  indeed  a little  in  doubt, 
whether  he  ought  not  rather  to  be  called  a very 
Happy,  than  a very  Pretty  Fellow  ? for  he  is 
admitted  at  all  hours  : all  he  says  or  does,  which 
would  offend  in  another,  are  passed  over  in  him  ; 
and  all  actions  and  speeches  which  please, 
doubly  please  if  they  come  from  him : no  one 
wonders  or  takes  notice  when  he  is  wrong ; but 
all  admire  him  when  he  is  in  the  right. — By  the 
way,  it  is  fit  to  remark,  that  there  are  people  of 
better  sense  than  these,  who  endeavour  at  this 
character ; but  they  are  out  of  nature  ; and 
though,  with  some  industry,  they  get  the  cha- 
racters of  fools,  they  cannot  arrive  to  be  very, 
seldom  to  be  merely  ‘ Pretty  Fellows.’  But, 
where  nature  has  formed  a person  for  this  sta- 
tion amongst  men,  he  is  gifted  with  a peculiar 
genius  for  success,  and  his  very  errors  and  ab- 
surdities contribute  to  it ; this  felicity  attending 
him  fo  his  life’s  end : for  it  being  in  a manner 
necessary  that  he  should  be  of  no  consequence, 
he  is  as  well  in  old  age  as  youth ; and  I know  a 
man,  whose  son  has  been  some  years  a ‘ Pretty 
Fellow,’  who  is  himself  at  this  hour  a very 
Pretty  Fellow. 

One  must  move  tenderly  in  this  place,  for  we 
are  now  in  the  ladies’  lodgings,  and  speaking  of 
such  as  are  supported  by  their  influence  and 
favour ; against  which  there  is  not,  neither 
ought  there  to  be,  any  dispute  or  observation. 
But  when  we  come  into  more  free  air,  one  may 
talk  a little  more  at  large. 

Give  me  leave  then  to  mention  three,  whom  I 
do  not  doubt  but  we  shall  see  make  considerable 
figures ; and  these  are  such  as  for  their  Baccha- 
nalian performances  must  be  admitted  into  this 
order.  They  are  three  brothers  lately  landed 
from  Holland : as  yet,  indeed,  they  have  not 
made  their  public  entry,  but  lodge  and  converse 
at  Wapping.  They  have  merited  already  on 
the  water-side  particular  titles : the  first  is  call- 
ed Hogshead  ; the  second,  Culverin  ; and  the 
third,  Musquet.  This  fraternity  is  preparing  for 
our  end  of  the  town  by  their  ability  in  the  ex- 
ercises of  Bacchus,  and  measure  their  time  and 
merit  by  liquid  weight,  and  power  of  drinking. 
Hogshead  is  a prettier  Fellow  than  Culverin,  by 
two  quarts ; and  Culverin  than  Musquet,  by  a 
full  pint.  It  is  to  be  feared  Hogshead  is  so  often 
too  full,  and  Culverin  overloaded,  that  Musquet 
will  be  the  only  lasting  Very  Pretty  Fellow  of 
the  three. 

A third  sort  of  this  denomination  is  such  a% 
by  very  daring  adventures  in  love,  have  pur 
chased  to  themselves  renown  and  new  names 
as  Jo  Carry,  for  his  excessive  strength  and  vi 
gour;  Tom  Drybones,  for  his  generous  loss  of 


No.  24.] 


THE  TATLER. 


61 


youth  and  health  ; and  Cancrum,  for  his  meri- 
torious rottenness. 

These  great  and  leading  spirits  are  proposed 
to  all  such  of  our  British  youth  as  would  arrive 
at  perfection  in  these  different  kinds;  and  if 
their  parts  and  accomplishments  were  w’^ell  imi- 
tated, it  is  not  doubted  but  that  our  nation 
would  soon  excel  all  others  in  wit  and  arts,  as 
they  already  do  in  arms. 

N.  B.  The  gentleman  who  stole  Betty  Pepin* 
may  own  it,  for  he  is  allowed  to  be  ‘A  very 
Pretty  Fellow.’ 

But  we  must  proceed  to  the  explanation  of 
other  terms  in  our  writings. 

To  know  what  a toast  is  in  the  country,  gives 
as  much  perplexity  as  she  herself  does  in  town  : 
and  indeed  the  learned  differ  very  much  upon 
the  original  of  this  word,  and  the  acceptation  of 
it  among  the  moderns.  However,  it  is  by  all 
agreed  to  have  a joyous  and  cheerful  import.  A 
toast  in  a cold  morning,  heightened  by  nutmeg, 
and  sweetened  with  sugar,  has  for  many  ages 
been  given  to  our  rural  dispensers  of  justice, 
before  they  entered  upon  causes,  and  has  been 
of  great  and  politic  use  to  take  off  the  severity 
of  their  sentences;  but  has  indeed  been  remark- 
able for  one  ill  effect,  that  it  inclines  those  who 
use  it  immoderately  to  speak  Latin,  to  the  admi- 
ration rather  than  information  of  an  audience. 
This  application  of  a toast  makes  it  very  obvious 
that  the  word  may,  without  a metaphor,  be  un- 
derstood as  an  apt  name  for  a thing  which  raises 
us  in  the  most  sovereign  degree.  But  many  of 
the  wits  of  the  last  age  will  assert  that  the  word, 
in  its  present  sense,  was  known  among  them  in 
their  youth,  and  had  its  rise  from  an  accident  at 
the  town  of  Bath,  in  the  reign  of  king  Charles 
the  Second. 

It  happened  that,  on  a public  day,  a cele- 
brated beauty  of  those  times  was  in  the  Cross 
Bath,  and  one  of  the  crowd  of  her  admirers  took 
a glass  of  the  water  in  which  the  fair  one  stood, 
and  drank  her  health  to  the  company.  There 
was  in  the  place  a gay  fellow  half  fuddled,  who 
offered  to  jump  in,  and  swore,  though  he  liked  ' 
not  the  liquor,  he  would  have  the  toast.  He 
was  opposed  in  his  resolution ; yet  this  whim  ’ 
gave  foundation  to  the  present  honour  which  is 
done  to  the  lady  we  mention  in  our  liquors,  who 
has  ever  since  been  called  a toast. 

Though  this  institution  had  so  trivial  a be- 
ginning, it  is  now  elevated  into  a formal  order  ; 
and  that  happy  virgin,  who  is  received  and  drunk 
to  at  their  meetings,  has  no  more  to  do  in  this 
life  but  to  judge  and  accept  of  the  first  good 
offer.  The  manner  of  her  inauguration  is  much 
like  that  of  the  choice  of  a doge  in  Venice  : it 
is  performed  by  balloting  ; and  when  she  is  so 
chosen,  she  reigns  indisputably  for  that  ensuing 
year ; but  must  be  elected  a-new  to  prolong  her 
empire  a moment  beyond  it.  When  she  is  regu- 
larly chosen,  her  name  is  written  with  a diamond 
on  a drinking-glass.t  The  hieroglyphic  of  the 


* The  kept  mistress  of  a knight  of  the  shire  near 
Brentford,  who  squandered  his  estate  on  women,  and 
in  contested  elections. 

t It  was  the  fashion  of  the  time,  to  inscribe  verses 
thus  to  the  reigning  beauties.  Several  of  these  sprightly 
productions,  ‘ on  the  toasting-glasses  of  the  Kit-cat 
Club,’  by  the  Lords  Halifax,  Wharton,  Lansdowne,  and 
Carbury,  by  Mr.  Maynwaring,  and  other  poetical  mem- 


diamond  is  to  show  her,  that  her  value  is  ima- 
ginary  ; and  that  of  the  glass  to  acquaint  her, 
that  her  condition  is  frail,  and  depends  on  the 
hand  which  holds  her.  This  wise  design  ad- 
monishes her,  neither  to  over-rate  or  depreciate 
her  charms  ; as  well  considering  and  applying, 
that  it  is  perfectly  according  to  the  humour  and 
taste  of  the  company,  whether  the  toast  is  eaten, 
or  left  as  an  offal. 

The  foremost  of  the  whole  rank  of  toasts,  and 
the  most  undisputed  in  their  present  empire,  are 
Mrs.  Gatty  and  Mrs.  Frontlet : the  first  an 
agreeable,  the  second  an  awful  beauty.  These 
ladies  are  perfect  friends,  out  of  a knowledge, 
that  their  perfections  are  too  different  to  stand 
in  competition.  He  that  likes  Gatty  can  have 
no  relish  for  so  solemn  a creature  as  Frontlet ; 
and  an  admirer  of  Frontlet  wfill  call  Gatty  a 
maypole  girl.  Gatty  for  ever  smiles  upon  you ; 
and  Frontlet  disdains  to  see  you  smile.  Gatty’s 
love  is  a shining  quick  flame;  Frontlet’s,  a slow 
wasting  fire.  Gatty  likes  the  man  that  diverts 
her;  Frontlet,  him  who  adores  her.  Gatty  al- 
ways improves  the  soil  in  which  she  travels ; 
Frontlet  lays  waste  the  country.  Gatty  does 
not  only  smile,  but  laughs  at  her  lover  ; Front- 
let  not  only  looks  serious,  but  frowns  at  him. 
All  the  men  of  wit  (and  coxcombs  their  followers) 
are  professed  servants  of  Gatty : the  politicians 
and  pretenders  give  solemn  worship  to  Frontlet. 
Their  reign  will  be  best  judged  of  by  its  dura- 
tion. Frontlet  will  never  be  chosen  more  ; and 
Gatty’s  a toast  for  life. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  June  3. 

Letters  from  Hamburg  of  the  seventh  instant, 
N.  S.  inform  us,  that  no  art  or  cost  is  omitted  to 
make  the  stay  of  his  Danish  majesty  at  Dresden 
' agreeable  ; but  there  are  various  speculations 
, upon  the  interview  between  king  Augustus  and 
■ that  prince,  many  putting  politic  constructions 
j upon  his  Danish  majesty’s  arrival  at  a time 
when  his  troops  are  marching  out  of  Hungary, 
with  orders  to  pass  through  Saxony,  where  it  is 
given  out,  that  they  are  to  be  recruited.  It  is 
said  also,  that  several  Polish  senators  have  in- 
vited king  Augustus  to  return  into  Poland.  His 
majesty  of  Sweden,  according  to  the  same  advi- 
ces, has  passed  the  Nieper  without  any  oppo- 
sition from  the  Muscovites,  and  advances  with 
all  possible  expedition  towards  Volhinia,  where 
he  proposes  to  join  king  Stanislaus  and  general 
Crassau. 

We  hear  from  Bern  of  the  first  instant,  N.  S. 
that  there  is  not  a province  in  France,  from 
whence  the  court  is  not  apprehensive  of  receiv- 
ing accounts  of  public  commotions,  occasioned 
by  the  want  of  corn.  The  general  diet  of  the  thir- 
teen cantons  is  assembled  at  Baden,  but  have  not 
yet  entered  upon  business,  so  that  the  affair  of 
Tockenburgh  is  yet  at  a stand. 

Letters  from  the  Hague,  dated  the  eleventh 
instant,  N.  S.  advise,  that  monsieur  Rouille  hav- 
ing  acquainted  the  ministers  of  the  allies,  that 
his  master  had  refused  to  ratify  the  prelimi- 
naries of  a treaty  adjusted  with  monsieur  Torcy, 

bers  of  that  ingenious  society,  may  be  seen  in  Nichols’s 
‘ Select  Collection  of  Miscellany  Poems,’  vol.  v.  pp.  168. 
178.  276. 


62 


THE  TATLER. 


set  out  for  Paris  on  Sunday  morning.  The  same 
day  the  foreign  ministers  met  a committee  of 
the  states-general,  where  monsieur  Van  Hessen 
opened  the  business  upon  which  they  were  as- 
sembled, and  in  a very  warm  discourse,  laid 
before  them  the  conduct  of  France  in  the  late 
negotiations,  representing  the  abject  manner  in 
which  she  had  laid  open  her  own  distresses, 
that  reduced  her  to  a compliance  with  the  de- 
mands of  all  the  allies,  and  her  meanness  in 
receding  from  those  points  to  which  monsieur 
Torcy  had  consented.  The  respective  ministers 
of  each  potentate  of  the  alliance  severally  ex- 
pressed their  resentment  of  the  faithless  beha- 
viour of  the  French,  and  gave  each  other  mutual 
assurances  of  the  constancy  and  resolution  of 
their  principals,  to  proceed  with  the  utmost 
vigour  against  the  common  enemy.  His  grace 
the  duke  of  Marlborough  set  out  from  the 
Hague  on  the  afternoon  of  the  ninth,  and  lay 
that  night  at  Rotterdam,  from  whence,  at  four  the 
next  morning,  he  proceeded  towards  Antwerp, 
with  a design  to  reach  Ghent  the  next  day.  All 
the  troops  in  the  Low  Countries  are  in  motion 
towards  the  general  rendezvous  between  the 
Scheld  and  the  Lis  ; the  whole  army  will  be 
formed  on  the  twelfth  instant ; and  it  is  said, 
that  on  the  fourteenth,  they  will  advance  towards 
the  enemy’s  country.  In  the  mean  time  the 
marshal  de  Villars  has  assembled  the  French 
forces  between  Lens,  La  Bassee,  and  Douay. 

Yesterday  morning  sir  John  Norris,  with  the 
squadron  under  his  command,  sailed  from  the 
Downs  for  Holland. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  June  3. 

I have  the  honour  of  the  following  letter  from 
a gentleman  whom  I receive  into  my  family, 
and  order  the  heralds  at  arms  to  enroll  him  ac- 
cordingly. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Though  you  have  ex- 
cluded me  the  honour  of  your  family,  yet  I have 
ventured  to  correspond  with  the  same  great  per- 
sons as  yourself,  and  have  wrote  this  post  to  the 
king  of  France  ; though  I am  in  a manner  un- 
known in  his  country,  and  have  not  been  seen 
there  these  many  months  : 

TO  LEWIS  LE  GRAND. 

‘Though  in  your  country  I’m  unknown, 

Yet,  sir,  I must  advise  you  : 

Of  late  so  poor  and  mean  you’re  grown, 

That  all  the  world  despise  you. 

Here  vermin  eat  your  majesty, 

There  meagre  subjects  stand  unfed : 

What  surer  signs  of  poverty, 

Than  many  lice  and  little  bread? 

Then,  sir,  the  present  minute  choose, 

Our  armies  are  advanced  : 

Those  terms  you  at  the  Hague  refuse. 

At  Paris  won’t  be  granted. 

Consider  this,  and  Dunkirk  raze. 

And  Anna’s  title  own  ; 

Send  one  pretender  out  to  graze. 

And  call  the  other  home. 

* Your  humble  servant, 

BREAD  THE  STAFF  OF  LIFE.’ 


[No.  25. 

No.  25.]  Tuesday,  June  7,  1709. 

Ouicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  li belli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  6. 

A letter  from  a young  lady,  written  in  the 
most  passionate  terms,  wherein  she  laments  the 
misfortune  of  a gentleman,  her  lover,  who  was 
lately  wounded  in  a duel,  has  turned  my  thoughts 
to  that  subject,  and  inclined  me  to  examine  into 
the  causes  which  precipitate  men  into  so  fatal  a 
folly.  And  as  it  has  been  proposed  to  treat  of 
subjects  of  gallantry  in  the  article  from  hence,, 
and  no  one  point  in  nature  is  more  proper  to  be 
eonsidered  by  the  company  w’ho  frequent  this 
place  than  that  of  duels,  it  is  worth  our  consid- 
eration to  examine  into  this  chimerical  ground- 
less humour,  and  to  lay  every  other  thought 
aside,  until  we  have  stripped  it  of  all  its  false 
pretences  to  credit  and  reputation  amongst  men. 

But  I must  confess,  when  I consider  what  I 
am  going  about,  and  run  over  in  my  imagination 
all  the  endless  crowd  of  men  of  honour  who  will 
be  offended  at  such  a discourse ; I am  under- 
taking, methinks,  a work  worthy  an  invulnera- 
ble hero  in  romance,  rather  than  a private  gen- 
tleman with  a single  rapier  : but  as  I am  pretty 
well  acquainted  by  great  opportunities  with  the 
nature  of  man,  and  know  of  a truth  that  all  men 
fight  against  their  will,  the  danger  vanishes,  and 
resolution  rises  upon  this  subject.  For  this  rea- 
son, I shall  talk  very  freely  on  a custom  which 
all  men  wish  exploded,  though  no  man  has 
courage  enough  to  resist  it. 

But  there  is  one  unintelligible  word,  which  I 
fear  will  extremely  perplex  my  dissertation,  and 
I confess  to  you  I find  very  hard  to  explain, 
which  is  the  term  ‘satisfaction.’  An  honest 
country  gentleman  had  the  misfortune  to  fall 
into  company  with  two  or  three  modern  men  of 
honour,  where  he  happened  to  be  very  ill-treated; 
and  one  of  the  company,  being  conscious  of  his 
offence,  sends  a note  to  him  in  the  morning,  and 
tells  him,  he  was  ready  to  give  him  satisfaction, 

‘ This  is  fine  doing,’  says  the  plain  fellow  ; ‘ last 
night  he  sent  me  away  cursedly  out  of  humour, 
and  this  morning  he  fancies  it  would  be  a satis- 
faction  to  be  run  through  the  body.’ 

As  the  matter  at  present  stands,  it  is  not  to 
do  handsome  actions  denominates  a man  of 
honour ; it  is  enough  if  he  dares  to  defend  ill 
ones.  Thus  you  often  see  a common  sharper  in 
competition  with  a gentleman  of  the  first  rank ; 
though  all  mankind  is  convinced,  that  a fight- 
ing gamester  is  only  a pick-pocket  with  the 
courage  of  a highwayman.  One  cannot  with 
any  patience  reflect  on  the  unaccountable  jum- 
ble of  persons  and  things  in  this  town  and  nation, 
which  occasions  very  frequently,  that  a brave 
man  falls  by  a hand  below  that  of  a common 
hangman,  and  yet  his  executioner  escapes  the 
clutches  of  the  hangman  for  doing  it.  I shall 
therefore  hereafter  consider,  how  the  bravest 
men  in  other  ages  and  nations  have  behaved 
themselves  upon  such  incidents  as  we  decide  by 
combat ; and  show,  from  their  practice,  that  this 


No.  25] 


THE  TATLER. 


63 


resentment  neither  has  its  foundation  from  true 
reason  or  solid  fame  ; but  is  an  imposture,  made 
of  eowardice,  falsehood,  and  want  of  understand- 
ing'. For  this  work,  a good  history  of  quarrels 
would  be  very  edifying  to  the  public,  and  I ap- 
ply myself  to  the  town  for  particulars  and  cir- 
cumstances within  their  knowledge,  which  may 
serve  to  embellish  the  dissertation  with  proper 
cuts.  Most  of  the  quarrels  I have  ever  known, 
have  proceeded  from  some  valiant  coxcomb’s 
persisting  in  the  wrong,  to  defend  some  pre- 
vailing folly,  and  preserve  himself  from  the  in- 
genuousness of  owning  a mistake. 

By  this  means  it  is  called  ‘ giving  a man  sa- 
tisfaction,’ to  urge  your  offence  against  him 
with  your  sword;  which  puts  me  in  mind  of 
Peter’s  order  to  the  keeper,  in  ‘ The  Tale  of  a 
Tub : if  you  neglect  to  do  all  this,  damn  you 
and  your  generation  for  ever  : and  so  we  bid  you 
heartily  farewell.’  If  the  contradiction  in  the 
very  terms  of  one  of  our  challenges  were  as  well 
explained  and  turned  into  downright  English, 
would  it  not  run  after  this  manner  ? 

‘Sir; — Your  extraordinary  behaviour  last 
night,  and  the  liberty  you  were  pleased  to  take 
with  me,  makes  me  this  morning  give  you  this, 
to  tell  you,  because  you  are  an  ill-bred  puppy, 
I will  meet  you  in  Hyde-park  an  hour  hence ; 
and  because  you  want  both  breeding  and  hu- 
manity, I desire  you  would  come  with  a pistol 
in  your  hand,  on  horseback,  and  endeavour  to 
shoot  me  through  the  head,  to  teach  you  more 
manners.  If  you  fail  of  doing  me  this  pleasure, 
I shall  say,  you  are  a rascal,  on  every  post  in 
town  : and  so,  sir,  if  you  will  not  injure  me 
more,  I shall  never  forgive  what  you  have  done 
already.  Pray,  sir,  do  not  fail  of  getting  every 
thing  ready  ; and  you  will  infinitely  oblige,  sir, 
your  most  obedient  humble  servant,  &c.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  6. 

Among  the  many  employments  I am  neces- 
sarily put  upon  by  my  friends,  that  of  giving  ad- 
vice is  the  most  unwelcome  to  me ; and,  indeed 
I am  forced  to  use  a little  art  in  the  manner ; 
for  some  people  will  ask  counsel  of  you,  when 
they  have  already  acted  what  they  tell  you  is 
still  under  deliberation.  I had  almost  lost  a 
very  good  friend  the  other  day,  who  came  to 
know  ‘ how  I liked  his  design  to  marry  such  a 
lady  ?’  I answered,  ‘ By  no  means;  and  I must 
be  positive  against  it,  for  very  solid  reasons, 
which  are  not  proper  to  be  communicated.’ 

‘ Not  proper  to  be  communicated  !’  said  he,  with 
a grave  air,  ‘ I will  know  the  bottom  of  this.’ 

I saw  him  moved,  and  knew  from  thence  he 
was  already  determined  ; therefore  evaded  it  by 
saying,  ‘ To  tell  you  the  truth,  dear  Frank,  of 
all  the  women  living  I would  have  her  myself.’ 

‘ Isaac,’  said  he  ‘ thou  art  too  late,  for  we  have 
been  both  one  these  two  months.’ 

I learned  this  caution  by  a gentleman’s  con- 
sulting me  formerly  about  his  son.  He  railed 
at  his  damned  extravagance,  and  told  me,  ‘ in  a 
very  little  time  he  would  beggar  him  by  the 
exorbitant  bills  which  came  from  Oxford  every 
quarter.’  ‘ Make  the  rogue  bite  upon  the  bridle,’ 
said  I ; ‘ pay  none  of  his  bills  ; it  will  but  encou- , 


rage  him  to  further  trespasses.’  He  looked 
plaguy  sour  at  me.  His  son  soon  after  sent  up 
a paper  of  verses,  forsooth,  in  print,  on  the  last 
public  occasion^;  upon  which,  he  is  convinced 
the  boy  has  parts,  and  a lad  of  spirit  is  not  to 
be  too  much  cramped  in  his  maintenance,  lest 
he  take  ill  courses.  Neither  father  nor  son  can 
ever  since  endure  the  sight  of  me. 

These  sort  of  people  ask  opinions  only  out  of 
the  fulness  of  their  heart  on  the  subject  of  their 
perplexity,  and  not  from  a desire  of  information. 

There  is  nothing  so  easy  as  to  find  out  which 
opinion  the  man  in  doubt  has  a mind  to ; there- 
fore the  sure  way  is,  to  tell  him  that  is  certainly 
to  be  chosen.  Then  you  are  to  be  very  clear 
and  positive ; leave  no  handle  for  scruple.  ‘ Bless 
me  ! sir,  there  is  no  room  for  a question  !’  This 
rivets  you  into  his  heart ; for  you  at  once  ap- 
plaud his  wisdom,  and  gratify  his  inclination. 
However,  I had  too  much  bowels  to  be  insin- 
cere to  a man  who  came  yesterday  to  know  of 
me,  with  which  of  two  eminent  men  in  the  city 
he  should  place  his  son  ? their  names  are  Paulo 
and  Avaro.  This  gave  me  much  debate  with 
myself,  because  not  only  the  fortune  of  the  youth, 
but  his  virtue  also  dependeth  upon  this  choice. 
The  men  are  equally  wealthy  ; but  they  differ 
in  the  use  and  application  of  their  riches,  which 
you  immediately  see  upon  entering  their  doors. 

The  habitation  of  Paulo  has  at  once  the  air 
of  a nobleman  and  a merchant.  You  see  the 
servants  act  with  affection  to  their  master,  and 
satisfaction  in  themselves : the  master  meets 
you  with  an  open  countenance,  full  of  benevo- 
lence and  integrity  : your  business  is  despatched 
with  that  confidence  and  welcome  which  always 
accompany  honest  minds  : his  table  is  the  image 
of  plenty  and  generosity,  supported  by  justice 
and  frugality.  After  we  had  dined  here,  our 
affair  was  to  visit  Avaro : out  comes  an  awk- 
ward fellow,  with  a careful  countenance  ; ‘ Sir, 
would  you  speak  with  my  master  ? may  I crave 
your  name  ?’  After  the  first  preamble,  he  leads 
us  into  a noble  solitude,  a great  house  that 
seemed  uninhabited ; but  from  the  end  of  the 
spacious  hall  moves  towards  us  Avaro,  with  a 
suspicious  aspect,  as  if  he  had  believed  us 
thieves ; and,  as  for  my  part,  I approached  him 
as  if  I knew  him  a cut-purse.  We  fell  into  dis- 
course of  his  noble  dwelling,  and  the  great 
estate  all  the  world  knew  he  had  to  enjoy  in  it : 
and  I,  to  plague  him,  began  to  commend  Paulo’s 
way  of  living.  ‘ Paulo,’  answered  Avaro,  ‘ is  a 
very  good  man ; but  we,  who  have  smaller  es- 
tates, must  cut  our  coat  according  to  our  cloth.’ 

‘ Nay,’  says  I,  ‘ every  man  knows  his  own  cir- 
cumstances best ; you  are  in  the  right,  if  you 
have  not  wherewithal.’  He  looked  very  sour ; 
for  it  is,  you  must  know,  the  utmost  vanity  of  a 
mean-spirited  rich  man  to  be  contradicted  when 
he  calls  himself  poor.  But  I resolved  to  vex  him, 
by  consenting  to  all  he  said  ; the  main  design 
of  which  was,  that  he  would  have  us  find  out, 
he  was  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in  London, 
and  lived  like  a beggar.  We  left  him,  and  took 
a turn  on  the  Exchange.  My  friend  was  ra- 
vished with  Avaro  : ‘ this,’  said  he,  ‘ is  certainly 
a sure  man.’  I contradicted  him  with  much 
warmth,  and  summed  up  their  different  charac- 
ters as  well  as  I could.  ‘ This  Paulo,’  said  I, 


64 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  26. 


‘ grows  wealthy  by  being  a common  good ; 
Avaro,  by  being  a general  evil : Paulo  has  the 
art,  Avaro  the  craft  of  trade.  When  Paulo  gains, 
all  men  he  deals  with  are  the  better : whenever 
Avaro  profits,  another  certainly  loses.  In  a 
word,  Paulo  is  a citizen,  and  Avaro  a cit.’  I 
convinced  my  friend,  and  carried  the  young  gen- 
tleman the  next  day  to  Paulo,  where  he  will 
learn  the  way  both  to  gain  and  enjoy  a good  for- 
tune. And  though  I cannot  say  I have,  by 
keeping  him  from  Avaro,  saved  him  from  the 
gallows,  I have  prevented  his  deserving  it  every 
day  he  lives ; for  with  Paulo  he  will  be  an  honest 
man,  without  being  so  for  fear  of  the  law ; as 
with  Avaro  he  would  have  been  a villain  within 
the  protection  of  it. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  June  6. 

We  hear  from  Vienna  of  the  first  instant,  that 
baron  Imhoff,  who  attended  her  Catholic  majesty 
with  the  character  of  envoy  from  the  duke  of 
Wolfembuttel,  was  returned  thither.  That  min- 
ister brought  an  account,  that  major-general 
Stanhope,  with  the  troops  which  embarked  at 
Naples,  was  returned  to  Barcelona.  We  hear 
from  Berlin,  by  advices  of  the  eighth  instant, 
that  his  Prussian  majesty  had  received  an  ac- 
count from  his  minister  at  Dresden,  that  the 
king  of  Denmark  desired  to  meet  his  majesty  at 
Magdeburg.  The  king  of  Prussia  has  sent  for 
answer,  that  his  present  indisposition  will  not 
admit  of  so  great  a journey  ; but  has  sent  the 
king  a very  pressing  invitation  to  come  to  Berlin 
or  Potsdam.  These  advices  say,  that  the  minis- 
ter of  the  king  of  Sweden  has  produced  a letter 
from  his  master  to  the  king  of  Poland,  dated 
from  Botizau  the  thirtieth  of  March,  O.  S.  where- 
in he  acquaints  him,  that  he  has  been  success- 
ful against  the  Muscovites  in  all  the  actions 
which  have  happened  since  his  march  into  their 
country.  Great  numbers  have  revolted  to  the 
Swedes  since  general  Mazeppa  went  over  to  that 
side  ; and  as  many  as  have  done  so  have  taken 
solemn  oaths  to  adhere  to  the  interests  of  his 
Swedish  majesty. 

Advices  from  the  Hague  of  the  fourteenth 
instant,  N.  S.  say,  that  all  things  tended  to  a 
vigorous  and  active  campaign  ; the  allies  having 
strong  resentments  against  the  late  behaviour 
of  the  court  of  France  ; and  the  French  using 
all  possible  endeavours  to  animate  their  men  to 
defend  their  country  against  a victorious  and  ex- 
asperated enemy.  Monsieur  Rouille  had  passed 
through  Brussels  without  visiting  either  the  duke 
of  Marlborough  or  prince  Eugene,  who  were 
both  there  at  that  time.  The  States  have  met, 
and  publicly  declared  their  satisfaction  in  the 
conduct  of  their  deputies  during  the  whole  treaty. 
Letters  from  France  say,  that  the  court  is  re- 
solved to  put  all  to  the  issue  of  the  ensuing  cam- 
paign. In  the  mean  time,  they  have  ordered  the 
preliminary  treaty  to  be  published,  with  obser- 
vations upon  each  article,  in  order  to  quiet  the 
minds  of  the  people,  and  persuade  them  that  it 
has  not  been  in  the  power  of  the  king  to  procure 
a peace,  but  to  the  diminution  of  his  majesty’s 
glory,  and  the  hazard  of  his  dominions.  His 
grace  the  duke  of  Marlborough  and  prince 
Eugene  arrived  at  Ghent  on  Wednesday  last. 


where,  at  an  assembly  of  all  the  general  officers, 
it  was  thought  proper,  by  reason  of  the  great 
rains  which  have  lately  fallen,  to  defer  forming 
a camp,  or  bringing  the  troops  together  ; but, 
as  soon  as  the  weather  would  permit,  to  march 
upon  the  enemy  with  all  expedition. 


No.  26.]  Thursday,  June  9,  1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  8. 

I have  read  the  following  letter  with  delight 
and  approbation  ; and  I hereby  order  Mr.  Kid* 
ney  at  St.  James’s,  and  sir  Thomas  at  White’s, 
(who  are  my  clerks  for  enrolling  all  men  in  their 
different  classes,  before  they  presume  to  drink 
tea  or  chocolate  in  those  places,)  to  take  care 
that  the  persons  within  the  descriptions  in  the 
letter  be  admitted  and  excluded,  according  to 
my  friend’s  remonstrance. 

June  6,  1709. 

‘Sir, — Your  paper  of  Saturday  has  raised 
up  in  me  a noble  emulation  to  be  recorded  in  the 
foremost  rank  of  worthies  therein  mentioned  ; 
if  any  regard  be  had  to  merit  or  industry,  I may 
hope  to  succeed  in  the  promotion,  for  I have 
omitted  no  toil  or  expense  to  be  a proficient ; 
and  if  my  friends  do  not  flatter,  they  assure  me, 
I have  not  lost  my  time  since  I came  to  town. 
To  enumerate  but  a few  particulars ; there  is 
hardly  a coachman  I meet  with,  but  desires  to 
be  excused  taking  me,  because  he  has  had  me 
before.  I have  compounded  two  or  three  rapes  ; 
and  let  out  to  hire  as  many  bastards  to  beggars. 
I never  saw  above  the  first  act  of  a play  :*  and 
as  to  my  courage,  it  is  well  known  I have  more 
than  once  had  sufficient  witnesses  of  my  draw- 
ing my  sword  both  in  tavern  and  play-house. 
Dr.  Wallt  is  my  particular  friend;  and  if  it 
were  any  service  to  the  public  to  compose  the 
difference  between  Martinf  and  Sintilaert  the 
pearl-driller,t  I do  not  know  a judge  of  more 
experience  than  myself : for  in  that  I may  say 
with  the  poet : 

‘ duas  regio  in  vella  nostri  non  plena  laboris.’ 

What  street  resounds  not  with  my  great  exploits? 

‘ I omit  other  less  particulars,  the  necessary 
consequence  of  greater  actions.  But  my  reason 
for  troubling  you  at  this  present  is,  to  put  a 
stop,  if  it  may  be,  to  an  insinuating  increasing 
set  of  people,  who,  sticking  to  the  letter  of  your 
treatise,  and  not  to  the  spirit  of  it,  do  assume 
the  name  of  ‘ Pretty  Fellows  ;’  nay,  and  even  get 
new  names,  as  you  very  well  hint.  Some  of 
them  I have  heard  calling  to  one  another  as  I 
have  sat  at  White’s  and  St.  James’s,by  the  names 
of  Betty,  Nelly,  and  so  forth.  You  see  them 
accost  each  other  with  effeminate  airs  ; they 

* At  that  time,  it  seems  as  if  the  money  was  returned 
to  such  as  withdrew  at  the  end  of  the  first  act. 

t Three  practitioners  in  physic  or  surgery,  of  some 
note  at  that  time  for  curing  diseases  contracted  by  de- 
bauchery. 

J A term  now  become  unintelligible. 


No.  26.] 


THE  TATLER. 


65 


have  their  signs  and  tokens  like  free-masons : 
they  rail  at  woman-kind ; reeeive  visits  on  their 
beds  in  gowns,  and  do  a thousand  other  unin- 
telligible  prettinesses  that  I cannot  tell  what  to 
make  of.  I therefore  heartily  desire  you  would 
exclude  all  this  sort  of  animals. 

‘ There  is  another  matter  I foresee  an  ill  con- 
sequence from,  that  may  be  timely  prevented  by 
prudence  ; which  is,  that  for  the  last  fortnight, 
prodigious  shoals  of  volunteers  have  gone  over 
to  bully  the  French,  upon  hearing  the  peace 
was  just  signing  ; and  this  is  so  true,  that  I can 
assure  you,  all  engrossing  work  about  the  Tem- 
ple is  risen  above  three  shillings  in  the  pound 
for  want  of  hands.  Now  as  it  is  possible  some 
little  alteration  of  affairs  may  have  broken  their 
measures,  and  that  they  will  post  back  again,  I 
am  under  the  last  apprehension,  that  these  will, 
at  their  return,  all  set  up  for  ‘ Pretty  Fellows,’ 
and  thereby  confound  all  merit  and  service,  and 
impose  on  us  some  new  alteration  in  our  night- 
cap, wigs,  and  pockets,  unless  you  can  provide 
a particular  class  for  them.  I cannot  apply 
myself  better  than  to  you,  and  I am  sure  I speak 
the  mind  of  a very  great  number,  as  deserving 
as  myself’ 

The  pretensions  of  this  correspondent  are 
worthy  a particular  distinction ; he  cannot  in- 
deed be  admitted  as  ‘ Pretty,’  but  is  what  we 
more  justly  call  a ‘ Smart  Fellow.’  Never  to  pay 
at  the  play-house  is  an  act  of  frugality  that  lets 
you  into  his  character ; and  his  expedient  in 
sending  his  children  begging  before  they  can  go, 
are  characteristical  instances  that  he  belongs  to 
this  class.  I never  saw  the  gentleman ; but  I 
know  by  his  letter,  he  hangs  his  cane  to  his 
button  ; and  by  some  lines  of  it  he  should  wear 
red-heeled  shoes ; which  are  essential  parts 
of  the  habit  belonging  to  the  order  of  ‘ Smart 
Fellows.’ 

My  familiar  is  returned  with  the  following 
letter  from  the  French  king. 

* Versailles,  June  13,  1709. 

‘ Lewis  XIV,  to  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esq. 

‘ Sir, — I have  your  epistle,  and  must  take 
the  liberty  to  say,  that  there  has  been  a time, 
when  there  were  generous  spirits  in  Great 
Britain,  who  would  not  have  suffered  my  name 
to  be  treated  with  the  familiarity  you  think  fit 
to  use.  I thought  liberal  men  would  not  be 
such  time-servers,  as  to  fall  upon  a man  because 
his  friends  are  not  in  power.  But,  having  some 
concern  for  what  you  may  transmit  to  posterity 
concerning  me,  I am  willing  to  keep  terms  with 
you,  and  make  a request  to  you,  which  is,  that 
you  would  give  my  service  to  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury (if  ever  you  or  yours  reach  them,)  and  tell 
them,  that  I have  settled  all  matters  between 
them  and  me  by  monsieur  Boileau.  I should 
be  glad  to  see  you  here.’ 

It  is  very  odd,  this  prince  should  offer  to  in- 
vite me  into  his  dominions,  or  believe  I should 
accept  the  invitation.  No,  no,  I remember  too 
well  how  he  served  an  ingenious  gentleman,  a 
friend  of  mine,  whom  he  locked  up  in  the  Bas- 
tile  for  no  reason  in  the  world,  but  because  he 
was  a wit,  and  feared  he  might  mention  him 
with  justice  in  some  of  his  writings.  His  way  | 


is,  that  all  men  of  sense  are  preferred,  banished, 
or  imprisoned.  He  has  indeed  a sort  of  justice 
in  him,  like  that  of  the  gamesters ; for  if  a 
stander-by  sees  one  at  play  cheat,  he  has  a right 
to  come  in  for  shares,  as  knowing  the  mysteries 
of  the  game.* 

This  is  a very  wise  and  just  maxim  ; and  if  I 
have  not  left  at  Mr.  Morphew’s,  directed  to  me, 
bank  bills  for  two  hundred  pounds,  on  or  before 
this  day  seven-night,  I shall  tell  how  Tom  Cash 
got  his  estate.  I expect  three  hundred  pounds 
of  Mr.  Soilett,  for  concealing  all  the  money  he 
has  lent  to  himself,  and  his  landed  friend  bound 
with  him  at  thirty  per  cent,  at  his  scrivener’s. 
Absolute  princes  make  people  pay  what  they 
please  in  deference  to  their  power : I do  not 
know  why  I should  not  do  the  same,  out  of  fear 
or  respect  to  my  knowledge.  I always  preserve 
decorums  and  civilities  to  the  fair  sex : there- 
fore, if  a certain  lady,  who  left  her  coach  at  the 
New-exchange  door  in  the  Strand,  and  whipt 
down  Durham-yard  into  a boat  with  a young 
gentleman  for  Vauxhall  ;t  I say,  if  she  will  send 
me  word,  that  I may  give  the  fan  which  she 
dropped,  and  I found,  to  my  sister  Jenny,  there 
shall  be  no  more  said  of  it.  I expect  hush- 
money  to  be  regularly  sent  for  every  folly  or 
vice  any  one  commits  in  this  whole  town  ; and 
hope,  I may  pretend  to  deserve  it  better  than  a 
chambermaid  or  a valet  de  chambre;  they  only 
whisper  it  to  the  little  set  of  their  companions  ; 
but  I can  tell  it  to  all  men  living,  or  who  are  to 
live.  Therefore  I desire  all  my  readers  to  pay 
their  fines,  or  mend  their  lives. 

White's  Coffee-house,  May  27. 

My  familiar  being  come  from  France,  with 
an  answer  to  my  letter  to  Lewis  of  that  king- 
dom, instead  of  going  on  in  a discourse  of  what 
he  had  seen  in  that  court,  he  put  on  the  im- 
mediate concern  of  a guardian,  and  fell  to  in- 
quiring into  my  thoughts  and  adventures  since 
his  journey.  As  short  as  his  stay  had  been,  I 
confessed  i had  had  many  occasions  for  his  as- 
sistance in  my  conduct ; but  communicated  to 
him  my  thoughts  of  putting  all  my  force  against 
the  horrid  and  senseless  custom  of  duels.  ‘ If 
it  were  possible,’  said  he,  ‘ to  laugh  at  things  in 
themselves  so  deeply  tragical  as  the  impertinent 
profusion  of  human  life,  I think  I could  divert 
you  with  a figure  I saw  just  after  my  death, 
when  the  philosopher  threw  me,  as  I told  you 
some  days  ago,  into  the  pail  of  water. 

‘ You  are  to  know  that,  when  men  leave  the 
body,  there  are  receptacles  for  them  as  soon  as 
they  depart,  according  to  the  manner  in  which 
they  lived  and  died.  At  the  very  instant  I was 
killed,  there  came  away  with  me  a spirit  which 
had  lost  its  body  in  a duel.  We  were  both  ex- 
amined. Me  the  whole  assembly  looked  at  with 
kindness  and  -pity,  but,  at  the  same  time,  with 
an  air  of  welcome  and  consolation : they  pro- 
nounced me  very  happ)’^,  who  had  died  in  inno- 
cence ; and  told  me,  “ a quite  different  place 


*Sir  John  Vanburgh,  who  was  once  confined  in  the 
Bastile,  is  probably  the  person  here  alluded  to.  His  be- 
ing called  ‘ a Wit,’  seems  to  countenance  the  idea. 
tThis,  in  the  original  edition,  is  FoxhalJ. 


66 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  27. 


was  allotted  for  ray  corapanion  ; there  being  a 
great  distance  from  the  mansions  of  fools  and 
innocents  : though,  at  the  same  time,  said  one 
of  the  ghosts,  there  is  a great  affinity  between 
an  idiot  who  has  been  so  for  a long  life,  and  a 
child  who  departs  before  maturity.  But  this 
gentleman  who  has  arrived  with  you,  is  a fool 
of  his  own  making,  is  ignorant  out  of  choice, 
and  will  fare  accordingly.’  The  assembly  began 
to  flock  about  him,  and  one  said  to  him,  ‘Sir, 
I observed  you  came  in  through  the  gate  of 
persons  murdered,  and  I desire  to  know  what 
brought  you  to  your  untimely  end  ?’  He  said, 
‘ he  had  been  a second.'  Socrates,  who  may  be 
said  to  have  been  murdered  by  the  common- 
wealth of  Athens,  stood  by  and  began  to  draw 
near  him,  in  order,  after  his  manner,  to  lead  him 
into  a sense  of  his  error  by  concessions  in  his 
own  discourse.  ‘ Sir,’  said  that  divine  and  ami- 
cable spirit,  what  was  the  quarrel  ?’  He  an- 
swered, ‘ We  shall  know  very  suddenly  when 
the  principal  in  the  business  comes,  for  he  was 
desperately  wounded  before  I fell.’  ‘ Sir,’  said 
the  sage,  ‘ had  you  an  estate  ?’  ‘ Yes,  sir,’  the 
new  guest  answered,  ‘ I have  left  it  in  a very 
good  condition,  and  made  my  will  the  night  be- 
fore this  occasion.’  ‘ Did  you  read  it  before  you 
signed  it  ?’  ‘Yes,  sure,  sir,’  said  the  new  comer. 
Socrates  replies,  ‘ Could  a man,  that  would  not 
give  his  estate  without  reading  the  instrument, 
dispose  of  his  life  without  asking  a question  ?’ 
That  illustrious  shade  turned  from  him,  and  a 
crowd  of  impertinent  goblins,  who  had  been 
drolls  and  parasites  in  their  life-time,  and  were 
knocked  on  the  head  for  their  sauciness,  came 
about  my  fellow-traveller,  and  made  themselves 
very  merry  with  questions  about  the  words  Carte 
and  Tierce,  and  otlier  terms  of  fencers.  But  his 
thoughts  began  to  settle  into  reflection  upon  the 
adventure  which  had  robbed  him  of  his  late  be- 
ing ; and,  with  a wretched  sigh,  said  he,  ‘ How 
terrible  are  conviction  and  guilt,  when  they  come 
too  late  for  penitence  !’ 

Pacolet  was  going  on  in  his  strain,  but  he  re- 
covered from  it,  and  told  me,  ‘ it  was  too  soon  to 
give  my  discourse  on  this  subject  so  serious  a 
turn ; you  have  chiefly  to  do  with  that  part  of 
mankind  which  must  be  led  into  reflection  by 
degrees,  and  you  must  treat  this  custom  with 
humour  and  raillery  to  get  an  audience,  before 
you  come  to  pronounce  sentence  upon  it.  There 
is  foundation  enough  for  raising  such  entertain- 
ments, from  the  practice  on  this  occasion.  Do 
not  you  know  that  often  a man  is  called  out  of 
bed  to  follow  implicitly  a coxcomb  (with  whom 
he  would  not  keep  company  on  any  other  occa- 
sion) to  ruin  and  death  ? — Then  a good  list  of 
such  as  are  qualified  by  the  laws  of  these  un- 
courteous  men  of  chivalry  to  enter  into  combat 
(who  are  often  persons  of  honour  without  com- 
mon honesty  ;)  these,  I say,  ranged  and  drawn 
up  in  their  proper  order,  would  give  an  aversion 
to  doing  any  thing  in  common  with  such  as 
men  laugh  at  and  contemn.  But  to  go  through 
this  work,  you  must  not  let  your  thoughts  vary, 
or  make  excursions  from  your  theme  : consider, 
at  the  same  time,  tiiat  the  matter  has  been  often 
treated  by  the  ablest  and  greatest  writers,  yet 
that  must  not  discourage  you : for  the  proper- 
est  person  to  handle  it,  is.one  who  has  rove  into 


mixed  conversations,  and  must  have  opportuni- 
ties (which  I shall  give  you)  of  seeing  these 
sort  of  men  in  their  pleasures  and  gratifications, 
among  which  they  pretend  to  reckon  fighting. 
It  was  pleasantly  enough  said  of  a bully  in 
France,  when  duels  first  began  to  be  punished  : 
The  king  has  taken  away  gaming  and  stage- 
playing, and  now  fighting  too ; how  does  he 
expect  gentlemen  shall  divert  themselves  V 


No.  27.]  Saturday,  June  11,  1709- 

Gluicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86- 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say.  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P- 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  9. 

Pacolet  being  gone  a-strolling  among  the 
men  of  the  sword,  in  order  to  find  out  the  se- 
cret causes  of  the  frequent  disputes  we  meet  with, 
and  furnish  me  with  materials  for  my  treatise 
on  duelling  : I have  room  left  to  go  on  in  my 
information  to  my  country  readers,  whereby 
they  may  understand  the  bright  people  whose 
memoirs  I have  taken  upon  me  to  write.  But 
in  my  discourse  of  the  twenty -eighth  of  the  last 
month,  I omitted  to  mention  the  most  agreeable 
of  all  bad  characters,  and  that  is,  a Rake. 

A Rake  is  a man  always  to  be  pitied ; and  if 
he  lives,  is  one  day  certainly  reclaimed  ; for  his 
faults  proceed  not  from  choice  or  inclination, 
but  from  strong  passions  and  appetites,  which 
are  in  youth  too  violent  for  the  curb  of  reason, 
goed  sense,  good  manners,  and  good-nature : 
all  which  he  must  have  by  nature  and  education, 
before  he  can  be  allowed  to  be,  or  to  have  been 
of  this  order.  He  is  a poor  unwieldy  wretch 
that  commits  faults  out  of  the  redundance  of 
his  good  qualities.  His  pity  and  compassion 
make  him  sometimes  a bubble  to  all  his  fellows, 
let  them  be  never  so  much  below  him  in  under- 
standing. His  desires  run  away  with  him 
through  the  strength  and  force  of  a lively  im- 
agination, which  hurries  him  on  to  unlawful 
pleasures,  before  reason  has  power  to  come  in 
to  his  rescue.  Thus,  with  all  the  good  inten- 
tions  in  the  world  to  amendment,  this  creature 
sins  on  against  heaven,  himself,  his  friends,  and 
his  country,  who  all  call  for  a Ijetter  use  of  his 
talents.  There  is  not  a being  under  the  sun  so 
miserable  as  this : he  goes  on  in  a pursuit  he 
himself  disapproves,  and  has  no  enjoyment  but 
what  is  followed  by  remorse ; no  relief  from  re- 
morse, but  the  repetition  of  his  crime.  It  is 
possible  I may  talk  of  this  person  with  too  much 
indulgence  ; but  I must  repeat  it,  that  I think 
this  a character  which  is  the  most  the  object  of 
pity  of  any  in  the  world.  The  man  in  the  pangs 
of  the  stone,  gout,  or  any  acute  distemper,  is 
not  in  so  deplorable  a condition,  in  the  eye  of 
right  sense,  as  he  that  errs  and  repents,  and  re- 
pents and  errs  on.  The  fellow  with  broken 
limbs  justly  deserves  your  alms  for  his  impotent 
condition  ; but  he  that  cannot  use  his  own  rea- 
son, is  in  a much  worse  state ; for  you  see  him 
in  miserable  circumstances,  with  his  remedy  at 
the  same  time  in  his  own  possession,  if  he  would 


No.  27.1 


THE  TATLER. 


67 


or  could  use  it.  This  is  the  cause  that,  of  all 
ill  characters,  the  Rake  has  the  best  quarter  in 
the  world  ; for  when  he  is  himself,  and  unruffled 
with  intemperance,  you  see  his  natural  faculties 
exert  themselves,  and  attract  an  eye  of  favour 
towards  his  infirmities. 

But  if  we  look  round  us  here,  how  many  dull 
rogues  are  there,  that  would  fain  be  what  this 
poor  man  hates  himself  for  ? All  the  noise  to- 
wards six  in  the  evening  is  caused  by  his  mi- 
mics and  imitators.  How  ought  men  of  sense 
to  be  careful  of  their  actions,  if  it  were  merely 
from  the  indignation  of  seeing  themselves  ill- 
drawn  by  such  little  pretenders  ! Not  to  say 
he  that  leads  is  guilty  of  all  the  actions  of  his 
followers  ; and  a Rake  has  imitators  whom  you 
would  never  expect  should  prove  so.  Second- 
hand vice,  sure,  of  all  is  the  most  nauseous. 
There  is  hardly  a folly  more  absurd,  or  which 
seems  less  to  be  accounted  for  (though  it  is 
what  we  see  every  day,)  than  that  grave  and 
honest  natures  give  into  this  way,  and  at  the 
same  time  have  good  sense,  if  they  thought  fit 
to  use  it;  but  the  fatality  (under  which  most 
men  labour)  of  desiring  to  be  what  they  are 
not,  makes  them  go  out  of  a method  in  which 
they  might  be  received  with  applause,  and 
would  certainly  excel,  into  one,  wherein  they 
will  all  their  lives  have  the  air  of  strangers  to 
what  they  aim  at. 

For  this  reason,  I have  not  lamented  the 
metamorphosis  of  any  one  I know  so  much  as 
of  Nobilis,  who  was  born  with  sweetness  of 
temper,  just  apprehension,  and  every  thing  else 
that  might  make  him  a man  fit  for  his  order. 
But  instead  of  the  pursuit  of  sober  studies  and 
applications,  in  which  he  would  certainly  be 
capable  of  making  a considerable  figure  in  the 
noblest  assembly  of  men  in  the  world  ; I say, 
in  spite  of  that  good  nature,  which  is  his  proper 
bent,  he  will  say  ill-natured  things  aloud,  put 
such  as  he  was  and  still  should  be  out  of  counte- 
nance, and  drown  all  the  natural  good  in  him, 
to  receive  an  artificial  ill  character,  in  which 
he  will  never  succeed ; for  Nobilis  is  no  Rake. 
He  may  guzzle  so  much  wine  as  he  pleases,  talk 
bawdy  if  he  thinks  fit ; but  he  may  as  well 
drink  water-gruel,  and  go  twice  a-daj^  to  church, 
for  it  will  never  do.  I pronounce  it  again,  No- 
bilis is  no  Rake.  To  be  of  that  order,  he  must 
be  vicious  against  his  will,  and  not  so  by  study 
or  application.  All  ‘Pretty  Fellows’  are  also 
excluded  to  a man,  as  well  as  all  inamoratoos, 
or  persons  of  the  epicene  gender,  who  gaze  at 
one  another  in  the  presence  of  ladies.  This  class, 
of  which  I am  giving  jmu  an  account,  is  pre- 
tended to  also  by  men  of  strong  abilities  in 
drinking ; though  they  are  such  whom  the 
liquor,  not  the  conversation,  keeps  together. 
But  blockheads  may  roar,  fight,  and  stab,  and 
be  never  the  nearer  ; their  labour  is  also  lost ; 
they  want  sense  : they  are  no  Rakes. 

As  a Rake  among  men  is  the  man  who  lives 
in  the  constant  abuse  of  his  reason,  so  a Co- 
quette among  women  is  one  who  lives  in  con- 
tinual misapplication  of  her  beauty.  The  chief 
of  all  whom  I have  the  honour  to  be  acquainted 
with,  is  pretty  Mrs.  Toss  : she  is  ever  in  prac- 
tice  of  something  which  disfigures  her,  and 
takes  from  her  charms,  though  all  she  does 


tends  to  a contrary  effect.  She  has  naturally 
a very  agreeable  voice  and  utterance,  which 
she  has  changed  for  the  prettiest  lisp  imagina- 
ble. She  sees  what  she  has  a mind  to  see  at 
half  a mile  distance  ; but  poring  with  her  eyes 
half  shut  at  every  one  she  passes  by,  she  be- 
lieves much  more  becoming.  The  Cupid  on 
her  fan  and  she  have  their  eyes  full  on  each 
other,  all  the  time  in  which  they  are  not  both 
in  motion.  Whenever  her  eye  is  turned  from 
that  dear  object,  you  may  have  a glance,  and 
your  bow,  if  she  is  in  humour,  returned  as 
civilly  as  you  make  it ; but  that  must  not  be  in 
the  presence  of  a man  of  greater  quality  : for 
Mrs.  Toss  is  so  thoroughly  well-bred,  that  the 
chief  person  present  has  all  her  regards.  And 
she  who  giggles  at  divine  service,  and  laughs  at 
her  very  mother,  can  compose  herself  at  the 
approach  of  a man  of  a good  estate. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  June  9. 

A fine  lady  shouted  a gentleman  of  this  com- 
pany, for  an  eternal  answer  to  all  his  addresses, 
a paper  of  verses,  with  which  she  is  so  capti- 
vated, that  she  professed  the  author  should  be 
the  happy  man  in  spite  of  all  other  pretenders. 
It  is  ordinary  for  love  to  make  men  poetical, 
and  it  had  that  effect  on  this  enamoured  man  : 
but  he  was  resolved  to  try  his  vein  upon  some 
of  her  confidants  or  retinue,  before  he  ventured 
upon  so  high  a theme  as  herself.  To  do  other- 
wise than  so,  would  be  like  making  an  heroic 
poem  a man’s  first  attempt.  Among  the  favour- 
ites to  the  fair  one,  he  found  her  parrot  not  to 
be  in  the  last  degree  : he  saw  Poll  had  her  ear, 
when  his  sighs  were  neglected.  To  write 
against  him  had  been  a fruitless  labour  ; there- 
fore he  resolved  to  flatter  him  into  his  interest 
in  the  following  manner  : 

TO  A LADY  ON  HER  PARROT. 

When  nymphs  were  coy,  and  love  could  not  prevail, 
The  gods  disguised  were  seldom  known  to  fail; 

Leda  was  chaste,  but  yet  a feathered  Jove 
Surprised  the  fair,  and  taught  her  how  to  love. 
There’s  no  celestial  but  his  heaven  would  quit, 

For  any  form  which  might  to  thee  admit. 

See  how  the  wanton  bird  at  every  glance, 

Swells  his  glad  plumes,  and  feels  an  amorous  trance  : 
The  queen  of  beauty  has  forsook  the  dove  ; 

Henceforth  the  parrot  be  the  bird  of  love. 

It  is  indeed  a very  just  proposition  to  give 
that  honour  rather  to  the  parrot  than  the  other 
volatile.  The  parrot  represents  us  in  the  state 
of  making  love  : the  dove,  in  the  possession  of 
the  object  beloved.  But,  instead  of  turning  the 
dove  off,  I fancy  it  would  be  better  if  the  chaise 
of  Venus  had  hereafter  a parrot  added  (as  we 
see  sometimes  a third  horse  to  a coach,)  which 
might  intimate  that  to  be  a parrot,  is  the  only 
way  to  succeed ; and  to  be  a dove,  to  preserve 
your  conquests.  If  the  swain  would  go  on 
successfully,  he  must  imitate  the  bird  he 
writes  upon ; for  he  who  would  be  loved  by 
women,  must  never  be  silent  before  the  favour, 
or  open  his  lips  after  it. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  10. 

I have  so  many  messages  fuom  young  gen- 
tlemen who  expect  preferment  and  distinction, 


68 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  28. 


that  I am  wholly  at  a loss  in  what  manner  to 
acquit  myself.  The  writer  of  the  following 
letter  tells  me,  in  a postscript,  he  cannot  go  out 
of  town  until  I have  taken  some  notice  of  him, 
and  is  very  urgent  to  be  somebody  in  it,  before 
he  returns  to  his  commons  at  the  university. 
But  take  it  from  himself. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esq.  Monitor  General 
of  GreaUBritain. 

Sheer-Lane,  June  8. 

‘ SIR, — I have  been  above  six  months  from  the 
university,  of  age  these  three  months,  and  so  long 
in  town.  I was  recommended  to  one  Charles 
Bubbleboy*  near  the  temple,  who  has  supplied 
me  with  all  the  furniture  he  says  a gentleman 
ought  to  have.  I desired  a certificate  thereof 
from  him,  which  he  said  would  require  some 
time  to  consider  of ; and  when  I went  yesterday 
morning  for  it,  he  tells  me,  upon  due  considera- 
tion, I still  want  some  few  odd  things  more,  to 
the  value  of  threescore  or  fourscore  pounds,  to 
make  me  complete.  I have  bespoke  them  ; and 
the  favour  I beg  of  you  is,  to  know,  when  I am 
equipped,  in  what  part  or  class  of  men  in  this  town 
you  will  place  me.  Pray  send  me  word  what 
I am,  and  you  shall  find  me,  sir,  your  most 
humble  servant, 

JEFFRY  NICKNACK.’ 

I am  very  willing  to  encourage  young  be- 
ginners,  but  am  extremely  in  the  dark  how  to 
dispose  of  this  gentleman.  I cannot  see  either 
his  person  or  habit  in  this  letter;  but  I will  call 
at  Charles’s*  and  know  the  shape  of  his  snuff- 
box, by  which  I can  settle  his  character.  Though 
indeed,  to  know  his  full  capacity,  I ought  to  be 
informed  whether  he  takes  Spanish  or  Musty.f 

St.  James's  Coffee-house^  June  10. 

Letters  from  the  Low  Countries  of  the  se- 
venteenth instant  say,  that  the  duke  of  Marl- 
borough and  the  prince  of  Savoy  intended  to 
leave  Ghent  on  that  day,  and  join  the  army 
which  lies  between  Pont  d’Espiere  and  Cour- 
tray,  their  head-quarters  being  at  Helchin.  The 
same  day  the  Palatine  foot  were  expected  at 
Brussels.  Lieutenant-general  Dompre,  with  a 
body  of  eight  thousand  men,  is  posted  at  Alost, 
in  order  to  cover  Ghent  and  Brussels.  The 
marshal  de  Villars  was  still  on  the  plain  of 
Lenz  ; and  it  is  said  the  duke  of  Vendosme  is 
appointed  to  command  in  conjunction  with  that 
general.  Advices  from  Paris  say,  monsieur 
Voisin  is  made  secretary  of  state,  upon  monsieur 
Chamillard’s  resignation  of  that  employment. 
The  want  of  money  in  that  kingdom  is  so  great, 
that  the  court  has  tliought  fit  to  command  all 
the  plate  of  private  families  to  be  brought  into 
the  mint.  They  write  from  the  Hague  of  the 
eighteenth,  that  the  states  of  Holland  continue 

^Charles  Mather,  at  that  time  an  eminent  toyman  in 
Fleet-street. 

T A great  quantity  of  musty  snuff  was  captured  in  the 
Spanish  fleet  which  was  taken  or  burnt  at  Vigo  in  1703 ; 
it  soon  became  fashionable  to  use  no  snuff  but  what 
Jiad  this  musty  flavour.  Time,  and  the  tricks  of  the 
tobacconists  and  perfumers,  put  an  end  at  last  to  this 
absurd  custom. 


their  session ; and  that  they  have  approved  the 
resolution  of  the  states-general,  to  publish  a 
second  edict  to  prohibit  the  sale  of  corn  to  the 
enemy.  Many  eminent  persons  in  that  assembly 
have  declared  that  they  are  of  opinion,  that  all 
commerce  whatsoever  with  France  should  be 
wholly  forbidden  ; which  point  is  under  present 
deliberation  ; but  it  is  feared  it  will  meet  witli 
powerful  opposition. 


No.  28.]  Tuesday,  June  14,  1709. 

Ctuicquid  agunt  homines 

noslri  est  farrago  li belli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 8§. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  13. 

I HAD  suspended  tlie  business  of  duelling  to 
a distant  time,  but  that  I am  called  upon  to  de- 
clare myself  on  a point  proposed  in  the  follow- 
ing letter. 

‘ June  9,  at  night. 

‘ SIR,  I desire  the  favour  of  you  to  decide  this 
question,  whether  calling  a gentleman  a Smart 
Fellow  is  an  affront  or  not  ? A youth  entering 
a certain  coffee-house,  with  his  cane  tied  to  his 
button,  wearing  red-heeled  shoes,  I thought  of 
your  description,  and  could  not  forbear  telling 
a friend  of  mine  next  to  me,  “ There  enters  a 
Smart  Fellow.”  The  gentleman  hearing  it,  had 
immediately  a mind  to  pick  a quarrel  with  me, 
and  desired  satisfaction ; at  which  I was  more 
puzzled  than  at  the  other,  remembering  what 
mention  your  familiar  makes  of  those  that  had 
lost  their  lives  on  such  occasions.  The  thing 
is  referred  to  your  judgment ; and  I expect  you 
to  be  my  second,  since  you  have  been  the  cause 
of  our  quarrel.  I am,  sir,  your  friend  and 
humble  servant.’ 

I absolutely  pronounce,  that  there  is  no  occa- 
sion of  offence  given  in  this  expression  ; for  a 
‘Smart  Fellow’  is  always  an  appellation  of 
praise,  and  is  a man  of  double  capacity.  The 
true  cast  or  mould  in  which  you  may  be  sure  to 
know  him  is,  wdien  his  livelihood  or  education 
is  in  the  civil  list,  and  you  see  him  express  a 
vivacity  or  mettle  above  the  way  he  is  in  by  a 
little  jerk  in  his  motion,  short  trip  in  his  steps, 
well-fancied  lining  of  his  coat,  or  any  other  in- 
dications which  may  be  given  in  a vigorous 
dress.  Now,  what  possible  insinuation  can 
there  be,  that  it  is  a cause  of  quarrel  for  a man 
to  say,  he  allows  a gentleman  really  to  be,  what 
his  tailor,  his  hosier,  and  his  milliner,  have  con- 
spired to  make  him  ? I confess,  if  tiiis  person 
who  appeals  to  me  had  said,  he  was  ‘ not  a 
Smart  Fellow,’  there  had  been  cause  for  resent- 
ment ; but  if  he  stands  to  it  that  he  is  one,  he 
leaves  no  manner  of  ground  for  misunderstand- 
ing. Indeed  it  is  a most  lamentable  thing,  that 
there  should  be  a dispute  raised  upon  a man’s 
saying  another  is  what  he  plainly  takes  pains 
to  be  thought. 

But  this  point  cannot  be  so  wtII  adjusted, 
as  by  inquiring  what  are  tlie  sentiments  of  wise 


THE  TATLER. 


69 


No.  28.] 


nations  and  communities,  of  the  use  of  the 
sword,  and  from  thence  conclude  whether  it 
is  honourable  to  draw  it  so  frequently  or  not  ? 
An  illustrious  commonwealth  of  Italy*  has  pre- 
served itself  for  many  ages,  without  letting  one 
of  their  subjects  handle  this  destructive  instru- 
ment; always  leaving  that  work  to  such  of 
mankind  as  understand  the  use  of  a whole  skin 
so  little,  as  to  make  a profession  of  exposing  it 
to  cuts  and  scars. 

But  what  need  we  run  to  such  foreign  in- 
stances 7 Our  own  ancient  and  well  governed 
cities  are  conspicuous  examples  to  all  mankind 
in  their  regulation  of  military  achievements. 
The  chief  citizens,  like  the  noble  Italians,  hire 
mercenaries  to  carry  arms  in  their  stead  ; and 
you  shall  have  a fellow  of  a desperate  fortune, 
for  the  gain  of  one  half  crown,  go  through  all 
the  dangers  of  Tothill-Fields,  or  the  Artillery- 
Ground,  clap  his  right  jaw  within  two  inches 
of  the  touch-hole  of  a musquet,  fire  it  off,  and 
huzza,  with  as  little  concern  as  he  tears  a pul- 
let.t  Thus  you  see,  to  what  scorn  of  danger 
these  mercenaries  arrive,  out  of  a mere  love  of 
sordid  gain  : but  methinks  it  should  take  off 
the  strong  prepossession  men  have  in  favour  of 
bold  actions,  when  they  see  upon  what  low 
motives  men  aspire  to  them.  Do  but  observe 
the  common  practice  in  the  government  of 
those  heroic  bodies,  our  militia  and  lieutenan- 
cies, the  most  ancient  corps  of  soldiers,  perhaps, 
in  the  universe  ; I question,  whether  there  is  one 
instance  of  an  animosity  between  any  two  of 
these  illustrious  sons  of  Mars  since  their  institu- 
tion, which  was  decided  by  combat  ? I remem- 
ber indeed  to  have  read  the  chronicle  of  an  ac- 
cident which  had  like  to  have  occasioned  blood- 
shed in  the  very  field  before  all  the  general 
officers,  though  most  of  them  were  justices  of 
the  peace.  Captain  Crabtree  of  Birching-lane, 
haberdasher,  had  drawn  a bill  upon  major-gen- 
eral Maggot,  cheesemonger  in  Tharnes-street. 
Crabtree  draws  this  upon  Mr.  William  Maggot 
and  company.  A country  lad  received  this  bill, 
and  not  understanding  the  word  company,  used 
in  drawing  bills  on  men  in  partnership,  carried 
it  to  Mr.  Jeffrey  Stitch  of  Crooked-lane  (lieu- 
tenant of  the  major-general’s  company,)  whom 
he  had  the  day  before  seen  march  by  the  door 
in  all  the  pomp  of  his  commission.  The  lieu- 
tenant accepts  it,  for  the  honour  of  the  company, 
since  it  had  come  to  him.  But  repayment  be- 
ing asked  from  the  major-general,  he  absolutely 
refuses.  Upon  this,  the  lieutenant  thinks  of 
nothing  less  than  to  bring  this  to  a rupture,  and 
takes  for  his  second  Tobias  Armstrong  of  the 
Counter,!  and  sends  him  with  a challenge  in  a 
scrip  of  parchment,  wherein  was  written  Stitch 
contra  Maggot,  and  all  the  fury  vanished  in  a 
moment.  The  major-general  gives  satisfaction 
to  the  second,  and  all  was  well. 

Hence  it  is,  that  the  bold  spirits  of  our  city 
are  kept  in  such  subjection  to  the  civil  power. 


* Venice,  which  declined  engaging  in  the  war  of  the 
Grand  Alliance  in  1702. 

t The  state  and  discipline  of  the  city  train-hands  at 
this  time  vvas  very  justly  a standing  subject  of  ridicule 
to  the  wits.  See  a poem  on  this  subject,  ascribed  to 
Swift,  in  the  Harleian.  Misc.  vol.  1.  p.  206. 

! A bum-bailiff. 


Otherwise,  where  would  our  liberties  soon  be, 
if  wealth  and  valour  were  suffered  to  exert 
themselves  with  their  utmost  force  ? If  such 
officers  as  are  employed  in  the  terrible  bands 
above-mentioned,  were  to  draw  bills  as  well  as 
swords,  these  dangerous  captains  who  could 
victual  an  army  as  well  as  lead  it,  would  be  too 
powerful  for  the  state.  But  the  point  of  honour 
justly  gives  way  to  that  of  gain ; and,  by  long 
and  wise  regulation,  the  richest  is  the  bravest 
man.  I have  known  a captain  rise  to  a colonel 
in  two  days  by  the  fall  of  stocks  ; and  a major, 
my  good  friend  near  the  Monument,  ascended  to 
that  honour  by  the  fall  of  the  price  of  spirits, 
and  the  rising  of  right  Nantz.  By  this  true 
sense  of  honour,  that  body  of  warriors  are  ever 
in  good  order  and  discipline,  with  their  colours 
and  coats  all  whole : as  in  other  battalions 
(where  their  principles  of  action  are  less  solid) 
you  see  the  men  of  service  look  like  spectres 
with  long  sides  and  lank  cheeks.  In  this  army 
you  may  measure  a man’s  service  by  his  waist, 
and  the  most  prominent  belly  is  certainly  the 
man  who  has  been  most  upon  action.  Besides 
all  this,  there  is  another  excellent  remark  to  be 
made  in  the  discipline  of  these  troops.  It  be- 
ing  of  absolute  necessity,  that  the  people  of 
England  should  see  what  they  have  for  their 
money,  and  be  eye-witnesses  of  the  advantages 
they  gain  by  it,  all  battles  which  are  fought 
abroad  are  represented  here.  But,  since  one 
side  must  be  beaten  and  the  other  conquer, 
which  might  create  disputes,  the  eldest  com- 
pany is  always  to  make  the  other  run,  and  the 
younger  retreats,  according  to  the  last  news 
and  best  intelligence.  I have  myself  seen 
prince  Eugene  make  Catinat  fly  from  the  back- 
side of  G ray s-inn -lane  to  Hockley  in  the  Hole, 
and  not  give  over  the  pursuit,  until  obliged  to 
leave  the  Bear-garden  on  the  right  to  avoid  be- 
ing borne  down  by  fences,  wild  bulls,  and  mon- 
sters, too  terrible  for  the  encounter  of  any 
heroes,  but  such  whose  lives  are  their  liveli- 
hood. 

We  have  here  seen,  that  wise  nations  do  not 
admit  of  fighting,  even  in  the  defence  of  their 
country,  as  a laudable  action;  and  they  live 
within  the  walls  of  our  own  city  in  great  honour 
and  reputation  without  it.  It  would  be  very 
necessary  to  understand,  by  what  force  of  the 
climate,  food,  education,  or  employment,  one 
man’s  sense  is  brought  to  differ  so  essentially 
from  that  of  another ; that  one  is  ridiculous  and 
contemptible  for  forbearing  a thing  which 
makes  his  safety ; and  another  applauded  for 
consulting  his  ruin  and  destruction. 

It  will  therefore  be  necessary  for  us  (to  show 
our  travelling)  to  examine  this  subject  fully, 
and  tell  you  how  it  comes  to  pass,  that  a man 
of  honour  in  Spain,  though  you  offend  him 
never  so  gallantly,  stabs  you  basely ; in  Eng- 
land, though  you  offend  him  never  so  basely, 
challenges  fairly ; the  former  kills  you  out  of 
revenge,  the  latter  out  of  good-breeding.  But 
to  probe  the  heart  of  man  in  this  particular  to 
its  utmost  thoughts  and  recesses,  I must  wait 
for  the  return  of  Pacolet,  who  is  now  attending 
a gentleman  lately  in  a duel,  and  sometimes 
visits  the  person  by  whose  hands  he  received  his 
wounds. 


70 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  29. 


St.  James's  Coffee-house^  June  13. 

Letters  from  Vienna  of  the  eiglith  instant 
say,  there  has  been  a journal  of  the  marches  and 
actions  of  the  king  of  Sweden,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  January  to  the  eleventh  of  April,  N.  S. 
communicated  by  the  Swedish  ministers  to  that 
court.  These  advices  inform,  that  his  Swedish 
majesty  entered  the  territories  of  Muscovy  in 
February  last,  v.'ith  the  main  body  of  his  army, 
in  order  to  oblige  the  enemy  to  a general  en- 
gagement ; but  that  the  Muscovites  declining  a 
battle,  and  an  universal  thaw  having  rendered 
the  rivers  unpassable,  the  king  returned  into 
Ukrania.  There  are  mentioned  several  ren- 
counters between  considerable  detachments  of 
the  Swedish  and  Russian  armies.  Marshal 
Heister  intended  to  take  his  leave  of  court  on 
the  day  after  the  date  of  these  letters,  and  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  army  in  Hungary. 
The  mal-contents  had  attempted  to  send  in  a 
supply  of  provision  into  Newhausel ; but  their 
design  was  disappointed  by  the  Germans. 

Advices  from  Berlin  of  the  fifteenth  instant, 
N.  S.  say,  that  his  Danish  majesty  having  re- 
ceived an  invitation  from  the  king  of  Prussia 
to  an  interview,  designed  to  come  to  Potsdam 
within  a few  days,  and  that  king  Augustus  re- 
solved to  accompany  him  thither.  To  avoid  all 
difficulties  in  ceremony,  the  three  kings,  and  all 
the  company  who  shall  have  the  honour  to  sit 
with  them  at  table,  are  to  draw  lots,  and  take 
precedence  accordingly. 

They  write  from  Hamburgh  of  the  eighteenth 
instant,  N.  S.  that  some  particular  letters  from 
Dantzic  speak  of  a late  action  between  the 
Swedes  and  Muscovites  near  Jerislaw ; but  that 
engagement  being  mentioned  from  no  other 
place,  there  is  not  much  credit  given  to  this  in- 
telligence. 

We  hear  from  Brussels,  by  letters  dated  the 
twentieth,  that  on  the  fourteenth,  in  the  evening, 
the  duke  of  Marlborough  and  prince  Eugene 
arrived  at  Courtray,  with  a design  to  proceed 
the  day  following  to  Lisle,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  which  city,  the  confederate  army  was  to  ren- 
dezvous the  same  day.  Advices  from  Paris  in- 
form us,  that  the  marshal  de  Bezons  is  appointed 
to  command  in  Dauphine,  and  that  the  duke  of 
Berwick  is  set  out  for  Spain,  with  a design  to 
follow  the  fortunes  of  the  duke  of  Anjou,  in  case 
the  French  king  should  comply  with  the  late 
demands  of  the  allies. 

The  court  of  France  has  sent  a circular  letter 
to  all  the  governors  of  the  provinces,  to  recom- 
mend to  their  consideration  his  majesty’s  late 
conduct  in  the  aft’air  of  peace.  It  is  thought  fit, 
in  that  epistle,  to  condescend  to  a certain  appeal 
to  the  people,  whether  it  is  consistent  with  the 
dignity  of  the  crown,  or  the  French  name,  to 
submit  to  the  preliminaries  demanded  by  the 
confederates  ? That  letter  dwells  upon  the  un- 
reasonableness of  the  allies,  in  requiring  his 
majesty’s  assistance  in  dethroning  his  grandson; 
and  treats  this  particular  in  language  more 
suitable  to  it,  as  it  is  a topic  of  oratory,  than  a 
real  circumstance  on  which  the  interests  of  na- 
tions, and  reasons  of  state,  which  affect  all  Eu- 
rope, are  concerned. 

The  close  of  this  memorial  seems  to  pre- 


pare the  people  to  expect  all  events,  attributing 
the  confidence  of  the  enemy  to  the  goodness  of 
their  troops  ; but  acknowledging,  that  his  sole 
dependence  is  upon  the  intervention  of  provi- 
dence. 


No.  29.]  Thursday,  June  14,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86- 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  14. 

Having  a very  solid  respect  for  human  na-^ 
ture,  however  it  is  distorted  from  its  natural 
make,  by  affectation,  humour,  custom,  misfor- 
tune, or  vice,  I do  apply  myself  to  my  friends 
to  help  me  in  raising  arguments  for  preserving 
it  in  all  its  individuals,  as  long  as  it  is  permit- 
ted. To  one  of  my  letters  on  this  subject,  I have 
received  the  following  answer  : 

‘ Sir, — In  answer  to  your  question,  why  men 
of  sense,  virtue,  and  experience,  are  seen  still 
to  comply  with  that  ridiculous  custom  of  duel- 
ling ? I must  desire  you  to  reflect,  that  custom 
has  dished  up  in  ruffs  the  wisest  heads  of  our 
ancestors,  and  put  the  best  of  the  present  age 
into  huge  falbala  periwigs.*  Men  of  sense  would 
not  impose  such  encumbrances  on  themselves, 
but  be  glad  they  might  show  their  faces  decently 
in  public  upon  easier  terms.  If  then  such  men 
appear  reasonably  slaves  to  the  fashion,  in  what 
regards  the  figure  of  their  persons,  we  ought 
not  to  wonder,  that  they  are  at  least  so  in  what 
seems  to  touch  their  reputations.  Besides,  you 
cannot  be  ignorant,  that  dress  and  chivalry  have 
been  always  encouraged  by  the  ladies,  as  the 
two  principal  branches  of  gallantry.  It  is  to 
avoid  being  sneered  at  for  his  singularity,  and 
from  a desire  to  appear  more  agreeable  to  his 
mistress,  that  a wise,  experienced,  and  polite 
man,  complies  with  the  dress  commonly  re- 
ceived ; and  is  prevailed  upon  to  violate  his 
reason  and  principles,  in  hazarding  his  life  and 
estate  by  a tilt,  as  well  as  suffering  his  pleasures 
to  be  constrained  and  soured  by  the  constant 
apprehension  of  a quarrel.  This  is  tlie  more 
surprising,  because  men  of  the  most  delicate 
sense  and  principles  have  naturally  in  other 
cases  a particular  repugnance  in  accommodating 
themselves  to  the  maxims  of  the  world  : but 
one  may  easily  distinguish  the  man  that  is  af- 
fected with  beauty,  and  the  reputation  of  a tilt, 
from  him  who  complies  with  both,  merely  as 
they  are  imposed  upon  him  by  custom ; for,  in 
the  former,  you  will  remark  an  air  of  vanity  and 
triumph ; whereas,  when  the  latter  appears  in  a 
long  duvilliei-f  full  of  powder,  or  has  decided 
a quarrel  by  the  sword,  you  may  perceive  in 
his  face,  that  he  appeals  to  custom  for  an  ex- 
cuse. I think  it  may  not  be  improper  to  inquire 
into  the  genealogy  of  this  chimerical  monster 
called  a Duel,  whidi  I take  to  be  an  illegitimate 


* Tatler,  Xo.  26. 
t A kind  of  a wig  so  called. 


No.  29.1 


THE  TATLER. 


71 


species  of  the  ancient  knight-errantry.  By  the 
laws  of  this  whim,  the  heroic  person,  or  man  of 
gallantry,  was  indispensably  obliged  to  starve  in 
armour  a certain  number  of  years  in  the  chase  of 
monsters,  encounter  them  at  the  peril  of  his  life, 
and  suffer  great  hardships,  in  order  to  gain  the 
affection  of  the  fair  lady,  and  qualify  himself  for 
assuming  the  belle  air ; that  is,  of  a Pretty 
Fellow,  or  man  of  honour,  according  to  the 
fashion  : but,  sinee  the  publishing  of  Don  Quix- 
ote, and  extinction  of  the  race  of  dragons,  which 
Suetonius  says  happened  in  that  ofWantley,* 
the  gallant  and  heroie  spirits  of  these  latter  times 
have  been  under  the  necessity  of  creating  new 
chimerical  monsters  to  entertain  themselves 
with,  by  way  of  single  combat,  as  the  only  proofs 
they  are  able  to  give  their  own  sex,  and  the  la- 
dies, that  they  are  in  all  points  men  of  nice 
honour.  But,  to  do  justice  to  the  ancient  and 
real  monsters,  I must  observe,  that  they  never 
molested  those  who  were  not  of  a humour  to 
hunt  for  them  in  woods  and  deserts  ; whereas, 
on  the  contrary,  our  modern  monsters  are  so 
familiarly  admitted  and  entertained  in  all  the 
courts  and  cities  of  Europe  (except  Franee,) 
that  one  can  scarce  be  in  the  most  humanized 
society  without  risking  one’s  life ; the  peo- 
ple of  the  best  sort,  and  the  fine  gentlemen 
of  the  age,  being  so  fond  of  them,  that  they  sel- 
dom appear  in  any  public  place  without  one.  I 
have  some  further  considerations  upon  this  sub- 
ject, which,  as  jmu  encourage  me,  sliall  be  com- 
municated to  you  by,  sir,  a cousin  but  one  re- 
move from  the  best  family  of  the  Staffs,  namely, 
sir,  your  humble  servant,  kinsman,  and  friend, 

‘ TLM  SWITCH.’ 

It  is  certain  that  Mr.  Switch  has  hit  upon  the 
true  source  of  this  evil ; and  that  it  proceeds 
only  from  the  force  of  custom,  that  we  contra- 
dict ourselves  in  half  the  particulars  and  occur- 
rences of  life.  But  such  a tyranny  in  love,  which 
the  fair  impose  upon  us,  is  a little  too  severe  ; 
that  we  must  demonstrate  our  affection  for  them 
by  no  certain  proof  but  hatred  to  one  another,  or 
come  at  them  (only  as  one  does  at  an  estate)  by 
survivorship.  This  way  of  application  to  gain 
a lady’s  heart  is  taking  her  as  we  do  towns  and 
castles,  by  distressing  the  place,  and  letting 
none  come  near  them  without  our  pass.  Were 
such  a lover  once  to  write  the  truth  of  his  heart, 
and  let  her  know  his  whole  thoughts,  he  would 
appear  indeed  to  have  a passion  for  her  ; but  it 
would  hardly  be  called  love.  The  billet-doux 
would  run  to  this  purpose  : 

‘ Madam, — I have  so  tender  a regard  for  you, 
and  your  interests,  that  I will  knock  any  man  on 
the  head  whom  I observe  to  be  of  my  mind,  and 
like  you.  Mr.  Truman,  the  other  day,  looked 
at  you  in  so  languishing  a manner,  that  I am 
resolved  to  run  him  through  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. This,  I think,  he  deserves  for  his  guilt  in 
admiring  you ; than  which  I cannot  have  a 
greater  reason  for  murdering  him,  except  it  be 
that  you  also  approve  him.  Whoever  says  he 


* In  humorous  writings,  one  n;iay  be  led  to  search  for 
quotations  nowhere  to  be  found  in  the  authors  referred 
to,  as  appears  from  this  passage. 


dies  for  you,  I will  make  his  words  good,  for  I 
will  kill  him.  I am,  madam,  your  most  obedient 
humble  servant.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  14. 

I am  just  come  hither  at  ten  at  night,  and 
have  ever  since  six,  been  in  the  most  celebrated, 
though  most  nauseous  company  in  town  : the 
two  leaders  of  the  society  were  a Critic  and  a 
Wit.  These  two  gentlemen  are  great  oppo- 
nents on  all  occasions,  not  discerning  that  they' 
are  the  nearest  each  other,  in  temper  and  tal- 
ents, of  any  two  classes  of  men  in  the  world  ; 
for  to  profess  judgment,  and  to  profess  wit, 
both  arise  from  the  same  failure,  which  is  want 
of  judgment.  The  poverty  of  the  Critic  this 
way  proceeds  from  the  abuse  of  this  faculty  ; 
that  of  the  Wit,  from  the  neglect  of  it.  It  is  a 
particular  observation  I have  always  made,  that 
of  all  mortals  a Critic  is  the  silliest ; for,  by 
enuring  himself  to  examine  all  things,  whether 
they  are  of  consequence  or  not,  he  never  looks 
upon  any  thing  but  with  a design  of  passing  sen- 
tence upon  it ; by  which  means  he  is  never  a com- 
panion, but  always  a censor.  This  makes  him 
earnest  upon  trifles,  and  dispute  on  the  most  in- 
different occasions  with  vehemence.  If  he  offers 
to  speak  or  write,  that  talent,  which  should  ap- 
prove the  work  of  the  other  faculties,  prevents 
their  operation.  He  comes  upon  action  in 
armour,  but  without  weapons ; he  stands  in 
safety,  but  can  gain  no  glory.  The  Wit,  on  the 
other  hand,  has  been  hurried  so  long  away  by 
imagination  only,  that  judgment  seems  not  to 
have  ever  been  one  of  his  natural  faculties.  This 
gentleman  takes  himself  to  be  as  much  obliged 
to  be  merry,  as  the  other  to  be  grave.  A thorough 
Critic  is  a sort  of  Puritan  in  the  polite  world. 
As  an  enthusiast  in  religion  stumbles  at  the 
ordinary  occurrences  of  life,  if  he  cannot  quote 
scripture  examples  on  the  occasion ; so  the 
Critic  is  never  safe  in  his  speech  or  writing, 
without  he  has,  among  the  celebrated  writers, 
an  authority,  for  the  truth  of  his  sentence.  You 
will  believe  we  had  a very  good  time  with  these 
brethren,  who  were  so  far  out  of  the  dress  of 
their  native  country,  and  so  lost  in  its  dialect, 
that  they  were  as  mueh  strangers  to  themselves, 
as  to  their  relation  to  each  other.  They  took 
up  the  whole  discourse ; sometimes  the  Critic 
grew  passionate,  and  when  reprimanded  by  the 
Wit  for  any  trip  or  hesitation  in  his  voice,  he 
would  answer,  ‘ Mr.  Dryden  makes  such  a 
character,  on  such  an  occasion,  break  off  in  the 
same  manner  ; so  that  the  stop  was  according 
to  nature,  and  as  a man  in  a passion  should  do.’ 
The  Wit  who  is  as  far  gone  in  letters  as  him- 
self, seems  to  be  at  a loss  to  answer  such  an 
apology  ; and  concludes  only,  that  though  his 
anger  is  justly  vented,  it  wants  fire  in  the  utter- 
ance. If  wit  is  to  be  measured  by  the  circum- 
stances of  time  and  place,  there  is  no  man  has 
generally  so  little  of  that  talent  as  he  who  is  a 
Wit  by  profession.  What  he  says,  instead  of 
arising  from  the  occasion,  has  an  occasion  in- 
vented to  bring  it  in.  Thus,  he  is  new  for  no 
other  reason,  but  that  he  talks  like  nobody  else  ; 
but  has  taken  up  a method  of  his  own,  without 
commerce  of  dialogue  with  other  people.  The 


72 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  30. 


lively  Jasper  Dactyle*  is  one  of  this  character. 
He  seems  to  have  made  a vow  to  be  witty  to  his 
life’s  end.  When  you  meet  him,  ‘ What  do  you 
think,’  says  he,  ‘ I have  been  entertaining  my- 
self with  V Then  out  comes  a premeditated 
turn ; to  which  it  is  to  no  purpose  to  answer,  for 
he  goes  on  in  the  same  strain  of  thought  he  de- 
signed without  your  speaking.  Therefore  I have 
a general  answer  to  all  he  can  say  ; as  ‘ Sure 
there  never  was  any  creature  had  so  much  fire  !’ 
Spondee,  who  is  a Critic,  is  seldom  out  of  this 
fine  man’s  company.  They  have  no  manner  of 
affection  for  each  other,  but  keep  together,  like 
Novel  and  Oldfox  in  the  Plain  Dealer,  because 
they  show  each  other.  I know  several  men  of 
sense  who  can  be  diverted  with  this  couple  ; but 
I see  no  curiosity  in  the  thing,  except  it  be,  that 
Spondee  is  dull,  and  seems  dull ; but  Dactyle  is 
heavy  with  a brisk  face.  It  must  be  owned  also, 
that  Dactyle  has  almost  vigour  enough  to  be  a 
coxcomb ; but  Spondee,  by  the  lowness  of  his 
constitution,  is  only  a blockhead. 

St.  Jaynes’s  Coffee-house^  June  15. 

We  have  no  particulars  of  moment  since  our 
last,  except  it  be,  that  the  copy  of  the  following 
original  letter  came  by  the  way  of  Ostend.  It 
is  said  to  have  been  found  in  the  closet  of  mon- 
sieur Chamillard,  the  late  secretary  of  state  of 
France,  since  his  disgrace.  It  was  signed  by  two 
brothers  of  the  famous  Cavallier,t  who  led  the 
Cevennois,  and  had  a personal  interview  with 
the  king,  as  well  as  a capitulation  to  lay  down 
his  arms  and  leave  the  dominions  of  France. 
There  are  many  other  names  to  it ; among 
whom  is  the  chief  of  the  family  of  the  marquis 
Guiscard.  It  is  not  yet  known  whether  mon- 
sieur Chamillard  had  any  real  design  to  favour 
the  Protestant  interest,  or  only  thought  to  place 
himself  at  the  head  of  that  people,  to  make  him- 
self considerable  enough  to  oppose  his  enemies  at 
court,  and  reinstate  himself  in  power  there. 

Sir, — We  have  read  your  majesty’s  letter  to 
the  governors  of  your  provinces,  with  instruc- 
tions what  sentiments  to  insinuate  into  the  minds 
of  your  people  ; but  as  you  have  always  acted 
upon  the  maxim,  that  we  were  made  for  you, 
and  not  you  for  us ; we  must  take  leave  to  as- 
sure your  majesty,  that  we  are  exactly  of  the 
contrary  opinion  ; and  must  desire  you  to  send 
for  your  grandson  home,  and  acquaint  him, 
that  you  now  know,  by  experience,  absolute 
power  is  only  a vertigo  in  the  brain  of  princes, 
which  for  a time  may  quicken  their  motion,  and 
double,  in  their  diseased  sight,  the  instances  of 
power  above  them ; but  must  end  at  last  in  their 


* See  Tatler,  Nos.  3,  and  63. 

t James  Cavallier  was  the  celebrated  leader  of  the 
French  Protestants  in  the  Cevennes,  when  these  warlike, 
but  enthusiastic  mountaineers  opposed  the  tyranny  of 
Louis  XIV.  and  made  a vigorous  stand  against  the 
whole  power  of  France,  which  for  a long  time  laboured 
in  vain  to  subdue  them.  It  was  in  the  heat  of  this  gal- 
lant struggle  to  preserve  themselves  from  religious  sla- 
very, that  the  first  seeds  of  that  wild  fanaticism  were 
sown,  which  afterwards  grew  up  to  such  an  amazing 
extravagance,  and  distinguished  them,  by  the  name  of 
‘ French  Prophets,’  among  the  most  extraordinary  en- 
thusiasts that  are  to  be  found  in  the  history  of  human 
folly. 


fall  and  destruction.  Your  memorial  speaks 
you  a good  father  of  your  family,  but  a very  ill 
one  of  your  people.  Your  majesty  is  reduced  to 
hear  truth,  when  you  are  obliged  to  speak  it. 
There  is  no  governing  any  but  savages  by  other 
methods  than  their  own  consent,  which  you 
seem  to  acknowledge  in  appealing  to  us  for  our 
opinion  of  your  conduct  in  treating  of  peace. 
Had  your  people  been  always  of  your  council, 
the  king  of  France  had  never  been  reduced  so 
low  as  to  acknowledge  his  arms  were  fallen  into 
contempt.  But  since  it  is  thus,  we  must  ask, 
how  is  any  man  of  France,  but  they  of  the  house 
of  Bourbon,  the  better,  that  Philip  is  king  of 
Spain  ? We  have  outgrown  that  folly  of  placing 
our  happiness  in  your  majesty’s  being  called. 
The  Great.  Therefore  you  and  we  are  all  alike 
bankrupts,*  and  undone  ; let  us  not  deceive  our- 
selves, but  compound  with  our  adversaries,  and 
not  talk  like  their  equals.  Your  majesty  must 
forgive  us,  that  w’e  cannot  wish  you  success,  or 
lend  you  help  ; for,  if  you  lose  one  battle  more, 
we  may  have  a hand  in  the  peace  you  make  ; 
and  doubt  not  but  your  majesty’s  faith  in  trea- 
ties will  require  the  ratification  of  the  states  of 
your  kingdom.  So  we  bid  you  heartily  fare- 
well, until  we  have  the  honour  to  meet  you  as- 
sembled  in  parliament.  This  happy  expecta- 
tion makes  us  willing  to  wait  the  event  of 
another  campaign,  from  whence  we  hope  to  be 
raised  from  the  misery  of  slaves  to  the  privileges 
of  subjects.  We  are  your  majesty’s  truly  faith- 
ful and  loyal  subjects,  &c.’ 


No.  30.]  Saturday.,  June  18, 1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  li belli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Froin  my  own  Apartment,  June  16. 

The  vigilance,  the  anxiety,  the  tenderness, 
which  I have  for  the  good  people  of  England, 
I am  persuaded,  will  in  time  be  much  com- 
mended ; but  I doubt  whether  they  will  be  ever 
rewarded.  However,  I must  go  on  cheerfully  in 
my  work  of  reformation  : that  being  my  great 
design,  I am  studious  to  prevent  my  labour’s  in- 
creasing upon  me;  therefore  am  particularly 
observant  of  the  temper  and  inclinations  of 
childhood  and  youth,  that  we  may  not  give  vice 
and  folly  supplies  from  the  growing  generation. 
It  is  hardly  to  be  imagined  how  useful  this 
study  is,  and  what  great  evils  or  benefits  arise 
from  putting  us  in  our  tender  years  to  what  we 
are  fit  or  unfit : therefore,  on  Tuesday  last  (with 
a design  to  sound  their  inclinations)  I took 
three  Tads,  who  are  under  my  guardianship,  a 
rambling  in  a hackney-coach,  to  show  them  the 
town  ; as  the  lions,  the  tombs.  Bedlam,  and  the 
other  places  which  are  entertainments  to  raw 
minds,  because  they  strike  forcibly  on  the  fancy. 
The  boys  are  brothers,  one  of  sixteen,  the  other 
of  fourteen,  the  other  of  twelve.  The  first  was 


* Monsieur  Bernard  and  the  chief  bankers  of  France 
became  bankrupts  about  tJiis  time. 


THE  TATLER. 


73 


No.  30.] 

his  father’s  darling-,  the  second  his  mother’s, 
and  the  third  mine,  who  am  their  uncle.  Mr. 
William  is  a lad  of  true  genius  ; but,  being  at 
the  upper  end  of  a great  school,  and  having 
all  the  boys  below  him,  his  arrogance  is  in- 
supportable. If  I begin  to  show  a little  of  my 
Latin,  he  immediately  interrupts  : ‘ Uncle,  un- 
der favour,  that  which  you  say,  is  not  under- 
stood in  that  manner.’  ‘ Brother,’  says  my  boy 
Jack,  ‘ you  do  not  show  your  manners  much  in 
contradicting  my  uncle  Isaac  !’  ‘You  queer  cur,’ 
says  Mr.  William,  ‘ do  you  think  my  uncle 
takes  any  notice  of  such  a dull  rogue  as  you 
are  ?’  Mr.  William  goes  on,  ‘ He  is  the  most 
stupid  of  all  my  mother’s  children  : he  knows 
nothing  of  his  book  : when  he  should  mind  that, 
he  is  hiding  and  hoarding  his  taws  and  mar- 
bles, or  laying  up  farthings.  His  way  of  think- 
ing is,  four-and-twenty  farthings  make  sixpence, 
and  two  sixpences  a shilling  ; two  shillings  and 
sixpence  half-a-crown,  and  two  half-crowns  five 
shillings.  So  within  these  two  months  the  close 
hunks  has  scraped  up  twenty  shillings,  and  we 
will  make  him  spend  it  all  before  he  comes 
home.’  Jack  immediately  claps  his  hands  into 
both  pockets,  and  turns  as  pale  as  ashes.  There 
is  nothing  touches  a parent  (and  such  I am  to 
Jack)  so  nearly  as  a provident  conduct.  This 
lad  has  in  him  the  true  temper  for  a good  hus- 
band, a kind  father,  and  an  honest  executor.  All 
the  great  people  you  see  make  considerable 
figures  on  the  exchange,  in  court,  and  some- 
times in  senates,  are  such  as  in  reality  have  no 
greater  faculty  than  what  may  be  called  human 
instinct,  which  is  a natural  tendency  to  their  own 
preservation,  and  that  of  their  friends,  without 
being  capable  of  striking  out  the  road  for  ad- 
venturers. There  is  sir  William  Scrip  was  of 
this  sort  of  capacity  from  his  childhood  ; he  has 
bought  the  country  round  him,  and  makes  a 
bargain  better  than  sir  Harry  Wildfire,  with  all 
his  wit  and  humour.  Sir  Harry  never  wants 
money  but  he  comes  to  Scrip,  laughs  at  him 
half  an  hour,  and  then  gives  bond  for  the  other 
thousand.  The  close  men  are  incapable  of 
placing  merit  any  where  but  in  their  pence,  and 
therefore  gain  it ; while  others,  who  have  larger 
capacities,  are  diverted  from  the  pursuit  by  en- 
joyments which  can  be  supported  onl}"  by  that 
cash  which  they  despise  ; and,  therefore,  are  in 
the  end  slaves  to  their  inferiors  both  in  fortune 
and  understanding.  I once  heard  a man  of  ex- 
cellent sense  observe,  that  more  affairs  in  the 
world  failed  by  being  in  the  hands  of  men  of  too 
large  capacities  for  their  business,  than  by  being 
in  the  conduct  of  such  as  wanted  abilities  to  ex- 
ecute them.  Jack,  therefore,  being  of  a plodding 
make,  shall  be  a citizen  : and  I design  him  to  be 
the  refuge  of  the  family  in  their  distress,  as  well 
as  their  jest  in  prosperity.  His  brother  Will 
shall  go  to  Oxford  with  all  speed,  where,  if  he 
does  not  arrive  at  being  a man  of  sense,  he 
will  soon  be  informed  wherein  he  is  a coxcomb. 
There  is  in  that  place  such  a true  spirit  of 
raillery  and  humour,  that  if  they  cannot  make 
you  a wise  man,  they  will  certainly  let  you 
know  you  are  a fool ; which  is  all  my  cousin 
wants,  to  cease  to  be  so.  Thus,  having  taken 
these  two  out  of  the  way,  I have  leisure  to  look 
at  rny  third  tad.  I observe  in  the  young  rogue 
K 


a natural  subtilty  of  mind,  which  discovers 
itself  rather  in  forbearing  to  declare  his  thoughts 
on  any  occasion,  than  in  any  visible  way  of 
exerting  himself  in  discourse.  For  which  rea- 
.son  I will  place  him,  where,  if  he  commits  nc 
faults,  he  may  go  farther  than  those  in  other 
stations,  though  they  excel  in  virtues.  The  boy 
is  v/ell-fashioned,  and  will  easily  fall  into  a 
graceful  manner  ; wherefore,  I have  a design  to 
make  him  a page  to  a great  lady  of  my  acquaint- 
ance ; by  whicli  means  he  will  be  well  skilled  in 
the  common  modes  of  life,  and  make  a greater 
progress  in  the  world  by  that  knowledge,  than 
with  the  greatest  qualities  without  it.  A good 
mien  in  a court,  will  carry  a man  greater  lengths 
than  a good  understanding  in  any  other  place. 
We  see  a world  of  pains  taken,  and  the  best 
years  of  life  spent  in  collecting  a set  of  thoughts 
in  a college  for  the  conduct  of  life,  and,  after  all, 
the  man  so  qualified  shall  hesitate  in  a speech 
to  a good  suit  of  clothes,  and  want  common  sense 
before  an  agreeable  woman.  Hence  it  is,  that 
wisdom,  valour,  justice,  and  learning,  cannot 
keep  a man  in  countenance  that  is  possessed 
with  these  excellences,  if  he  wants  that  inferior 
art  of  life  and  behaviour,  called  good-breeding. 
A man  endowed  with  great  perfections,  without 
this,  is  like  one  who  has  his  pockets  full  of 
gold,  but  always  wants  change  for  his  ordinary 
occasions. 

Will  Courtly  is  a living  instance  of  this  truth, 
and  has  had  the  same  education  which  I am 
giving  my  nephew.  He  never  spoke  a thing  but 
what  was  said  before,  and  yet  can  converse 
with  the  wittiest  men  without  being  ridiculous. 
Among  the  learned,  he  does  not  appear  igno- 
rant ; nor  with  the  wise,  indiscreet.  Living  in 
conversation  from  his  infancy,  makes  him  no 
where  at  a loss  ; and  a long  familiarity  with  the 
persons  of  men,  is,  in  a.  manner,  of  the  same 
service  to  him,  as  if  he  knew  their  arts.  As 
ceremony  is  the  invention  of  wise  men  to  keep 
fools  at  a distance,  so  good-breeding  is  an  ex- 
pedient to  make  fools  and  wise  men  equals. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  June  17. 

The  suspension  of  the  play-house  has  made 
me  have  nothing  to  send  you  from  hence ; but 
calling  here  this  evening,  I found  the  party  I 
usually  sit  with,  upon  the  business  of  writing, 
and  examining  what  was  the  handsomest  style 
in  which  to  address  women,  and  write  letters 
of  gallantry.  Many  were  the  opinions  which 
were  immediately  declared  on  this  subject. 
Some  were  for  a certain  softness ; some  for  I 
know  not  what  delicacy ; others  for  something 
inexpressibly  tender.  When  it  came  to  me,  I 
said  there  was  no  rule  in  the  world  to  be  made 
for  writing  letters,  but  that  of  being  as  near 
what  you  speak  face  to  face  as  you  can  ; which 
is  so  great  a truth,  that  I am  of  opinion,  writing 
has  lost  more  mistresses  than  any  one  mistake 
in  the  whole  legend  of  love  ; for,  when  you  write 
to  a lady  for  whom  you  have  a solid  and  hon- 
ourable passion,  the  great  idea  you  have  for  her, 
joined  to  a quick  sense  of  her  absence,  fills  your 
mind  with  a sort  of  tenderness,  that  gives  your 
language  too  much  the  air  of  complaint,  which 
is  seldom  successful.  For  a man  may  flatter 


74 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  31. 


himself  as  he  pleases  ; but  he  will  find  that  the 
women  have  more  understanding  in  their  own 
affairs  than  we  have,  and  women  of  spirit  are 
not  to  be  wmn  by  mourners.  He  that  can  keep 
handsomely  within  rules,  and  support  the  carri- 
age of  a companion  to  his  mistress,  is  much 
more  likely  to  prevail,  than  he  who  lets  her  see 
the  whole  relish  of  his  life  depends  upon  her. 
If  possible,  therefore,  divert  your  mistress 
rather  than  sigh  for  her.  The  pleasant  man 
she  will  desire  for  her  own  sake,  but  the 
languishing  lover  has  nothing  to  hope  for,  but 
her  pity.  To  show  the  difference,  I produced 
two  letters  a lady  gave  me,  which  had  been 
writ  by  two  gentlemen  who  pretended  to  her, 
but  were  both  killed  the  next  day  after  the  date, 
at  the  battle  of  Almanza.  One  of  them  was  a 
mercurial  gay-humoured  man  ; the  other  a man 
of  a serious,  but  a great  and  gallant  spirit. 
Poor  Jack  Careless  ! this  is  his  letter  : you  see 
how  it  is  folded ; the  air  of  it  is  so  negligent, 
one  might  have  read  half  of  it  by  peeping  into 
it,  without  breaking  it  open.  He  had  no  exact- 
ness. 

‘ Madam, — It  is  a very  pleasant  circumstance 
I am  in,  that  wliile  I should  be  thinking  of  the 
good  company  we  are  to  meet  within  a day  or 
two,  where  we  shall  go  to  loggerheads,  my 
thoughts  are  running  upon  a fair  enemy  in  En- 
gland. I was  in  hopes  I had  left  you  there  ; 
but  you  follow  the  camp,  though  I have  endea- 
voured to  make  some  of  our  leaguer  ladies* 
drive  you  out  of  the  field.  All  my  comfort  is, 
you  are  more  troublesome  to  my  colonel  than 
myself : I permit  you  to  visit  me  only  now  and 
then;  but  he  downright  keeps  you.  I laugh  at 
his  honour,  as  far  as  his  gravity  will  allow  me  ; 
but  I know  him  to  be  a man  of  too  much  merit 
to  succeed  with  a woman.  Therefore  defend 
your  heart  as  well  as  you  can  : I shall  come 
home  this  winter  irresistibly  dressed,  and  with 
quite  a new  foreign  air.  And  so  I had  like  to 
say,  I rest,  but,  alas ! I remain,  madam,  your 
most  obedient,  most  humble  servant, 

‘JOHN  CARELESS.’ 

Now  for  colonel  Constant’s  epistle ; you  see 
it  is  folded  and  directed  with  the  utmost  care. 

‘ Madam, — I do  myself  the  honour  to  write  to 
you  this  evening,  because  I believe  to-morrow 
will  be  the  day  of  battle  ; and  something  fore- 
bodes in  my  breast  that  I shall  fall  in  it.  If  it 
proves  so,  I hope  you  will  hear  I have  done  no- 
thing below  a man  who  had  the  love  of  his 
country,  quickened  by  a passion  for  a woman 
of  honour.  If  there  be  any  thing  noble  in  going 
to  a certain  death  ; if  there  be  any  merit,  that  I 
meet  it  with  pleasure,  by  promising  myself  a 
place  in  your  esteem ; if  your  applause,  when  I 
am  no  more,  is  preferable  to  the  most  glorious 
life  without  you : I say,  madam,  if  any  of  tiiese 
considerations  can  have  weight  with  you,  you 
will  give  me  a kind  place  in  your  memory, 
which  I prefer  to  the  glory  of  Caesar.  I liope 
this  will  bo  read,  as  it  is  writ,  with  tears.’ 


The  beloved  lady  is  a woman  of  a sensible 
mind;  but  she  has  confessed  to  me,  that  after 
all  her  true  and  solid  value  for  Constant,  she 
had  much  more  concern  for  the  loss  of  Care- 
less. Those  noble  and  serious  spirits  have 
something  equal  to  the  adversities  they  meet 
with,  and  consequently  lessen  the  objects  of 
pity.  Great  accidents  seem  not  cut  out  so 
much  for  men  of  familiar  characters,  which 
makes  them  more  easily  pitied,  and  soon  after 
beloved.  Add  to  this,  that  the  sort  of  love 
which  generally  succeeds,  is  a stranger  to  awe 
and  distance.  I asked  Romana,  whether  of  the 
two  she  should  have  chosen,  had  they  survived  ? 
She  said,  she  knew  she  ought  to  have  taken 
Constant : but  believed  she  should  have  chosen 
Careless. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  June  17. 

Letters  from  Lisbon  of  the  ninth  instant,  N. 
S.  say,  that  the  enemy’s  army,  having  blocked 
up  Olivenza,  was  posted  on  the  Guadiana. 
The  Portuguese  are  very  apprehensive  that  the 
garrison  of  that  place,  though  it  consists  of  five 
of  the  best  regiments  of  their  army,  will  be 
obliged  to  surrender,  if  not  timely  relieved,  they 
not  being  supplied  with  provisions  for  more  than 
six  weeks.  Hereupon  their  general  held  a 
council  of  war  on  the  fourth  instant,  wherein  it 
was  concluded  to  advance  towards  Badajos. 
With  this  design  the  army  decamped  on  the 
fifth  from  Jerumena,  and  marched  to  Cancaon. 
It  is  hoped,  that  if  the  enemy  follow  their  mo- 
tions, they  may  have  opportunity  to  put  a suffi- 
cient quantity  of  provision  and  ammunition  into 
Olivenza. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff  gives  notice  to  all  persons 
that  dress  themselves  as  they  please,  without 
regard  to  decorum  (as  with  blue  and  red  stock- 
ings in  mourning,  tucked  cravats,  and  night- 
cap wigs,  before  people  of  the  first  quality,) 
that  he  has  yet  received  no  fine  for  indulging 
them  in  that  liberty,  and  that  he  expects  their 
compliance  with  this  demand,  or  that  they  go 
home  immediately  and  shift  themselves.  This 
is  further  to  acquaint  the  town,  that  the  report 
of  the  hosiers,  toymen,  and  milliners,  having 
compounded  with  Mr.  Bickerstaff  for  tolerating 
such  enormities,  is  utterly  false  and  scandalous.’ 


No.  31.]  TtreseZay,  Jwne  21, 1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paiier  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Grecian  Coffee-house.,  June  18. 

In  my  dissertation  against  the  custom  ot 
single  combat,  it  has  been  objected,  that  there 
is  not  learning,  or  much  reading,  shown  therein, 
which  is  the  very  life  and  soul  of  all  treatises  ; 
for  which  reason,  being  always  easy  to  receive 
admonitions  and  reform  my  errors,  I tliought 
fit  to  consult  tliis  learned  board  on  the  subject. 

1 i pon  proposing  some  doubts,  and  desiring  their 


* Women  who  accompany  the  army. 


TflE  TATLER. 


75 


No.  31.] 

assistance,  a very  hopeful  young  gentleman, 
my  relation,  who  is  to  be  called  to  the  bar  with- 
in a year  and  a half  at  farthest,  told  me,  that  he 
had  ever  since  I first  mentioned  duelling,  turned 
his  head  that  way  ; and  that  he  was  principally 
moved  thereto,  because  he  designed  to  follow 
the  circuits  in  the  north  of  England  and  south 
of  Scotland,  and  to  reside  mostly  at  his  own  es- 
tate at  Landbadernawz*  in  Cardiganshire.  The 
northern  Britons  and  the  southern  Scots  are  a 
warm  people,  and  the  Welsh  ‘a  nation  of  gen- 
tlemen so  that  it  behoved  him  to  understand 
well  the  science  of  quarrelling.  The  young 
gentleman  proceeded  admirably  well,  and  gave 
the  board  an  account  that  he  had  read  ‘ Fitz- 
herbert’st  Grand  Abridgment,’  and  had  found 
that  duelling  is  a very  ancient  part  of  the  law; 
for  when  a man  is  sued,  be  it  for  his  life  or  his 
land,  the  person  that  joins  the  issue,  whether 
plaintiff  or  defendant,  may  put  the  trial  upon 
the  duel.  Further  he  argued,  under  favour  of 
the  court,  that  when  the  issue  is  joined  by  the 
duel,  in  treason  or  other  eapital  crimes,  the 
parties,  accused  and  accuser,  must  fight  in 
their  own  proper  persons : but  if  the  dispute  be 
for  lands,  you  may  hire  a champion  at  Hockley 
in  the  Hole,  or  any  where  else.  This  part  of 
the  law  we  had  from  the  Saxons  ; and  they  had 
it,  as  also  the  trial  by  ordeal,  from  the  Lapland- 
ers. It  is  indeed  agreed,  said  he,  the  southern 
and  eastern  nations  never  knew  any  thing  of 
it ; for  though  the  ancient  Romans  would  scold 
and  call  names  filthily,  yet  there  is  not  an  ex- 
ample of  a challenge  that  ever  passed  among 
them. 

His  quoting  the  eastern  nations,  put  another 
gentleman  in  mind  of  an  account  he  had  from 
a boatswain  of  an  East-Indiaman  ; which  was, 
that  a Chinese  had  tricked  and  bubbled  him, 
and  that  when  he  came  to  demand  satisfaction 
the  next  morning,  like  a true  tar  of  honour, 
called  him  a son  of  a whore,  liar,  dog,  and  other 
rough  appellatives  used  by  persons  conversant 
with  winds  and  weaves ; the  Chinese,  with  great 
tranquillity,  desired  him  ‘not  to  come  abroad 
fasting,  nor  put  himself  into  a heat,  for  it  would 
prejudice  his  health.’  Thus  the  east  knows 
nothing  of  this  gallantry. 

There  sat  at  the  left  of  the  table  a person  of 
a venerable  aspect,  who  asserted,  that  ‘ half  the 
impositions  which  are  put  upon  these  ages 
have  been  transmitted  by  writers  who  have 
given  too  great  pomp  and  magnificence  to  the 
exploits  of  the  ancient  bear-garden,  and  made 
their  gladiators,  by  fabulous  tradition,  greater 
than  Gorrnant  and  others  of  Great  Britain.’ 
He  informed  the  company,  that  ‘he  had  searched 
authorities  for  what  he  said,  and  that  a learned 
antiquary,  Humphrey  Scarecrow,  esquire,  of 
Hockley  in  the  Hole,  recorder  to  the  bear-gar- 
den,  was  then  writing  a discourse  on  the  subject. 
It  appears  by  the  best  accounts,’  says  this  gen- 


* There  is  no  such  place.  It  is  probable  Llanbadern 
Vawr  m Cardiganshire  is  intended. 

t A book  published  under  this  title  in  1516  by  Anthony 
Fitzherbert,  one  of  the  judges  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. 
This  author  died  in  1538. 

t Gorman  is  mentioned  in  the  epilogue  to  Lansdowne’s 
‘ Jew  of  Venice,’  and  is  there  explained  to  have  been  a 
prize-fighter. 


tleman,  ‘ that  the  high  names  which  are  used 
among  us  with  so  great  veneration,  were  no 
other  than  stage-fighters,  and  worthies  of  the 
ancient  bear-garden.  The  renowned  Hercules 
always  carried  a quarterstaff,  and  was  from 
thence  called  Claviger.*  A learned  chronolo 
gist  is  about  proving  what  wood  this  staff  was 
made  of,  whether  oak,  ash,  or  crab-tree.  The 
first  trial  of  skill  he  ever  performed  was  with 
one  Cacus,  a deer-stealer  ; the  next  was  with 
Typhonus,  a giant  of  forty  feet  four  inches. 
Indeed  it  was  unhappily  recorded,  that  meeting 
at  last  with  a sailor’s  wife,  she  made  his  stafi’ 
of  prowess  serve  her  own  use,  and  dwindle  away 
to  a distaff ; she  clapped  on  an  old  tar  jacket 
of  her  husband ; so  that  this  great  hero  drooped 
like  a scabbed  sheep.  Him  his  contemporary 
Theseus  succeeded  in  the  bear-garden,  which 
honour  he  held  for  many  years.  This  grand 
duellist  went  to  hell,  and  was  the  only  one  of 
that  sort  that  ever  came  back  again.  As  for 
Achilles  and  Hector  (as  the  ballads  of  those 
times  mention,)  they  w’ere  pretty  smart  fellows  ; 
they  fought  at  sword  and  buckler  ; but  the  for- 
mer had  much  the  better  of  it;  his  mother,  who 
was  an  oyster-woman,  having  got  a blacksmith 
of  Lemnos  to  make  her  son’s  weapons.  There 
is  a pair  of  trusty  Trojans  in  a song  of  Virgil 
that  were  famous  for  handling  their  gauntlets. 
Dares  and  Entellus ; and  indeed  it  does  appear, 
they  fought  no  sham-prize.’ 

The  Roman  bear-garden  was  abundantly 
more  magnificent  than  any  thing  Greece  could 
boast  of : it  flourished  most  under  those  delights 
of  mankind,  Nero  and  Domitian.  At  one  time 
it  is  recorded,  four  hundred  senators  entered 
the  list,  and  thought  it  an  honour  to  be  cudgelled 
and  quarterstaffed.  I observe  the  Lanistae 
were  the  people  chiefly  employed,  which  makes 
me  imagine  our  bear-garden  copied  much  after 
this,  the  butchers  being  the  greatest  men  in  it. 

Thus  far  the  glory  and  honour  of  the  bear- 
garden stood  secure,  until  fate,  that  irresistible 
ruler  of  sublunary  things,  in  that  universal  ruin 
of  arts,  and  politer  learning,  by  those  savage 
people  the  Goths  and  Vandals,  destroyed  and 
levelled  it  to  the  ground.  Then  fell  the  gran- 
deur and  bravery  of  the  Roman  state,  until  at 
last  the  warlike  genius  (but  accompanied  with 
more  courtesy)  revived  in  the  Christian  world 
under  those  puissant  champions.  Saint  George, 
Saint  Dennis,  and  other  dignified  heroes  : one 
killed  his  dragon,  another  his  lion,  and  were  all 
afterwards  canonized  for  it,  having  red  lettersf 
before  them  to  illustrate  their  martial  temper. 
The  Spanish  nation,  it  must  be  owned,  were 
devoted  to  gallantry  and  chivalry  above  the  rest 
of  the  world.  What  a great  figure  does  that 
great  name,  Don  Quixote,  make  in  history ! 
How  shines  this  glorious  star  in  the  western 
world  ! O renowned  hero  ! O mirror  of  knight- 
hood ! 

Thy  brandished  whinyard  all  the  world  defies, 

And  kills  as  sure  as  del  Tobosa’s  eyes. 

I am  forced  to  break  off  abruptly,  being  sent 
for  in  haste  with  my  rule,  to  measure  the  degree 


’''Club-bearer. 

t An  allusion  to  the  rubricks  in  the  Roman  missals. 


76 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  31. 


of  an  affront,  before  the  two  gentlemen  (who 
are  now  in  their  breeches  and  pumps  ready 
to  engage  behind  Montague-house)  have  made  a 
pass. 

From  my  ovm  Apartment^  June  18. 

It  is  an  unreasonable  objection,  I find,  against 
my  labours,  that  my  stock  is  not  all  my  own, 
and,  therefore,  the  kind  reception  I have  met 
with,  is  not  so  deserved  as  it  ought  to  be.  But 
I hope,  though  it  be  never  so  true  that  T am 
obliged  to  my  friends  for  laying  their  cash  in 
my  hands,  since  I give  it  them  again  when  they 
please,  and  leave  them  at  their  liberty  to  call  it 
home,  it  will  not  hurt  me  with  my  gentle  read- 
ers. Ask  all  the  merchants  who  act  upon  con- 
signments, where  is  the  necessity  (if  they  an- 
swer readily  what  their  correspondents  draw) 
of  their  being  wealthy  themselves  ? Ask  the 
greatest  bankers,  if  all  the  men  they  deal  with 
were  to  draw  at  once,  what  would  be  the  conse- 
quence? But  indeed  a country  friend  has  writ 
me  a letter  which  gives  me  great  mortification  ; 
wherein  I find  I am  so  far  from  expecting  a 
supply  from  thence,  that  some  have  not  heard 
of  me,  and  the  rest  do  not  understand  me  : his 
epistle  is  as  follows. 

‘ Dear  Couslv, — I thought  when  I left  the 
town,  to  have  raised  your  fame  here,  and  helped 
you  to  support  it  by  intelligence  from  hence  ; 
but,  alas ! they  had  never  heard  of  the  Tatler 
until  I brought  down  a set.  I lent  them  from 
house  to  house,  but  they  asked  me  what  they 
meant.  I began  to  enlighten  them,  by  telling 
who  and  who  were  supposed  to  be  intended  by 
the  characters  drawn.  I said,  for  instance,  Chloe 
and  Clarissa  are  two  eminent  toasts.  A gen- 
tleman who  keeps  his  greyhound  and  gun, 
and  one  would  think  might  know  better,  told 
me,  he  supposed  they  were  Papishes,  for  their 
names  were  not  English.  ‘ I’hen,’  said  he, 
‘why  do  you  call  live  people  toasts?’  I answered, 
‘That  was  a new  name  found  out  by  the  wits, 
to  make  a lady  have  the  same  effect,  as  burridge 
in  the  glass  when  a man  is  drinking.  But,  says 
I,  sir,  I perceive  this  is  to  you  all  bamboozling  ; 
why,  you  look  as  if  you  were  Don  Diego’d  to 
the  tune  of  a thousand  pounds.’  All  this  good 
language  was  lost  upon  him : he  only  stared, 
though  he  is  as  good  a scholar  as  any  layman 
in  the  town,  except  the  barber.  Thus,  cousin, 
you  must  be  content  w'itli  London  for  the  centre 
of  your  wealth  and  fame  ; we  have  no  relish  for 
you.  Wit  must  describe  its  proper  circumfer- 
ence, and  not  go  beyond  it,  lest,  like  little  boys 
when  they  straggle  out  of  their  own  parish,  it 
may  wander  to  places  where  it  is  not  known,  and 
be  lost.  Since  it  is  so,  you  must  excuse  me, 
that  I am  forced  at  a visit  to  sit  silent,  and  only 
lay  up  what  excellent  things  pass  at  such  con- 
versations. 

‘ This  evening  I was  with  a couple  of  young 
ladies  ; one  of  them  has  the  character  of  the 
prettiest  company,  yet  really  I thought  her  but 
silly  ; the  other,  who  talked  a great  deal  less,  I 
observed  to  have  understanding.  The  lady,  who 
is  reckoned  such  a companion  among  her  ac- 
quaintance, has  only,  with  a very  brisk  air,  a 


knack  of  saying  the  commonest  things:  the 
other,  with  a sly  serious  one,  says  home  things 
enough.  The  first,  mistress  Giddy,  is  very 
quick  ; but  the  second,  mistress  Slim,  fell  into 
Giddy’s  own  style,  and  was  as  good  company  as 
she.  Giddy  happens  to  drop  her  glove  ; Slim 
reaches  it  to  her.  ‘ Madam,’  says  Giddy,  ‘ I hope 
you  will  have  a better  office.’  Upon  which 
Slim  immediately  repartees,  and  sits  in  her  lap, 
and  cries,  ‘ Are  you  not  sorry  for  my  heavi- 
ness?’ The  sly  wench  pleased  me,  to  see  how 
she  hit  her  height  of  understanding  so  well.  We 
sat  down  to  dinner.  Says  Giddy,  mighty  pret- 
tily, ‘ Two  hands  in  a dish,  and  one  in  a purse.’ 
Says  Slim,  ‘ Ay,  madam,  the  more  the  merrier  ; 
but  the  fewer  the  better  cheer.’  I quickly  took 
the  hint,  and  was  as  witty  and  talkative  as  they. 
Says  I, 

He  that  will  not  when  he  may, 

When  he  will,  he  shall  have  liay. 

and  so  helped  myself.  Giddy  turns  about  ‘ What, 
have  you  found  your  tongue  ?’  ‘ Yes,’  says  I, 

‘ it  is  manners  to  speak  when  I am  spoken  to ; 
but  your  greatest  talkers  are  the  least  doers,  and 
the  still  sow  eats  up  all  the  broth.’  ‘ Ha  ! ha !’ 
says  Giddy,  ‘ one  would  think  he  had  nothing 
in  him,  and  do  you  hear  how  he  talks,  when 
he  pleases  !’  I grew  immediately  roguish  and 
pleasant  to  a degree,  in  the  same  strain.  Slim, 
who  knew  how  good  company  we  bad  been, 
cries,  ‘ You  will  certainly  print  this  bright  con- 
versation.’ 

‘It  is  so  ; and  hereby  you  may  see  how  small 
an  appearance  the  prettiest  things  said  in  com- 
pany make,  when  in  print.’ 

St.  Jameses  Coffee-house,  June  20. 

A mail  from  Lisbon  has  brought  advices,  of 
June  the  twelfth,  from  the  king  of  Portugal’s 
army  encamped  at  Torre  Allegada,  which  in- 
form  us,  that  the  general  of  the  army  called  a 
court-martial  on  the  fourth  at  the  camp  of 
Jerumena,  where  it  was  resolved  to  march  with 
a design  to  attempt  the  succour  of  Olivenza.  Ac- 
cordingly the  army  moved  on  the  fifth,  and 
marched  towards  Badajos.  Upon  their  approach, 
the  marquis  de  Bay  detached  so  great  a party 
from  the  blockade  of  Olivenza,  that  the  marquis 
das  Minas,  at  the  head  of  a large  detachment, 
covered  a great  convoy  of  provisions  towards 
Olivenza,  which  threw  in  their  stores,  and 
marched  back  to  their  army,  without  molesta- 
tion from  the  Spaniards.  They  add,  that  each 
army  must  necessarily  march  into  quarters 
within  twenty  days. 

Whosoever  can  discover  a surgeon’s  appren- 
tice who  fell  upon  Mr.  Bickerstaff’s  messenger, 
or  (as  the  printers  call  him)  Devil,  going  to  the 
press,  and  tore  out  of  his  liand  part  of  his  essay 
against  duels,  in  the  fragments  of  which  were 
the  words  ‘ you  lie,’  and  ‘ man  of  honour,’  taken 
up  at  the  Temple-gate,  and  the  words,  ‘ perhaps,’ 

‘ may  be  not,’ — ‘ by  your  leave,  sir,’ — and  other 
terms  of  provocation,  taken  up  at  the  door  of 
Young  Man’s  Coffee-house,  shall  receive  satis- 
faction from  Mr.  Morphew,  besides  a set  of  argu- 
ments to  be  spoken  to  any  man  in  a passion, 
which,  if  the  said  enraged  man  listens  to,  will 
prevent  quarrelling. 


No.  32.] 


THE  TATLER. 


7 


Mr.  BickerstafF  does  hereby  g'ive  notice 
that  he  has  taken  the  two  famous  Universities 
of  this  land  under  his  immediate  care,  and  does 
hereby  promise  all  tutors  and  pupils,  that  he  will 
hear  what  can  be  said  of  each  side  between  them, 
and  to  correct  them  impartially,  by  placing-  them 
in  orders  and  classes  in  the  learned  world,  ac- 
cording- to  their  merit. 

Mr.  BickerstafF  has  received  the  advices  from 
Clay-hill,  which,  with  all  intelligence  from  hon- 
est Mr.  Sturdy  and  others,  shall  have  their  place 
in  our  future  story. 


No.  32.]  Thursday^  June  23,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P, 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  22. 

An  answer  to  the  following  letter  being  abso- 
; lutely  necessary  to  be  despatched  with  all  expe- 
dition, I must  trespass  upon  all  that  come  with 
horary  questions  into  my  antichamber,  to  give 
the  gentleman  my  opinion. 

To  Isaac  BieJeerstaff,  Esquire. 

June  18,  1709. 

* Sm, — I know  not  whether  you  ought  to  pity 
or  laugh  at  me ; for  I am  fallen  desperately  in 
love  with  a professed  Platonne,  the  most  unac- 
countable creature  of  her  sex.  To  hear  her  talk 
seraphics,  and  run  over  Norris,  and  More,  and 
Milton,  and  the  whole  set  of  intellectual  triflers, 
torments  me  heartily  ; for,  to  a lover  who  un- 
derstands metaphors,  all  this  pretty  prattle  of 
ideas  gives  very  fine  views  of  pleasure,  which 
only  the  dear  declaimer  prevents,  by  understand- 
ing them  literally  : why  should  she  wish  to  be 
a cherubim,  when  it  is  flesh  and  blood  that  make 
her  adorable  ? If  I speak  to  her,  that  is  a high 
breach  of  the  idea  of  intuition.  If  I offer  at  her 
hand  or  lip,  she  shrinks  from  the  touch  like  a 
sensitive  plant,  and  would  contract  herself  into 
mere  spirit.  She  calls  her  chariot,  vehicle ; her 
furbelowed  scarf,  pinions  ; her  blue  mantua  and 
petticoat  is  her  azure  dress  ; and  her  footman 
goes  by  the  name  of  Oberon.  It  is  my  misfor- 
tune to  be  six  feet  and  a half  high,  two  full 
spans  between  the  shoulders,  thirteen  inches 
diameter  in  the  calves ; and,  before  I was  in 
love,  I had  a noble  stomach,  and  usually  went 
to  bed  sober  with  two  bottles.  I am  not  quite 
! six-and-twenty,  and  my  nose  is  marked  truly 
i aquiline.  For  these  reasons,  I am  in  a very 
particular  manner  her  aversion.  What  shall  I 
V;i  do  ? Impudence  itself  cannot  reclaim  her.  If 
^ I write  miserably,  she  reckons  me  among  the 
i-  children  of  perdition,  and  discards  me  her 
f region  ; if  I assume  the  gross  and  substantial, 
she  plays  the  real  ghost  with  me,  and  vanishes 
in  a moment.  I had  hopes  in  the  hypocrisy  of 
her  sex ; but  perseverance  makes  it  as  bad  as 
fixed  aversion.  I desire  your  opinion,  whether 
I may  not  lawfully  play  the  inquisition  upon 
her,  make  use  of  a little  force,  and  put  her  to 


the  rack  and  the  torture,  only  to  convince  her, 
she  has  really  fine  limbs,  without  spoiling  or 
distorting  them.  I expect  your  directions,  be- 
fore I proceed  to  dwindle  and  fall  away  with 
despair ; which  at  present  I do  not  think  advise- 
able,  because,  if  she  should  recant,  she  may 
then  hate  me  perhaps,  in  the  other  extreme,  for 
m}'^  tenuity.  I am  (wdth  impatience)  your  most 
humble  servant, 

‘CHARLES  STURDY.’ 

My  patient  has  put  his  case  with  very  much 
warmth,  and  represented  it  in  so  lively  a man- 
ner, that  I see  both  his  torment  and  tormentor 
with  great  perspicuity.  7’his  order  of  Platonic 
ladies  are  to  be  dealt  with  in  a manner  peculiar 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  sex.  Flattery  is  the 
general  way,  and  the  way  in  this  case  ; but  it 
is  not  to  be  done  grossly.  Every  man  that  has 
wit,  and  humour,  and  raillery,  can  make  a 
good  flatterer  for  women  in  general : but  a 
Platonne  is  not  to  be  touched  with  panegyric  : 
she  will  tell  you,  it  is  a sensuality  in  the  soul 
to  be  delighted  that  way.  You  are  not  there- 
fore to  commend,  but  silently  consent  to  all  she 
does  and  says.  You  are  to  consider,  in  her  the 
scorn  of  you  is  not  humour,  but  opinion. 

There  were,  some  years  since,  a set  of  these 
ladies  who  were  of  quality,  and  gave  out,  that 
virginity  was  to  be  their  state  of  life  during 
this  mortal  condition,  and  therefore  resolved  to 
join  their  fortunes,  and  erect  a nunnery.  The 
place  of  residence  was  pitched  upon  ; and  a 
pretty  situation,  full  of  natural  falls  and  risings 
of  waters,  with  shady  coverts,  and  flowery  ar- 
bours, was  approved  by  seven  of  the  founders. 
There  were  as  many  of  our  sex  who  took  the 
liberty  to  visit  their  mansions  of  intended  se- 
verity ; among  others,* *  a famous  rake  of  that 
time,  who  had  the  grave  way  to  an  excellence. 
He  came  in  first ; but,  upon  seeing  a servant 
coming  towards  him,  with  a design  to  tell  him 
this  was  no  place  for  him  or  his  companions, 
up  goes  my  grave  impudence  to  the  maid ; 

‘ Young  woman,’  said  he,  ‘ if  any  of  the  ladies 
are  in  the  way  on  this  side  of  the  house,  pray 
carry  us  on  the  other  side  towards  the  gardens  : 
we  are,  you  must  know,  gentlemen  that  are 
travelling  England;  after  which  we  shall  go 
into  foreign  parts,  where  some  of  us  have  already 
been.’  Here  he  bows  in  the  most  humble  man- 
ner, and  kissed  the  girl,  who  knew  not  how  to 
behave  to  such  a sort  of  carriage.  He  goes  on  : 
‘Now%  you  must  know,  w^e  have  an  ambition  to 
have  it  to  say,  that  we  have  a protestant  nunnery 
in  England  : but  pray  Mrs.  Betty’ — ‘ Sir,’  she 
replied,  ‘ my  name  is  Susan,  at  your  service.’ 
‘Then  I heartily  beg  your  pardon’ — ‘ No  offence 
in  the  least,’  said  she,  ‘ for  I have  a cousin-ger- 
man, whose  name  is  Betty.’  ‘ Indeed,’  said  he 
‘ I protest  to  you,  that  was  more  than  I knew ; 

I spoke  at  random  : but  since  it  happens  that  I 
was  near  in  the  right,  give  me  leave  to  present 
this  gentleman  to  the  favour  of  a civil  salute.’ 
His  friend  advances,  and  so  on,  until  they  had 
all  saluted  her.  By  this  means  the  poor  girl 
w^as  in  the  middle  of  the  crowd  of  these  fellows. 


* It  is  said,  that  Mr.  Repington,  a Warwickshire  w-ag, 
was  the  famous  rake  iiere  alluded  to. 


78 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  .32. 


at  a loss  what  to  do,  without  courage  to  pass 
through  them ; and  the  Platonics,  at  several 
peep-holes,  pale,  trembling,  and  fretting.  Rake 
perceived  they  were  observed,  and  therefore 
took  care  to  keep  Sukey  in  chat  with  questions 
concerning  their  way  of  life;  when  appeared 
at  last  Madonella,*  a lady  who  had  writ  a fine 
book  concerning  the  recluse  life,  and  was  the 
projectrix  of  the  foundation.  She  approaches 
into  the  hall ; and  Rake,  knowing  the  dignity 
of  his  own  mien  and  aspect,  goes  deputy  from 
his  company.  She  begins,  ‘ Sir,  I am  obliged 
to  follow  the  servant,  who  was  sent  out  to  know 
what  affair  could  make  strangers  press  upon  a 
solitude  which  we,  who  are  to  inhabit  this  place, 
have  devoted  to  heaven  and  our  own  thoughts  V 
‘ Madam,’  replies  Rake,  with  an  air  of  great 
distance,  mixed  with  a certain  indifference,  by 
which  he  could  dissemble  dissimulation,  ‘your 
great  intention  has  made  more  noise  in  the 
world  than  you  design  it  should  ; and  we  travel- 
lers, who  have  seen  many  foreign  institutions 
of  this  kind,  have  a curiosity  to  see,  in  its  first 
rudiments,  the  seat  of  primitive  piety  ; for  such 
it  must  be  called  by  future  ages,  to  the  eternal 
honour  of  the  founders  ; I have  read  Madonella’s 
excellent  and  seraphic  discourse  on  this  subject.’ 
The  lady  immediately  answered,  ‘ If  what  I 
have  said  could  have  contributed  to  raise  any 
thoughts  in  you  that  may  make  for  the  advance- 
ment of  intellectual  and  divine  conversation,  I 
should  think  myself  extremely  happy.’  He 
immediately  fell  back  with  the  proWndest 
veneration ; then  advancing,  ‘ Are  you  then  that 
admired  lady  ? If  I may  approach  lips  which 
have  uttered  things  so  sacred.’ — He  salutes  her. 
His  friends  followed  his  example.  The  devoted 
within  stood  in  amazement  where  this  would 
end,  to  see  Madonella  receive  their  address 
and  their  company.  But  Rake  goes  on — ‘We 
would  not  transgress  rules ; but  if  we  may  take 
the  liberty  to  see  the  place  you  have  thought  fit 
to  choose  for  ever,  we  would  go  into  such  parts 
of  the  gardens,  as  is  consistent  with  the  severi- 
ties you  have  imposed  on  yourselves.’ 

To  be  short,  Madonella  permitted  Rake  to 
lead  her  into  the  assembly  of  nuns,  followed  by 
his  friends,  and  each  took  his  fair-one  by  the 
hand,  after  due  explanation,  to  walk  round  the 
gardens.  The  conversation  turned  upon  the 
lilies,  the  flowers,  the  arbours,  and  the  growing 
vegetables;  and  Rake  had  the  solemn  impu- 
dence, when  the  whole  company  stood  round 
him,  to  say,+  that  ‘ he  sincerely  wished  men 
might  rise  out  of  the  earth  like  plants  ; and  that 
our  minds  were  not  of  necessity  to  be  sullied 
with  carnivorous  appetites  for  the  generation, 
as  well  as  support,  of  our  species.’  This  was 
spoken  with  so  easy  and  fixed  an  assurance, 
that  Madonella  answered,  ‘Sir,  under  the  notion 


*The  person  here  represented,  or  rattier  greatly  mis- 
represented, under  the  name  of  Sladonella,  a diminutive 
from  Madona,  whicli  signifies  the  Virgin  Mary,  was 
Mrs.  Mary  Astell,  a lady  of  superior  understanding,  of 
considerable  learning,  and  singular  piety.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a merchant  in  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  where 
she  was  born  about  1668,  and  lived  about  twenty  years. 
The  remainder  of  her  inoffensive,  irreproachable,  and 
exemplary  life  she  spent  at  London  and  Chelsea,  where 
she  died  in  1731, 

t An  allusion  to,  or  rather  a quotation  from,  sir  T. 
Brown’s  ‘ Religio  Medici.’ 


of  a pious  thought,  you  deceive  yourself  in 
wishing  an  institution  foreign  to  that  of  Provi- 
dence.  These  desires  were  implanted  in  us  for 
reverend  purposes,  in  preserving  the  race  of 
men,  and  giving  opportunities  for  making  our 
chastity  more  heroic.’  The  conference  was 
continued  in  this  celestial  strain,  and  carried 
on  so  well  by  the  managers  on  both  sides,  that 
it  created  a second  and  a third  interview ; and, 
without  entering  into  further  particulars,  there 
was  hardly  one  of  them  but  was  a mother  or 
father  that  day  twelvemonth.* 

Any  unnatural  part  is  long  taking  up  and  as 
long  laying  aside  ; therefore  Mr.  Sturdy  may 
assure  himself,  Platonica  will  fly  for  ever  from 
a forward  behaviour ; but  if  he  approaches  her 
according  to  this  model,  she  will  fall  in  with 
the  necessities  of  mortal  life,  and  condescend  to 
look  with  pity  upon  an  unhappy  man,  imprison, 
ed  in  so  much  body,  and  urged  by  such  violent 
desires. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  June  22. 

The  evils  of  this  town  increase  upon  me  to 
so  great  a degree,  that  I am  half  afraid  I shall 
not  leave  the  world  much  better  than  I found 
it.  Several  worthy  gentlemen  and  critics  have 
applied  to  me,  to  give  my  censure  of  an  enor- 
mity which  has  been  revived,  after  being  long 
suppressed,  and  is  called  punning,  I have  se- 
veral arguments  ready  to  prove,  that  he  cannot 
be  a man  of  honour,  who  is  guilty  of  this  abuse 
of  human  society.  But  the  way  to  expose  it 
is,  like  the  expedient  of  curing  drunkenness, 
showing  a man  in  that  condition ; therefore  I 
must  give  my  reader  warning,  to  expect  a col- 
lection of  these  offences ; without  which  pre- 
paration, I thought  it  too  adventurous  to  intro- 
duce the  very  mention  of  it  in  good  company  ; 
and  I hope,  I shall  be  understood  to  do  it,  as  a 
divine  mentions  oaths  and  curses  only  for  their 
condemnation.  I shall  dedicate  this  discourse 
to  a gentleman,  my  very  good  friend,  who  is 
the  Janust  of  our  times,  and  whom,  by  his  years 
and  wit,  you  would  take  to  be  of  the  last  age  ; 
but  by  his  dress  and  morals,  of  this. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  June  22. 

Last  night  arrived  two  mails  from  Holland, 
which  bring  letters  from  the  Hague  of  the 
tw'enty-eighth  instant,  N.  S.  with  advice,  that 
the  enemy  lay  encamped  behind  a strong  re- 
trenchment, with  the  marsh  of  Romiers  on 
their  right  and  left,  extending  itself  as  far  as 
Bethune  ; La  Basse  is  in  their  front.  Lens  in 
their  rear,  and  their  camp  is  strengthened  by 
another  line  from  Lens  to  Douay.  The  duke 
of  Marlborough  caused  an  exact  observation  to 
be  made  of  their  ground,  and  the  works  by 
which  they  were  covered,  which  appeared  so 
strong,  that  it  was  not  thought  proper  to  attack 
them  in  their  present  posture.  However  the 

* This  is  mere  fiction,  and  unpardonable,  as  it  seems 
to  imply  an  oblique  censure  on  Mrs.  Astell,  of  a nature 
totally 'repugnant  to  her  eminently  virtuous  and  re- 
spectable character. 

t Under  the  fanciful  name  of  Janus,  f^teele  clearly  al- 
! hides  to  Swift,  the  real  author  of  the  preceding  part  of 
; this  paper,  and  pays  him  some  compliments  in  return 
i for  his  communication. 


No.  33.] 


THE  TATLER. 


79 


duke  thought  fit  to  make  a feint  as  if  he  de- 
signed it ; his  grace  accordingl}'^  inarched  from 
the  abbey  at  Looze,  as  did  prince  Eugene  from 
Lampret,  and  advanced  with  all  possible  dili- 
gence towards  the  enemy.  To  favour  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  intended  assault,  the  ways  were 
made,  and  orders  distributed  in  such  manner, 
that  none  in  either  camp  could  have  thoughts 
of  any  thing  but  charging  the  enemy  by  break 
of  day  next  morning  ; but  soon  after  the  fall 
of  the  night  of  the  twenty-sixth,  the  whole  army 
faced  towards  Tournay,  which  place  they  in- 
vested early  in  the  morning  of  the  twenty-se- 
venth. The  marshal  Villars  was  so  confident 
that  we  designed  to  attack  him,  that  he  had 
drawn  great  part  of  the  garrison  of  the  place, 
which  is  now  invested,  into  the  field ; for  which 
reason,  it  is  presumed,  it  must  submit  within  a 
small  time,  which  the  enemy  cannot  prevent, 
but  by  coming  out  of  their  present  camp,  and 
hazarding  a general  engagement.  These  ad- 
vices add,  that  the  garrison  of  Mons  had  march- 
ed out  under  the  command  of  marshal  d’Aco ; 
which,  with  the  Bavarians,  Walloons,  and  the 
troops  of  Cologn,  have  joined  the  grand  army 
of  the  enemy. 


No.  33.]  Saturday,  June  25,  1709. 

duicquid  aijunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

BY  MRS.  JENNY  DISTAFF,  HALF-SISTER  TO 
MR.  BICKERSTAFF. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  23. 

My  brother  has  made  an  excursion  into  the 
country,  and  the  work  against  Saturday  lies 
upon  me.  I am  very  glad  I have  got  pen  and 
ink  in  my  hand;  for  I have  for  some  time 
longed  for  his  absence,  to  give  a right  idea  of 
things,  which  I thought  he  put  in  a very  odd 
light,  and  some  of  them  to  the  disadvantage  of 
my  own  sex.  It  is  much  to  be  lamented,  that 
it  is  necessary  to  make  discourses,  and  publish 
treatises,  to  keep  the  horrid  creatures,  the  men, 
within  the  rules  of  common  decency. 

I gladly  embrace  this  opportunity  to  express 
myself  with  the  resentment  I ought,  on  people 
who  take  liberties  of  speech  before  that  sex, 
of  whom  the  honoured  names  of  Mother, 
Daughter,  and  Sister  are  a part : I had  like  to 
have  named  wife  in  the  number  ; but  the  sense- 
less world  are  so  mistaken  in  their  sentiments 
of  pleasure,  that  the  most  amiable  term  in  hu- 
man life  is  become  the  derision  of  fools  and 
scorners.  My  brother  and  I have  at  least  fifty 
times  quarrelled  upon  this  topic.  I ever  argue, 
that  the  frailties  of  women  are  to  be  imputed  to 
the  false  ornaments  which  men  of  wit  put  upon 
our  folly  and  coquetry.  He  lays  all  the  vices 
of  men  upon  women’s  secret  approbation  of 
libertine  characters  in  them.  I did  not  care  to 
give  up  a point ; but,  now  he  is  out  of  the  way, 
I cannot  but  own  I believe  there  is  very  much 
in  what  he  asserted : but  if  you  will  believe 
your  eyes,  and  own,  that  the  wickedest  and 


wittiest  of  them  all  marry  one  day  or  other,  it 
is  impossible  to  believe,  that  if-  a man  thought 
he  should  be  for  ever  incapable  of  being  received 
by  a woman  of  merit  and  honour,  he  would 
persist  in  an  abandoned  way  ; and  deny  himself 
the  possibility  of  enjoying  the  happiness  of  well- 
governed  desires,  orderly  satisfactions,  and  ho- 
nourable methods  of  life.  If  our  sex  were  wise, 
a lover  should  have  a certificate  from  the  last 
woman  he  served,  how  he  was  turned  away,  be- 
fore he  was  received  into  the  service  of  another  : 
but  at  present  any  vagabond  is  welcome,  pro- 
vided he  promises  to  enter  into  our  livery.  It 
is  wonderful,  that  we  will  not  take  a footman 
without  credentials  from  his  last  master ; and 
in  the  greatest  concern  of  life,  we  make  no 
scruple  of  falling  into  a treaty  with  the  most 
notorious  offender  in  this  behaviour  against 
others.  But  this  breach  of  commerce  between 
the  sexes  proceeds  from  an  unaccountable  pre- 
valence of  custom,  by  wliich  a woman  is  to  the 
last  degree  reproachable  for  being  deceived,  and 
a man  suffers  no  loss  of  credit  for  being  a de- 
ceiver. 

Since  this  tyrant  humour  has  gained  place, 
why  are  we  represented  in  the  writings  of  men 
in  ill  figures  for  artifice  in  our  carriage,  when 
we  have  to  do  with  a professed  impostor  ? 
When  oaths,  imprecations,  vows,  and  adora- 
tions are  made  use  of  as  words  of  course,  what 
arts  are  not  necessary  to  defend  us  from  such 
as  glory  in  the  breach  of  them  ? As  for  my 
part,  I am  resolved  to  hear  all,  and  believe  none 
of  them  ; and  therefore  solemnly  declare  no  vow 
shall  deceive  me,  but  that  of  marriage  : for  I 
am  turned  of  twenty,  and  being  of  a small  for- 
tune, some  wit,  and  (if  I can  believe  my  lovers 
and  my  glass)  handsome,  I have  heard  all  that 
can  be  said  towards  my  undoing ; and  shall 
therefore,  for  warning-sake,  give  an  account  of 
the  offers  that  have  been  made  me,  my  manner 
of  rejecting  them,  and  my  assistances  to  keep 
my  resolution. 

In  the  sixteenth  year  of  my  life,  I fell  into 
the  acquaintance  of  a lady  extremely  well 
known  in  this  town  for  the  quick  advancement 
of  her  husband,  and  the  honours  and  distinc- 
tions which  her  industry  has  procured  him  and 
all  who  belong  to  her.  This  excellent  body  sat 
next  to  me  for  some  months  at  church,  and 
‘took  the  liberty,  which,’  she  said,  ‘her  years 
and  the  zeal  she  had  for  my  welfare  gave  her 
claim  to,  to  assure  me,  that  she  observed  some 
parts  of  my  behaviour  which  would  lead  me  into 
errors,  and  give  encouragement  to  some  to 
entertain  hopes  I did  not  think  of.  What  made 
you,’  said  she,  ‘ look  through  your  fan  at  that 
lord,  when  your  eyes  should  have  been  turned 
upwards,  or  closed  in  attention  upon  better  ob- 
jects ?’  I blushed,  and  pretended  fifty  odd  ex- 
cuses ; — but  confounded  myself  the  more.  She 
wanted  nothing  but  to  see  that  confusion,  and 
goes  on  ; ‘ Nay,  child,  do  not  be  troubled  that  I 
take  notice  of  it ; my  value  for  you  made  me 
speak  it ; for  though  he  is  my  kinsman,  I have 
a nearer  regard  to  virtue  than  any  other 
consideration.’  She  had  hardly  done  speaking, 
when  this  noble  lord  came  up  to  us  and  led  her 
to  her  coach. 

My  head  ran  all  that  day  and  night  on  the 


80 


THE  TATLEE. 


[No.  33. 


exemplary  carriage  of  this  woman,  who  could 
be  so  virtuously  impertinent,  as  to  admonish 
one  she  was  hardly  acquainted  with.  However, 
it  struck  upon  the  vanity  of  a girl,  that  it  may 
possibly  be,  his  thoughts  might  have  been  as 
favourable  of  me,  as  mine  were  amorous  of  him  ; 
and  as  unlikely  things  as  that  have  happened, 
if  he  should  make  me  his  wife.  She  never 
mentioned  this  more  to  me ; but  I still  in  all 
public  places  stole  looks  at  this  man,  who  easily 
observed  my  passion  for  him.  It  is  so  hard  a 
thing  to  check  the  return  of  agreeable  thoughts, 
that  he  became  my  dream,  my  vision,  my  food, 
my  wish,  my  torment. 

That  ministress  of  darkness,  the  lady  Sem- 
pronia,  perceived  too  well  the  temper  I was  in, 
and  would  one  day  after  evening  service,  needs 
take  me  to  the  park.  When  we  were  there, 
my  lord  passes  by  : I flushed  into  a flame.  ‘ Mrs. 
Distaff,’  says  she,  ‘ you  may  very  well  remem- 
ber the  concern  I was  in  upon  the  first  notice 
I took  of  your  regard  to  that  lord  ; and  forgive 
me,  who  had  a tender  friendship  for  your  mo- 
ther (now  in  her  grave)  that  I am  vigilant  of 
your  conduct.’  She  went  on  with  much  se- 
verity, and  after  great  solicitation,  prevailed  on 
me  to  go  with  her  into  the  country,  and  there 
spend  the  ensuing  summer  out  of  the  way  of  a 
man  she  saw  I loved,  and  one  whom  she  per- 
ceived meditated  my  ruin,  by  frequently  de- 
siring her  to  introduce  him  to  me  ; which  she 
absolutely  refused,  except  he  would  give  his 
honour  that  he  had  no  other  design  but  to  marry 
me.  To  her  country-house,  ‘a  week  or  two  after, 
we  went : there  was  at  the  further  end  of  her 
garden,  a kind  of  wilderness,  in  the  middle  of 
which  ran  a soft  rivulet  by  an  arbour  of  jessa- 
mine. In  this  place  I usually  passed  my  retired 
hours,  and  read  some  romantic  or  poetical  tale 
until  the  close  of  evening.  It  was  near  that 
time  in  the  heat  of  summer,  when  gentle  winds, 
soft  murmurs  of  water,  and  notes  of  nightin- 
gales, had  given  my  mind  an  indolence,  which 
added  to  that  repose  of  soul  twilight  and  the 
end  of  a warm  day  naturally  throws  upon  the 
spirits.  It  was  at  such  an  hour,  and  in  such  a 
state  of  tranquillity  I sat,  when,  to  my  inex- 
pressible amazement,  I saw  my  lord  walking 
towards  me,  whom  I knew  not  until  that  mo-_ 
ment  to  have  been  in  the  country.  I could  ob- 
serve in  his  approach  the  perplexity  which  at- 
tends a man  big  with  design  ; and  I had,  while 
he  was  coming  forward,  time  to  reflect  that  I 
was  betrayed  ; the  sense  of  which  gave  me  a re- 
sentment suitable  to  such  a baseness  ; but  when 
he  entered  into  the  bower  where  I was,  my 
heart  flew  towards  him,  and  I confess,  a certain 
joy  came  into  my  mind,  with  a hope  that  he 
might  then  make  a declaration  of  honour  and 
passion.  This  threw  my  eyes  upon  him  with 
such  tenderness  as  gave  him  power,  with  a 
broken  accent  to  begin.  ‘ Madam — you  will 
wonder — for  it  is  certain,  you  must  have  ob- 
served— though  I fear  you  will  misinterpret  the 
motives — but  by  heaven,  and  all  that  is  sacred 
if  you  could’ — Here  he  made  a full  stand,  and 
I recovered  power  to  say,  ‘ The  consternation 
I am  in,  you  will  not,  I hope,  believe — a help- 
less innocent  maid — besides  that  the  place’ — 
He  saw  me  in  as  great  confusion  as  himself ; 


which  attributing  to  the  same  causes,  he  had 
the  audaciousness  to  throw  himself  at  my  feet, 
talk  of  the  stillness  of  the  evening,  and  then  ran 
into  deifications  of  my  person,  pure  flames,  con- 
stant love,  eternal  raptures,  and  a thousand 
other  phrases  drawn  from  the  images  we  have 
of  heaven,  which  ill  men  use  for  the  service  of 
hell,  when  run  over  with  uncommon  vehemence. 
After  which,  he  seized  me  in  his  arms : his  de- 
sign was  too  evident.  In  my  utmost  distress, 

I fell  upon  my  knees ‘ My  lord,  pity  me,  on 

my  knees — on  my  knees  in  the  cause  of  virtue, 
as  you  were  lately  in  that  of  wickedness.  Can 
you  think  of  destroying  the  labour  of  a w’hole 
life,  the  purpose  of  a long  education,  for  the 
base  service  of  a sudden  appetite ; to  throw  one 
that  loves  you,  that  doats  on  you,  out  of 
the  company  and  the  road  of  all  that  is  virtuous 
and  praiseworthy  ? Have  I taken  in  all  the  in- 
structions of  piety,  religion,  and  reason,  for  no 
other  end,  but  to  be  the  sacrifice  of  lust  and 
abandoned  to  scorn  ? Assume  yourself,  my 
lord  : and  do  not  attempt  to  vitiate  a temple  sa- 
cred to  innocence,  honour,  and  religion.  If  I 
have  injured  you,  stab  this  bosom,  and  let  me 
die,  but  not  be  ruined  by  the  hand  I love.’  The 
ardency  of  my  passion  made  me  incapable  of 
uttering  more  ; and  I saw  my  lover  astonished, 
and  reformed  by  my  behaviour  ; when  rushed 
in  Sempronia.  ‘Ha!  faithless  base  man,  could 
you  then  steal  out  of  town,  and  lurk  like  a rob- 
ber about  my  house  for  such  brutish  purposes  ?’ 

My  lord  was  by  this  time  recovered,  and  fell 
into  a violent  laughter  at  the  turn  which  Sem- 
pronia designed  to  give  her  villany.  He  bowed 
to  me  with  the  utmost  respect : ‘ Mrs.  Distaff,’ 
said  he,  ‘ be  careful  hereafter  of  your  company 
and  so  retired.  The  fiend  Sempronia  congra- 
tulated my  deliverance  with  a flood  of  tears. 

This  nobleman  has  since  very  frequently 
made  his  addresses  to  me  wflth  honour  ; but  I 
have  as  often  refused  them  ; as  well  knowing 
that  familiarity  and  marriage  will  make  him, 
on  some  ill-natured  occasion,  call  all  I said  in 
the  arbour  a theatrical  action.  Besides  that,  I 
glory  in  contemning  a man,  who  had  thoughts 
to  my  dishonour.  If  this  method  were  the 
imitation  of  the  whole  sex,  innocence  would  be 
the  only  dress  of  beauty  ; and  all  affectation  by 
any  other  arts  to  please  the  eyes  of  men  would 
be  banished  to  the  stews  for  ever.  The  con- 
quest of  passion  gives  ten  times  more  happiness 
than  we  can  reap  from  the  gratification  of  it ; 
and  she  that  has  got  over  such  a one  as  mine, 
will  stand  among  Beaux  and  Pretty  Fellows, 
with  as  much  safety  as  in  a summer’s  day 
among  grasshoppers  and  butterflies. 

P.  S.  I have  ten  millions  of  things  more 
against  men,  if  I ever  get  the  pen  again. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  June  24. 

Our  last  advices  from  the  Hague,  dated  the 
twenty-eighth  instant,  N.  S.  say,  that  on  the 
twenty-fifth,  a squadron  of  Dutch  men-of-war 
sailed  out  of  the  Texel  to  join  admiral  Baker  at 
Spithead.  The  twenty-sixth  was  observed  as  a 
day  of  fasting  and  humiliation,  to  implore  a 
blessing  on  the  arms  of  the  allies  this  ensuing 
campaign.  Letters  from  Dresden  are  very 


No  34.] 


THE  TATLER. 


81 


particular  in  the  account  of  the  gallantry  and 
magnificence,  in  which  that  court  has  appeared 
since  the  arrival  of  the  king  of  Denmark.  No 
day  has  passed  in  which  public  shows  have  not 
been  exhibited  ibr  his  entertainment  and  di- 
version ; the  last  of  that  kind  which  is  men- 
tioned is  a carousal,  wherein  many  of  the  youth 
of  the  first  quality,  dressed  in  the  most  splendid 
manner,  ran  for  the  prize.  His  Danish  majesty 
condescended  to  the  same  ; but  having  observed 
that  there  was  a design  laid  to  throw  it  in  his 
way,  passed  by  without  attempting  to  gain  it. 
The  court  of  Dresden  was  preparing  to  ac- 
company his  Danish  majesty  to  Potsdam,  where 
the  expectation  of  an  interview  of  three  kings, 
had  drawn  together  such  multitudes  of  people, 
that  many  persons  of  distinction  will  be  obliged 
to  lie  in  tents,  as  long  as  those  courts  continue 
in  that  place. 


No.  34.]  Tuesday,  June  28,  1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

^nostri  esl  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

BY  ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF,  ESd. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  25. 

Having  taken  upon  me  to  cure  all  the  dis- 
tempers which  proceed  from  affections  of  the 
mind,  I have  laboured,  since  I first  kept  this 
public  stage,  to  do  all  the  good  I could,  and 
have  perfected  many  cures  at  my  own  lodg- 
ings; carefully  avoiding  the  common  methods 
of  mountebanks,  to  do  their  most  eminent  ope- 
rations in  sight  of  the  people  ; but  must  be  so 
just  to  my  patients  as  to  declare,  they  have 
testified  under  their  hands,  their  sense  of  my 
poor  abilities,  and  the  good  I have  done  them, 
which  I publish  for  the  benefit  of  the  world, 
and  not  out  of  any  thoughts  of  private  advan- 
tage. 

I have  cured  fine  Mrs.  Spy  of  a great  imper- 
fection in  her  eyes,  which  made  her  eternally 
rolling  them  from  one  coxcomb  to  another  in 
public  places,  in  so  languishing  a manner,  that 
it  at  once  lessened  her  own  power,  and  her  be- 
holders’ vanity.  Twenty  drops  of  my  ink,  placed 
in  certain  letters  on  which  she  attentively  looked 
for  half  an  hour,  have  restored  her  to  the  true 
use  of  her  sight ; vvhich  is,  to  guide  and  not 
mislead  us.  Ever  since  she  took  the  liquor, 
which  I call  Bickerstaff’s  circumspection-water, 
she  looks  right  forward,  and  can  bear  being 
looked  at  for  half  a day  without  returning  one 
glance.  This  water  has  a peculiar  virtue  in  it, 
which  makes  it  the  only  true  cosmetic  or  beauty- 
wash  in  the  world  : the  nature  of  it  is  such,  that 
if  you  go  to  a glass  with  a design  to  admire 
your  face,  it  immediately  changes  it  into  down- 
right deformity.  If  you  consult  it  only  to  look 
with  a better  countenance  upon  your  friends, 
it  immediately  gives  an  alacrity  to  the  visage, 
and  new  grace  to  the  whole  person.  There  is, 
indeed,  a great  deal  owing  to  the  constitution 
of  the  person  to  whom  it  is  applied  : it  is  in  vain 


I to  give  it  when  the  patient  is  in  the  rage  of  the 
distemper  ; a bride  in  her  first  month,  a lady 
soon  after  her  husband’s  being  knighted,  or  any 
person  of  either  sex,  who  has  lately  obtained 
any  new  good  fortune  or  preferment,  must  be 
prepared  some  time  before  they  use  it.  It  has 
an  effect  upon  others,  as  well  as  the  patient, 
when  it  is  taken  in  due  form.  Lady  Petulant 
has  by  the  use  of  it  cured  her  liusband  of  jea- 
lousy, and  lady  Gad  her  whole  neighbourhood 
of  detraction. 

The  fame  of  these  things,  added  to  my  being 
an  old  fellow,  makes  me  extremely  acceptable 
to  the  fair  sex.  You  would  hardly  believe  me, 
when  I tell  you  there  is  not  a man  in  town  so 
much  their  delight  as  myself.  They  make  no 
more  of  visiting  me,  than  going  to  madam 
Depingle’s;  there  were  two  of  them,  namely, 
Damia  and  Clidarnira,  (I  assure  you  women  of 
distinction)  who  came  to  see  me  this  morning 
in  their  way  to  prayers ; and  being  in  a very 
diverting  humour  (as  innocence  always  makes 
people  cheerful,)  they  would  needs  have  me, 
according  to  the  distinction  of  Pretty  and  Very 
Pretty  Fellows,  inform  thein  if  I thought  either 
of  them  had  a title  to  the  Very  Pretty  among 
those  of  their  own  sex  ; and  if  I did,  which  was 
the  more  deserving  of  the  two  ? 

To  put  them  to  the  trial,  ‘ Look  ye,’  said  I, 

‘ I must  not  rashly  give  my  judgment  in  matters 
of  this  importance ; pray  let  me  see  you  dance, 

I play  upon  the  kit.’  They  immediately  fell 
back  to  the  lower  end  of  the  room  (you  may 
be  sure  they  courtesied  low  enough  to  me)  and 
began.  Never  were  two  in  the  world  so  equally 
matched,  and  botli  scholars  to  my  name-sake 
Isaac.^  Never  was  man  in  so  dangerous  a 
condition  as  myself,  when  they  began  to  expand 
their  charms.  ‘ Oh  ! ladies,  ladies,  cried  I,  ‘ not 
half  that  air,  you  will  fire  the  house.’  Both 
smiled  ; for,  by  the  bye,  there  is  no  carrying  a 
metaphor  too  far,  when  a lady’s  charms  are 
spoken  of.  Somebody,  I think,  has  called  a 
fine  woman  dancing,  ‘a  brandished  torch  of 
beauty.’  These  rivals  moved  with  such  an 
agreeable  freedom,  that  you  would  believe  their 
gesture  w'as  the  necessary  effect  of  the  music, 
and  not  the  product  of  skill  and  practice. 
Now  Clidarnira  came  on  with  a crowd  of  gra- 
ces, and  demanded  my  judgment  with  so  sweet 
an  air — and  she  had  no  sooner  carried  it,  but 
Damia  made  her  utterly  forgot,  by  a gentle 
sinking,  and  a rigadoon  step.  The  contest  held 
a full  half-hour  ; and,  I protest,  I saw  no  man- 
ner of  difference  in  their  perfections,  until  they 
came  up  together,  and  expected  sentence. 
‘Look  ye,  ladies,’ said  I,  ‘ I see  no  difference 
in  the  least  in  your  performance;  but  you, 
Clidarnira,  seem  to  be  so  well  satisfied,  that  I 
shall  determine  for  you,  that  I must  give  it  to 
Damia,  who  stands  with  so  much  diffidence  and 
fear,  after  showing  an  equal  merit  to  what  she 
pretends  to.  Therefore,  Clidarnira,  you  are  a 
pretty  ; but,  Damia,  you  are  a very  pretty  lady : 
for,  said  I,  ‘ beauty  loses  its  force,  if  not  accom- 
panied with  modesty.  She  that  has  an  humble 
opinion  of  herself  will  have  every  body’s  ap- 


* Mr.  Isaac,  a famous  dancing-master  at  that  time 
was  a Frenchman,  and  a Roman  Catholic. 


82 


[No.  34. 


THE  T 

plause,  because  she  does  not  expect  it;  while 
the  vain  creature  loses  approbation  through  too 
great  a sense  of  deserving  it.’ 

Fro?n  my  own  Apartment,  June  27. 

Being  of  a very  spare  and  hective  constitution, 
I am  forced  to  make  frequent  journeys  of  a 
mile  or  two  for  fresh  air  ; and  indeed  by  this 
last,  which  w^as  no  farther  than  the  village  of 
Chelsea,  I am  farther  convinced  of  the  neces- 
sity of  travelling  to  know  the  world ; for,  as  it 
is  usual  w'ith  young  voyagers,  as  soon  as  they 
land  upon  a shore,  to  begin  their  accounts  of  the 
nature  of  the  people,  their  soil,  their  govern- 
ment, their  inclinations,  and  their  passions  ; so 
really  I fancied  I could  give  you  an  immediate 
description  of  this  village,  from  the  five  fields 
where  the  robbers  lie  in  wait,  to  the  coffee-house 
where  the  Literati  sit  in  council.  A great  an- 
cestor of  ours  by  the  mother’s  side,  Mr.  Justice 
Overdo* * * § *  (whose  history  is  written  by  Ben  Jon- 
son,)  met  with^ore  enormities  by  walking  in- 
cognito than  he  W’as  capable  of  correcting ; and 
found  great  mortifications  in  observing  also 
persons  of  eminence,  whom  he  before  knew  no- 
thing of.  Thus  it  fared  with  me,  even  in  a 
place  so  near  the  town  as  this.  When  I came 
into  the  coffee-house,  I had  not  time  to  salute 
the  company,  before  my  eye  was  diverted  by  ten 
thousand  gimcracks  round  the  room,  and  on 
the  ceiling.  When  my  first  astonishment  was 
over,  comes  to  me  a sage  of  a thin  and  meagre 
countenance ; which  aspect  made  me  doubt, 
whether  reading  or  fretting  had  made  it  so  phi- 
losophic ; but  I very  soon  perceived  him  to  be  of 
that  sect  which  the  ancients  call  Gingivistae ; 
in  our  language,  tooth-drawers.  I immediately 
had  a respect  for  the  man  ; for  these  practical 
philosophers  go  upon  a very  rational  hypothesis, 
not  to  cure,  but  take  away  the  part  affected. 
My  love  of  mankind  made  me  very  benevolent 
to  Mr.  Salter  ;f  for  such  is  the  name  of  this 
eminent  barber  and  antiquary.  Men  are  usu- 
ally, but  unjustly  distinguished  rather  by  their 
fortunes  than  by  their  talents,  otherwise  this 
personage  w’ould  make  a great  figure  in  that 
class  of  men  w'hich  I distinguish  under  the 
title  of  Odd  Fellow’s.  But  it  is  the  misfortune 
of  persons  of  great  genius  to  have  their  faculties 
dissipated  by  attention  to  too  many  things  at 
once.  l\Ir.  Salter  is  an  instance  of  this  : if  he 
would  w’holly  give  himself  up  to  the  string,t  in- 
stead of  playing  twenty  beginnings  to  tunes,  he 
might,  before  he  dies,  play  Roge  de  Gaubly 
quite  out.  I heard  him  go  through  his  whole 
round,  and  indeed  I think  he  does  play  the 
‘ Merry  Christ  Church  bells’§  pretty  justly;  but 
he  confessed  to  me,  he  did  that  rather  to  show 
he  was  orthodox,  than  that  he  valued  himself 
upon  the  music  itself.  Or,  if  he  did  proceed  in 


* Adam  Overdo,  a name  given  to  a justice  of  peace, 
whose  character  is  drawn  in  ‘ Bartholomew  Fair,’  a 
comedy  so  called,  by  Ben  Johnson. 

t Mr.  Salter  was  a noted  barber,  who  began  to  make 
a collection  of  natural  curiosities.  He  kept  a coffee- 
house at  Chelsea,  which  still  bears  his  name.  His  curi- 
osities were  sold  a few  years  ago  by  auction. 

t There  was  no  passing  his  house,  if  he  was  at  home, 
without  having  one’s  ears  grated  with  the  sound  of  his 
fiddle,  on  which  he  scraped  most  e.vecrabl}-. 

§ A well  known  and  still  celebrated  catch,  composed 
by  Dr.  Henry  Aldrich,  dean  of  Christ  Church. 


bis  anatomy,  why  might  he  not  hope  in  time  to 
cut  off  legs,  as  well  as  draw  teeth  ? The  par- 
ticularity of  this  man  put  me  into  a deep  thought, 
whence  it  should  proceed,  that  of  all  the  lower 
order,  barbers  should  go  further  in  hitting  the 
ridieulous  than  any  other  set  of  men.  Water- 
men brawl,  cobblers  sing : but  why  must  a bar- 
ber be  for  ever  a politician,  a musican,  an  anato- 
mist, a poet,  and  a physician  ? The  learned  Vos- 
sius  says,  his  barber  used  to  comb  his  head  in 
lambics.  And  indeed,  in  all  ages,  one  of  this 
useful  profession,  this  order  of  cosmetic  philoso- 
phers, has  been  celebrated  by  the  most  eminent 
hands.  You  see  the  barber  in  Don  Quixote  is 
one  of  the  principal  characters  in  the  history  ; 
which  gave  me  satisfaction  in  the  doubt,  why 
Don  Saltero  writ  his  name  wfith  a Spanish  ter- 
mination : for  he  is  descended  in  a right  line, 
not  from  John  Tradescant,*  as  he  himself  asserts, 
but  from  that  memorable  companion  of  the 
knight  of  Mancha.  And  I hereby  certify  all 
the  worthy  citizens  who  travel  to  see  his  rari- 
ties, that  his  double-barrelled  pistols,  targets, 
coats  of  mail,  liis  Sclopeta  and  sword  of  Toledo, 
were  left  to  his  ancestor  by  the  said  Don  Quix- 
ote, and  by  the  said  ancestor  to  all  his  progeny 
down  to  Don  Saltero.  Though  I go  thus  far 
in  favour  of  Don  Saltero’s  great  merit,  I cannot 
allow  a liberty  he  takes  of  imposing  several 
names  (without  my  license)  on  the  collections 
he  has  made,f  to  the  abuse  of  the  good  people 
of  England  ; one  of  which  is  particularly  calcu- 
lated to  deceive  religious  persons,  to  the  great 
scandal  of  the  well-disposed,  and  may  introduce 
heterodox  opinions.  He  shows  you  a straw-hat, 
which  I know  to  be  made  by  Madge  Peskad, 
within  three  miles  of  Bedford ; and  tells  you, 

‘ It  is  Pontius  Pilate’s  wife’s  chambermaid’s 
sister’s  hat.  To  my  knowledge  of  this  very  hat 
it  may  be  added,  that  the  covering  of  straw  was 
never  used  among  the  Jews,  since  it  was  de- 
manded of  them  to  make  bricks  without  it. 
Therefore  this  is  really  nothing  but,  under  the 
specious  pretence  of  learning  and  antiquities, 
to  impose  upon  the  world.  There  are  other 
things  which  I cannot  tolerate  among  his  rari- 
ties ; as,  the  china  figure  of  a lady  in  the  glass- 
case  ; the  Italian  engine  for  the  imprisonment 
,of  those  who  go  abroad  with  it : both  which  I 
hereby  order  to  be  taken  down,  or  else  he  may 
expect  to  have  his  letters  patent  for  making 
punch  superseded,  be  debarred  wearing  his  muff 
next  winter,  or  ever  coming  to  London  without 
his  w’ife.  It  may  perhaps  be  thought,  I have 
dwelt  too  long  upon  the  affairs  of  this  operator ; 
but  I desire  the  reader  to  remember,  that  it  is 
my  way  to  consider  men  as  they  stand  in  merit, 
and  not  according  to  their  fortune  or  figure ; 
and  if  he  is  in  a coffee-house  at  the  reading 
hereof,  let  him  look  round,  and  he  will  find. 


* Tradescant  was  the  person  who  collected  the  curi- 
osities which  Elias  Ashinole  left  to  the  Fniversit}-  of 
Oxford. 

tVice  admiral  Munden,  and  some  other  sea-officers, 
wlio  had  been  much  upon  tlie  coasts  of  Spain,  and  in 
the  IMediterranean,  frequented  this  house,  and  ea%e 
this  Spanish  termination  to  the  name  of  the  landlord, 
which  soon  came  into  general  use.  They  likewise  gave 
him  the  most  of  his  curiosities,  among  which  was  the 
relics  of  a Spanish  saint,  that  had  some  how  or  other 
fallen  into  their  hands,  w ho  was  said  to  have  wrought 
miracles. 


No.  35.1 


THE  TATLER. 


83 


there  may  be  more  characters  drawn  in  this 
account  than  that  of  Don  Saltero ; for  lialf  the 
politicians  about  him,  he  may  observe,  are,  by 
their  place  in  nature,  of  the  class  of  tooth- 
drawers. 


No.  35.]  Thursday^  June 

Quicquid  agimt  liominos 

nostii  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  June  28. 

, There  is  a habit  or  custom  which  I have  put 
my  patienee  to  the  utmost  stretch  to  have  suf- 
fered so  long-,  because  several  of  my  intimate 
friends  are  in  the  guilt ; and  that  is,  the  Im- 
mour  of  taking  snuff,  and  looking  dirty  about 
the  mouth  by  way  of  ornament. 

My  method  is,  to  dive  to  the  bottom  of  a sore 
before  I pretend  to  apply  a remedy.  For  this 
reason,  I sat  by  an  eminent  story-teller  aijd 
politieian,  who  takes  lialf  an  ounce  in  five  se- 
conds, and  has  mortgaged  a pretty  tenement 
near  the  town,  merely  to  improve  and  dung 
his  brains  with  this  prolific  powder.  I observed 
this  gentleman,  the  other  day,  in  the  midst  of 
a story,  diverted  from  it  by  looking  at  some- 
thing at  a distance,  and  1 softly  hid  his  box. 
But  he  returns  to  his  tale,  and,  looking  for  Iris 
box,  he  cries,  ‘ And  so,  sir — ’ Then,  wlien  he 
should  have  taken  a pinch,  ‘ As  I was  saying — ’ 
says  he,  ‘ has  nobody  seen  my  box  V His  friend 
beseeches  him  to  finish  his  narration  : then  he 
proceeds;  ‘And  so,  sir — where  can  my  box 
be  !’  Then  turning  to  me,  ‘ Pray,  sir,  did  you 
see  my  box?’  ‘ Yes,  sir,’  said  I,  ‘ I took  it  to  see 
how  long  you  could  live  without  it.’  He  re- 
sumes his  tale,  and  I took  notice  that  his  dul- 
ness  was  much  more  regular  and  fluent  than 
before.  A pinch  supplies  the  place  of  ‘ As  I 
was  saying,’  and  ‘ So,  sir  ;’  and  he  went  on 
currently  enough  in  that  style  which  the  learned 
call  the  insipid.  Tliis  observation  easily  led 
me  into  a philosophic  reason  for  taking  snuff, 
which  is  done  only  to  supply  with  sensations 
the  want  of  reflection.  This  I take  to  be  an 
a nostrum ; upon  which  I hope  to  receive 
the  thanks  of  this  board : for  as  it  is  natural  to 
lift  a man’s  hand  to  a sore,  when  you  fear  any 
thing  coming  at  you  ; so  when  a person  feels 
his  thoughts  are  run  out,  and  he  has  no  more 
to  say,  it  is  as  natural  to  supply  his  weak  brain 
with  powder  at  the  nearest  place  of  access,  viz. 
the  nostrils.  This  is  so  evident,  that  nature 
suggests  the  use  according  to  the  indigence  of 
the  persons  who  take  this  medicine,  without 
being  prepossessed  with  the  force  of  fashion,  or 
custom.  For  example ; the  native  Hibernians, 
who  are  reckoned  not  much  unlike  the  ancient 
Boeotians,  take  this  specific  for  emptiness  in  the 
head,  in  greater  abundance  than  any  other  na- 
tion under  the  sun.  The  learned  Sotus,  as 
sparing  as  he  is  in  his  words,  would  be  still 
more  silent  if  it  were  not  for  this  powder. 

However  low  and  poor  the  taking  of  snuff  | 


argues  a man  to  be  in  his  own  stock  of  thoughts, 
or  means  to  employ  his  brains  and  his  fingers ; 
yet  there  is  a poorer  creature  in  tlic  world  than 
he,  and  tliis  is  a borrower  of  snuff;  a fellow  that 
keeps  no  box  of  his  own,  but  is  always  asking 
others  for  a pinch.  Such  poor  rogues  put  me 
always  in  mind  of  a common  phrase  among 
school-boys,  when  they  are  composing  their  ex- 
ercise, who  run  to  an  upper  scholar,  and  cry, 

‘ Pray  give  me  a little  sense.’  But  of  all  things 
commend  me  to  the  ladies  who  are  got  into 
this  pretty  help  to  discourse.  I have  been  these 
three  years  persuading  Sagissa*  to  leave  it  off; 
but  she  talks  so  much,  and  is  so  learned,  that 
she  is  above  contradiction.  However,  an  acci- 
dent the  other  day  brought  that  about,  v.'hich 
my  eloquence  could  never  accomplish.  She  had 
a very  Pretty  Fellow  in  lier  closet,  who  ran 
thither  to  avoid  some  company  that  came  to 
visit  her:  she  made  an  excuse  to  go  in  to  himx 
for  some  implement  they  were  talking  of.  Her 
eager  gallant  snatched  a kiss;  but,  being  unused 
to  snuff,  some  grains  from  off  her  upper  lip 
made  him  sneeze  aloud,  which  alarmed  the  visit- 
ants, and  has  made  a discovery,  that  profound 
reading-,  very  much  intelligence,  and  a general 
knowledge  of  who  and  who  are  together,  cannot 
fill  her  vacant  hours  so  much,  but  she  is  some- 
times obliged  to  descend  to  entertainments  less 
intellectual. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  June  29. 

I know  no  manner  of  news  from  this  place, 
but  that  Cynthio,  having  been  long  in  despair 
for  the  inexorable  Clarissa,  lately  resolved  to 
fall  in  love  with  tlie  good  old  w^ay  of  bargain 
and  sale,  and  has  pitclied  upon  a very  agreeable 
young  woman.  He  will  undoubtedly  succeed ; 
for  he  accosts  her  in  a strain  of  familiarity, 
w'ithout  breaking  through  the  deference  that  is 
due  to  a w'oman  -wliom  a man  would  choose  for 
his  life.f  I have  hardly  ever  heard  rough  truth 
spoken  with  a better  grace  than  in  this  his 
letter. 

‘ Madam, — I writ  to  you  on  Saturday  by  Mrs. 
Lucy,  and  give  you  this  trouble  to  urge  the 
.same  request  I made  then,  wdiich  was,  that  I 
may  be  permitted  to  wait  upon  you.  I should 
be  very  far  from  desiring  this,  if  it  was  a trans- 
gression of  the  most  severe  rules  to  allow  it : 

I know  you  are  very  much  above  the  little  arts 
which  are  frequent  in  your  sex,  of  giving  un- 
necessary torment  to  their  admirers ; therefore 
hope  you  will  do  so  much  justice  to  the  generous 
passion  I have  for  you,  as  to  let  me  have  an  op- 
portunity of  acquainting  you  upon  what  motives 
I pretend  to  your  good  opinion.  I shall  not 


=^The  ingenious  lady  here  alluded  to,  under  the  nanjo 
of  Sagissa,  a diminutive  from  the  word  Sage,  was  luo- 
bably  Mrs.  De  la  Riviere  Manley,  who  provoked  Steel 
by  the  liberties  she  had  taken  with  his  character  in 
her  ‘Secret  Memoirs  from  the  New  Atlantis,’  <fcc. 
She  indiscreetly  renewed  similar  provocations  in  her 
after  writings,  and  in  return  was  treated  most  un- 
mercifully. 

t Lord  Hinchinbroke  married  lady  Elizabeth  Popham, 
only  daughter  of  Alexander  Popham,  esquire,  of  ]jiitle- 
cote,  in  Wiltshire. 


84 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  35. 


trouble  you  with  my  sentiments  until  I know 
how  they  will  be  received ; and  as  I know  no 
reason  why  difference  of  sex  should  make  our 
language  to  each  other  differ  from  the  ordinary 
rules  of  right  reason,  I shall  affect  plainness 
and  sincerity  in  my  discourses  to  you,  as  much 
as  other  lovers  do  perplexity  and  rapture.  In- 
stead of  saying,  I shall  die  for  you,  J profess,  I 
should  be  glad  to  lead  my  life  with  you  : you  are 
as  beautiful,  as  witty,  as  prudent,  and  as  good- 
humoured  as  any  woman  breathing  ; but  I must 
confess  to  you,  I regard  all  these  excellences 
as  you  will  please  to  direct  them  for  my  happi- 
ness or  misery.  With- me,  madam,  the  only 
lasting  motive  to  love,  is  the  hope  of  its  becom- 
ing mutual.  I beg  of  you  to  let  Mrs.  Lucy 
send  me  word  when  I may  attend  you.  I pro- 
mise you  I will  talk  of  nothing  but  indifferent 
things;  though,  at  the  same  time,  I know  not 
how  I shall  approach  you  in  the  tender  moment 
of  first  seeing  you,  after  this  declaration  of,  ma- 
dam, your  most  obedient,  and  most  faithful 
humble  servant,  &c.’ 

WilVs  Coffee-house^  June  29. 

Having  taken  a resolution,  when  plays  are 
acted  next  winter  by  an  entire  good  company, 
to  publish  observations  from  time  to  time  on  the 
performance  of  the  actors,  I think  it  but  just  to 
give  an  abstract  of  the  laws  of  action,  for  the 
help  of  the  less  learned  part  of  the  audience, 
that  they  may  rationally  enjoy  so  refined  and 
instructive  a pleasure  as  a just  representation 
of  human  life.  The  great  errors  in  playing  are 
admirably  well  exposed  in  Hamlet’s  directions 
to  the  actors  who  are  to  play  in  his  supposed 
tragedy  ; by  which  we  shall  form  our  future 
judgments  on  their  behaviour,  and  for  that 
reason  you  have  the  discourse  as  follows  : 

‘Speak  the  speech,  I pray  you,  as  I pro- 
nounc’d it  to  you,  trippingly  on  tlie  tongue  : 
but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  man}'  of  our  players  do, 
I had  as  lieve  the  town-crier  spoke  my  lines. 
Nor  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your 
hand,  thus  ; but  use  all  gently  : for  in  the  very 
torrent,  tempest,  and  (as  I may  say)  whirlwind 
of  your  passion,  you  must  acquire  and  beget  a 
temperance,  that  may  give  it  smoothness.  O, 
it  offends  me  to  the  soul,  to  hear  a robustious 
perriwig-pated  fellow  tear  a passion  to  tatters, 
to  very  rags,  to  split  the  ears  of  the  ground- 
lings ; who,  lor  the  most  part,  are  capable  of  no- 
thing but  inexplicable  dumb  shows,  and  noise; 
I would  have  such  a fellow  whipp’d  for  o’er-do- 
ing  Termagant ; it  out-herods  Herod  : pray  you, 
avoid  it.  Be  not  too  tame  neither,  but  let  your 
own  discretion  be  your  tutor : suit  the  action 
to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action  ; with  this 
special  observance,  that  you  o’erstep  not  the 
modesty  of  nature : for  any  thing  so  overdone 
is  from  the  purpose  of  playing,  whose  end,  both 
at  the  first,  and  now,  was,  and  is,  to  hold,  as 
’twere,  the  mirror  up  to  nature ; to  show  virtue 
her  own  feature,  scorn  her  own  image,  and  the 
very  age  and  body  of  the  time  his  form  and 
pressure.  Now  this,  overdone,  or  come  tardy 
off,  though  it  make  the  unskilful  laugh,  cannot 
but  make  the  judicious  grieve;  the  censure  of 
which,  one  must,  in  your  allowance,  o’erweigh 


a whole  theatre  of  others.  O,  there  be  players, 
that  I have  seen  play, — and  heard  others  praise, 
and  that  highly — not  to  speak  it  profanely,  that, 
neither  having  the  accent  of  Christians,  nor  the 
gait  of  Christian,  pagan,  nor  man,  have  so  strut- 
ted and  bellow’d,  that  I have  thought  some  of 
nature’s  journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not 
made  them  well,  they  imitated  humanity  so 
abominably.  This  should  be  reformed  alto- 
gether. And  let  those  that  play  your  clowns, 
speak  no  more  than  is  set  down  for  them;  for 
there  be  of  them,  that  will  themselves  laugh,  to 
set  on  some  quantity  of  barren  spectators  to 
laugh  too;  though  in  the  mean  time,  some  ne- 
cessary question  of  the  play  be  then  to  be  con- 
sidered ; that’s  villanous,  and  shows  a most 
pitilul  ambition  in  the  fool  that  uses  it.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  29. 

It  would  be  a very  great  obligation,  and  an 
assistance  to  my  treatise  upon  punning,  if  any 
one  would  please  to  inform  me  in  what  class 
among  the  learned,  who  play  with  words,  to 
place  the  author  of  the  following  letter. 

‘ Sir, — Not  long  since  you  were  pleased  to 
give  us  a chimerical  account  of  the  famous  fa- 
mily of  the  Staffs,  from  whence  I suppose  you 
w'ould  insinuate,  that  it  is  the  most  ancient  and 
numerous  house  in  all  Europe.  But  I positively 
deny  that  it  is  either,  and  wonder  much  at  your 
audacious  proceedirigs  in  this  matter,  since  it 
is  well  known,  that  our  most  illustrious,  most 
renowned,  and  most  celebrated  Roman  family 
of  Ix  has  enjoyed  the  precedency  to  all  others, 
from  the  reign  of  good  old  Saturn.  I could  say 
much  to  the  defamation  and  disgraee  of  your 
family ; as,  that  your  relations  Distaff  and  Broom- 
staff  were  both  ineonsiderable  mean  persons,  one 
spinning,  the  other  sweeping  the  streets,  for  their 
daily  bread.  But  I forbear  to  vent  my  spleen  on 
objects  so  much  beneath  my  indignation.  I shall 
only  give  the  world  a catalogue  of  my  ancestors, 
and  leave  them  to  determine  w’hich  hath  hitherto 
had,  and  which  for  the  future  ought  to  have,  the 
preference. 

First  then,  comes  the  most  famous  and  popu- 
lar lady  Meretrix,  parent  of  the  fertile  family  of 
Bellatrix,  Famulatrix,  Nutrix,  Obstetrix,  Lotrix, 
Netrix,  Coctrix,  Ornatrix,  Sarcinatrix,  Fextrix, 
Balneatrix,  Portatrix,  Saltatrix,  Divinatrix,  Con- 
jectrix,  Comtrix,  Dehitrix,  Creditrix,  Donatrix, 
Ambulatrix,  Mercatrix,  Adsectrix,  Assectatrix, 
Palpatrix,  Prseceptrix,  Pistrix. — I am  yours, 

‘ ELIZ.  POTATRIX.’ 

St.  James"’ s Coffee-house,  June  17. 

Letters  from  Brussels  of  the  second  of  July, 
N.  S.  say,  that  the  duke  of  Marlborough  and 
prince  Eugene,  having  received  advice  that  the 
marshal  Villars  had  drawn  a considerable  body 
out  of  the  garrison  of  Tournay,  to  reinforce  his 
army,  marched  towards  thit  place,  and  came 
before  it  early  in  the  morning  of  the  twenty- 
seventh.  As  soon  as  they  came  into  that  ground, 
the  prince  of  Nassau  was  sent  with  a strong  de- 
tachment  to  take  post  at  St.  Amand  ; and  at  the 
same  time  my  lord  Orkney  received  orders  to 
possess  himself  of  Mortagne ; both  which  were 


No.  36.] 


THE  TATLER. 


85 


I 

I 

successfully  executed ; whereby  we  were  mas- 
ters of  the  Scheld  and  Scarp.  Eight  men  were 
drawn  out  of  each  troop  of  dragoons  and  com- 
pany of  foot  in  the  garrison  of  Tournay,  to 
make  up  the  reinforcement  which  was  ordered  to 
i join  marshal  Villars.  On  advice,  that  the  allies 
H were  marching  towards  Tournay,  they  endea- 
|i  voured  to  return  into  the  town,  but  were  inter- 
cepted by  the  earl  of  Orkney,  by  whom  the 
whole  body  was  killed  or  taken.  These  letters 
« add,  that  twelve  hundred  dragoons  (each  horse- 
man carrying  a foot-soldier  behind  him)  were 
i detached  from  Mons  to  throw  themselves  into 
Tournay ; but,  upon  appearance  of  a great  body 
of  horse  of  the  allies,  retired  towards  Conde.  We 
hear  that  the  garrison  does  not  consist  of  more 
than  three  thousand  five  hundred  men.  Of  the 
sixty  battalions  designed  to  be  employed  in  this 
siege,  seven  are  English,  viz.  two  of  guards,  and 
! the  regiments  of  Argyle,  Temple,  Evans,  and 
! Meredith. 


. No.  36.]  Saturday^  July  2,  1703. 

Quicquid  a^unt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Pat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate'er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

\ BY  MRS.  JENNY  DISTAFF,  HALF-SISTER  TO 
I MR.  BICKERSTAFF. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  30. 

Many  affairs  calling  my  brother  into  the 

3 country,  the  care  of  our  intelligence  with  the 

4 town  is  left  to  me  for  some  time ; therefore  you 
1 must  expect  the  advices  you  meet  with  in  this 
q paper,  to  be  such  as  more  immediately  and  natu- 
;lj  rally  fall  under  the  consideration  of  our  sex. 
1i  History,  therefore,  written  by  a woman,  you 
«:  will  easily  imagine  to  consist  of  love  in  all  its 
)1;  forms,  both  in  the  abuse  of,  and  obedience  to 
I)  that  passion.  As  to  the  faculty  of  writing  itself, 
|i  it  will  not,  it  is  hoped,  be  demanded  that  style 
i and  ornament  shall  be  so  much  consulted,  as 
d truth  and  simplicity  ; which  latter  qualities  we 
a may  more  justly  pretend  to  beyond  the  other  sex. 
? While,  therefore,  the  administration  of  our  af- 
3 fairs  is  in  my  hands,  you  shall  from  time  to  time 

have  an  exact  account  of  all  false  lovers,  and 
! their  shallow  pretences  for  breaking  off;  of  all 
termagant  wives  who  make  wedlock  a yoke  ; of 
men  who  affect  the  entertainments  and  manners 
suitable  only  to  our  sex,  and  women  who  pre- 
tend to  the  conduct  of  such  affairs  as  are  only 
within  the  province  of  men.  It  is  necessary 
further  to  advertise  the  reader,  that  the  usual 
places  of  resort  being  utterly  out  of  my  pro- 
vince or  observation,  I shall  be  obliged  frequent- 
ly to  change  the  dates  of  places,  as  occurrences 
come  into  my  way.  The  following  letter  I 
lately  received  from  Epsom.* 

‘ Epsom,  June  28. 

‘ It  is  now  almost  three  weeks  since  what  you 
writ  about  happened  in  this  place.  The  quarrel 

♦ About  this  time  Epsom  was  a place  pretty  much 
resorted  to  in  the  summer  season;  but  the  company 
there  generally  consisted  more  of  people  in  health, 
than  of  persons  who  had  any  real  want  of  its  mineral 
waters. 


between  my  friends  did  not  run  so  high  as  I find 
your  accounts  have  made  it.  The  truth  of  the 
fact  you  shall  have  very  faithfully.  You  are  to 
understand,  that  the  persons  concerned  in  this 
scene  were  lady  Autumn,  and  lady  Springly  : 
Autumn  is  a person  of  good  breeding,  formality, 
and  a singular  way  practised  in  the  last  age ; 
and  lady  Springly  a modern  impertinent  of  our 
sex,  who  affects  as  improper  a familiarity,  as 
the  other  does  distance.  Lady  Autumn  knows 
to  a hair’s  breadth  where  her  place  is  in  all  as- 
semblies and  conversations;  but  Springly  nei- 
ther gives  nor  takes  place  of  any  body,  but  un- 
derstands  the  place  to  signify  no  more,  than  to 
have  room  enough  to  be  at  ease  wherever  she 
comes.  Thus,  while  Autumn  takes  the  whole 
of  this  life  to  consist  in  understanding  punctilio 
and  decorum,  Springly  takes  every  thing  to  be 
becoming,  which  contributes  to  her  ease  and 
satisfaction.  These  heroines  have  married  two 
brothers,  both  knights.  Springly  is  the  spouse 
of  the  elder,  who  is  a baronet ; and  Autumn, 
being  a rich  widow,  has  taken  the  younger,  and 
her  purse  endowed  him  with  an  equal  fortune, 
and  knighthood  of  the  same  order.  This  jum- 
ble of  titles,  you  need  not  doubt,  has  been  an 
aching  torment  to  Autumn,  who  took  place  of 
the  other  on  no  pretence,  but  her  carelessness 
and  disregard  of  distinction.  7'he  secret  occa- 
sion of  envy  broiled  long  in  the  breast  of  Au- 
tumn ; but  no  opportunity  of  contention  on  that 
subject  happening,  kept  all  things  quiet  until 
the  accident  of  which  you  demand  an  account. 

‘ It  was  given  out  among  all  the  gay  people 
of  this  place,  that  on  the  ninth  instant  several 
damsels,  swift  of  foot,  were  to  run  for  a suit  of 
head-clothes  at  the  Old  Wells.  Lady  Autumn 
on  this  occasion  invited  Springly  to  go  with  her 
in  her  coach  to  see  the  race.  When  they  came 
to  the  place,  where  the  governor  of  Epsom  and 
all  his  court  of  citizens  were  assembled,  as  well 
as  a crowd  of  people  of  all  orders,  a brisk  young 
fellow  addresses  himself  to  the  younger  of  the 
ladies,  viz.  Springly,  and  offers  her  his  service 
to  conduct  her  into  the  music-room.  Springly 
accepts  the  compliment,  and  is  led  triumphantly 
through  a bowing  crowd,  while  Autumn  is  left 
among  the  rabble,  and  has  much  ado  to  get  back 
into  her  coach  ; but  she  did  it  at  last : and  as  it 
is  usual  to  see  by  the  horses  my  lady’s  present 
disposition,  she  orders  John  to  whip  furiously 
home  to  her  husband ; where,  when  she  enters, 
down  she  sits,  began  to  unpin  her  hood,  and  la- 
ment her  foolish  fond  heart,  to  marry  into  a fa- 
mily where  she  was  so  little  regarded ; she  that 

might . Here  she  stops  ; then  rises  up,  and 

stamps  and  sits  down  again.  Her  gentle  knight 
made  his  approach  with  a supple  beseeching 

gesture.  “ My  dear!”  said  he “Tell  me  no 

dears !”  replied  Autumn,  in  the  presence  of  the 

governor  and  all  the  merchants “ What  will 

the  world  say  of  a woman  that  has  thrown  her- 
self away  at  this  rate  ?”  Sir  Thomas  withdrew, 
and  knew  it  would  not  be  long  a secret  to  him; 
as  well  as  that  experience  told  him,  he  that  mar- 
ries a fortune  is  of  course  guilty  of  all  faults 
against  his  wife,  let  them  be  committed  by  whom 
they  will.  But  Springly,  an  hour  or  two  after, 
returns  from  the  Wells,  and  finds  the  whole 
company  together.  Down  she  sat,  and  a pro- 


86 


THE  TATLER. 


found  silence  ensued.  You  know  a premedi- 
tated quarrel  usually  begins,  and  works  up  with 
the  words  some  people.  The  silence  was  broken 
by  lady  Autumn,  who  began  to  say,  “ There  are 
some  people  who  fancy,  that  if  some  people” — 
Springly  immediately  takes  her  up,  “ There  are 
some  people  who  fancy,  if  other  people” — Au- 
tumn repartees,  “ People  may  give  themselves 
airs ; but  other  people,  perhaps,  who  make  less 
ado,  may  be,  perhaps,  as  agreeable  as  people 
who  set  themselves  out  more.”  All  the  other 
people  at  the  table  sat  mute,  while  these  two 
people,  who  were  quarrelling,  went  on  with  the 
use  of  the  word  people,  instancing  the  very  ac- 
cidents between  them,  as  if  they  kept  only  in 
distant  hints.  Therefore,  says  Autumn,  red- 
dening, “ There  are  some  people  will  go  abroad 
in  other  people’s  coaches,  and  leave  those  with 
whom  they  went  to  shift  for  themselves  : and  if, 
perhaps,  those  people  have  married  the  younger 
brother ; yet,  perhaps,  he  may  be  beholden  to 
those  people  for  what  he  is.  Springly  smartly 
answers,  “People  may  bring  so  much  ill-hu- 
mour into  a family,  as  people  may  repent  their 

receiving  their  money ;”  and  goes  on  

“ Every  body  is  not  considerable  enough  to  give 
her  uneasiness.”  Upon  this  Autumn  comes  up 
to  her,  and  desired  her  to  kiss  her,  and  never  to 
see  her  again ; which  her  sister  refusing,  my 
lady  gave  her  a box  on  the  ear. Springly  re- 

turns; “x\y,  ay,*said  she,  I knew  well  enough 
you  meant  me  by  your  some  people ;”  and  gives 
another  on  the  other  side.  To  it  they  went  with 
most  masculine  fury ; each  husband  ran  in. 
The  wives  immediately  fell  upon  their  husbands, 
and  tore  perriwigs  and  cravats  ; the  company  in- 
terposed, when  (according  to  the  slip-knot  of 
matrimony,  whieh  makes  them  return  to  one 
another  when  any  put  in  between)  the  ladies 
and  their  husbands  fell  upon  all  the  rest  of  the 
company ; and,  having  beat  all  their  friends  and 
relations  out  of  the  house,  came  to  themselves 
time  enough  to  know,  there  was  no  bearing  the 
jest  of  the  place  after  these  adventures,  and 
therefore  marched  off  the  next  day.  It  is  said, 
the  governor  has  sent  several  joints  of  mutton, 
and  has  proposed  divers  dishes  very  exquisitely 
dressed,  to  bring  them  down  again.  From  his 
address  and  knowledge  in  roast  and  boiled,  all 
our  hopes  of  the  return  of  this  good  company 
depend.  I am,  dear  Jenny,  your  ready  friend 
and  servant,  JMARTHA  TATLER.’ 

White''s  Chocolate-house,  June  30. 

This  day  appeared  here  a figure  of  a person, 
whose  services  to  the  fair  sex  have  reduced  him 
to  a kind  of  existence  for  which  there  is  no 
name.  If  there  be  a condition  between  life  and 
death,  without  being  absolutely  dead  or  living, 
his  state  is  that.  His  aspect  and  complexion, 
in  his  robust  days,  gave  him  the  illustrious  title 
of  Africanus  : but  it  is  not  only  from  the  warm 
climates  in  which  he  has  served,  nor  from  the 
disasters  which  he  has  suffered,  that  he  deserves 
the  same  appellation  with  that  renowned  Ro- 
man; but  the  magnanimity  with  which  he  ap- 
pears in  his  last  moments,  is  what  gives  him 
the  undoubted  character  of  hero.  Cato  stabbed 
himself,  and  Hannibal  drank  poison;  but  our 


[No.  36. 

Africanus  lives  in  the  contipual  puncture  of 
aching  bones  and  poisoned  juices.  The  old 
heroes  fled  from  torments,  by  death ; and  this 
modern  lives  in  death  and  torments,  with  a 
heart  wholly  bent  upon  a supply  for  remaining 
in  them.  An  ordinary  spirit  would  sink  under 
his  oppressions,  but  he  makes  an  advantage  of 
his  very  sorrow,  and  raises  an  income  from  his 
diseases.  Long  has  this  worthy  been  conver- 
sant in  bartering,  and  knows  that  when  stocks 
are  lowest,  it  is  the  time  to  buy.  Therefore, 
with  much  prudence  and  tranquillity,  he  thinks, 
that  now,  he  has  not  a bone  sound,  but  a thou- 
sand nodous  parts  for  which  the  anatomists 
have  not  words,  and  more  diseases  than  the 
college  ever  heard  of,  it  is  the  only  time  to  pur- 
chase an  annuity  for  life.  Sir  Thomas  told  me, 
it  was  an  entertainment  more  surprising  and 
pleasant  than  can  be  imagined,  to  see  an  in- 
habitant of  neither  world,  without  hand  to  lift, 
or  leg  to  move,  scarce  tongue  to  utter  his  mean- 
ing, so  keen  upon  biting  the  whole  world,  and 
making  bubbles  at  his  exit.  Sir  Thomas  added, 
that  he  would  have  bought  twelve  shillings  a- 
year  of  him,  but  that  he  feared  there  was  some 
trick  in  it,  and  believed  him  already  dead. 
‘ What,’  says  the  knight,  ‘ is  Mr.  Partridge, 
whom  I met  just  now  going  on  both  his  legs 
firmer  than  I can,  allowed  to  be  quite  dead  ; and 
shall  Africanus,  without  one  limb  that  can  do 
its  office,  be  pronounced  alive  ?’ 

What  heightened  the  tragi-comedy  of  this 
market  for  annuities  was,  that  the  observation 
of  it  provoked  Monoculus  (who  is  the  most  elo- 
quent of  all  men)  to  many  excellent  reflections, 
which  he  spoke  with  the  vehemence  and  lan- 
guage both  of  a gamester  and  an  orator.  ‘ When 
I cast,’  said  that  delightful  speaker,  ‘ my  eye 
upon  thee,  thou  unaccountable  Africanus,  I 
cannot  but  call  m)^self  as  unaccountable  as  thou 
art ; for  certainly  we  were  born  to  show  what 
contradictions  nature  is  pleased  to  form  in  the 
same  species.  Here  am  I,  able  to  eat,  to  drink, 
to  sleep,  and  to  do  all  acts  of  nature,  except  be- 
getting my  like ; and  yet,  by  an  unintelligible 
force  of  spleen  and  fancy,  I every  moment  im- 
agine I am  dying.  It  is  utter  madness  in  thee 
to  provide  for  supper  ; for  I will  bet  you  ten  to 
one,  you  do  not  live  until  half  an  hour  after 
four  ; and  yet  I am  so  distracted  as  to  be  in  fear 
every  moment,  though  I will  lay  ten  to  three,  I 
drink  three  pints  of  burnt  claret  at  your  funeral 
three  nights  hence.  After  all,  I envy  thee ; 
thou  who,  dying,  hast  no  sense  of  death,  art 
happier  than  one  in  health,  who  always  fears  it.’ 
The  knight  had  gone  on,  but  that  a third  man 
ended  the  scene  by  applauding  the  knight’s 
eloquence  and  philosophy,  in  a laughter  too 
violent  for  his  own  constitution,  as  much  as  he 
mocked  that  of  Africanus  and  Monoculus. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  July  1. 

This  day  arrived  here  three  mails  from  Hol- 
land, with  advices  relating  to  the  affairs  of  the 
Low-Countries,  which  say,  that  the  confederate 
army  extends  from  Louchin,  on  the  causeway 
between  Tournay  and  Lisle,  to  Epain,  near 
Mortagne  on  the  Scheld.  The  marshal  Villars 
remains  in  his  camp  at  Lens ; but  it  is  said,  he 


THE  TATLER. 


87 


No.  37.] 

detached  ten  thousand  men  under  the  command 
of  the  chevalier  de  Luxemburg,  with  orders  to 
form  a camp  at  Crepin  on  the  Maine,  between 
Conde  and  St.  Guillain,  where  he  is  to  be  joined 
by  the  elector  of  Bavaria  with  a body  of  troops, 
and  after  their  conjunction,  to  attempt  to  march 
I . into  Brabant.  But  they  write  from  Brussels, 
j that  the  duke  of  Marlborougli  having  it  equally 
! in  his  power  to  make  detachments  to  the  same 
j parts,  they  are  under  no  apprehensions  from 
I these  reports  for  the  safety  of  their  country. 
[ They  further  add  from  Brussels,  that  they  have 
; j good  authority  for  believing  that  the  French 
' troops,  under  the  conduct  of  the  marshal  de  Be- 
I zons,  are  retiring  out  of  Spain. 


No.  37.]  Tuesday^  July  5, 1709. 

Q,uicquid  agiint  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86, 


It  may  be  thought  very  unaccountable,  that 
I,  who  can  never  be  supposed  to  go  to  White’s, 
should  pretend  to  talk  to  you  of  matters  proper 
' for,  or  in  the  style  of  that  place.  But  though 
I never  visit  these  public  haunts,  I converse 
with  those  who  do  ; and  for  all  they  pretend  so 
much  to  the  contrary,  they  are  as  talkative  as 
^ our  sex,  and  as  much  at  a loss  to  entertain  the 
I present  company,  without  sacrificing  the  last, 
j as  we  ourselves.  This  reflection  has  led  me 
into  the  consideration  of  the  use  of  speech  ; and 
made  me  look  over  in  my  memory,  all  my  ac- 
I quaintance  of  both  sexes,  to  know  to  which  I 
: may  more  justly  impute  the  sin  of  superfluous 

discourse  in  regard  to  conversation,  wuthout 
entering  into  it,  as  it  respects  religion. 

I foresee  my  acquaintance  will,  immediately 
upon  starting  this  subject,  ask  me  how  I shall 
celebrate  Mrs.  Alse  Copswood,  the  Yorkshire 
huntress,  who  is  come  to  town  lately,  and  moves 
as  if  she  were  on  her  nag,  and  going  to  take  a 
five-bar  gate  ; and  is  as  loud  as  if  she  were  fol- 
lowing her  dogs  ? I can  easily  answer  that ; for 
she  is  as  soft  as  Damon,  in  comparison  of  her 
brother-in-law,  Tom  Bellfrey,  who  is  the  most 
accomplished  man  in  this  kingdom  for  all  gen- 
tleman-like activities  and  accomplishments.  It 
is  allowed,  that  he  is  a professed  enemy  to  the 
Italian  performers  in  music.  But  then  for  our 
own  native  manner,  according  to  the  customs 
and  known  usage  of  our  island,  he  is  to  be  pre- 
ferred, for  the  generality  of  the  pleasure  he  be- 
stows, much  before  those  fellows,  though  they 
sing  to  full  theatres.  For  what  is  a theatrical 
voice  to  that  of  a fox-hunter  ? I have  been  at  a 
musical  entertainment  in  an  open  field,  where 
it  amazed  me  to  hear  to  what  pitches  the  chief 
masters  would  reach.  There  was  a meeting 
near  our  seat  in  Staffordshire,  and  the  most 
eminent  of  all  the  counties  of  England  were  at 


it.  How  wonderful  was  the  harmony  between 
men  and  dogs  ! Robin  Cartail  of  Bucks  was  to 
answer  to  Jowler ; Mr.  Tinbreast  of  Cornwall 
was  appointed  to  open  with  Sweetlips,  and  beau 
Slimber,  a Londoner,  undertook  to  keep  up  with 
Trips,  a whelp  just  set  in : Tom  Bellfrey  and 
Ringwood  were  coupled  together,  to  fill  the  cry 
on  all  occasions,  and  be  in  at  the  death  of  the 
fox,  hare,  or  stag  ; for  wfliich,  both  the  dog  and 
the  man  were  excellently  suited,  and  loved  one 
another,  and  were  as  much  together  as  Banister 
and  King.  When  Jowler  first  alarmed  the  field, 
Cartail  repeated  every  note  ; Sweetlip’s  treble 
succeeded,  and  shook  the  wood;  Tinbreast 
echoed  a quarter  of  a mile  beyond  it.  We 
were  soon,  after  all,  at  a loss,  until  we  rode  up 
and  found  Trips  and  Slimber  at  a default  in  half 
notes;  but  the  day  and  the  tune  was  recovered 
by  Tom  Bellfrey  and  Ringwood,  to  the  great 
joy  of  us  all,  though  they  drowned  every  other 
voice  : for  Bellfrey  carries  a note  four  furlongs, 
tliree  rods,  and  six  paces,  farther  than  any 
other  in  England. 

I fear  the  mention  of  this  will  be  thought  a 
digression  from  my  purpose  about  speech  ; but 
I answer,  no.  Since  this  is  used  where  speech 
rather  should  be  employed,  it  may  come  into 
consideration  in  the  same  chapter : for  Mr. 
Bellfrey  being  at  a visit  where  I was,  viz.  at 
his  cousin’s  (Lady  Dainty’s)  in  Soho-square, 
was  asked,  what  entertainments  they  had  in  the 
country  ? Now,  Belfrey  is  very  ignorant,  and 
much  a clown ; but  confident  withal.  In  a 
word,  he  struck  up  a fox-chase  ; lady  Dainty’s 
dog,  Mr.  Sippet,  as  slie  calls  him,  started, 
jumped  out  of  his  lady’s  lap,  and  fell  a-barking. 
Bellfrey  went  on,  and  called  all  the  neighbour- 
ing parisli  into  the  square.  Never  Avas  woman 
in  such  confusion  as  that  delicate  lady.  But 
there  was  no  stopping  her  kinsman.  A room 
full  of  ladies  fell  into  the  most  violent  laughter : 
my  lady  looked  as  if  slie  was  slirieking  : Mr. 
Sippet  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  breaking  his 
heart  wuth  barking,  but  all  of  us  unheard.  As 
soon  as  Bellfrey  became  silent,  up  gets  my  lady, 
and  takes  him  by  the  arm,  to  lead  him  off; 
Bellfrey  was  in  his  boots.  As  she  was  hurry- 
ing him  away,  his  spurs  talie  hold  of  her  pet- 
ticoat ; his  whip  throws  down  a cabinet  of 
china ; he  cries,  ‘ What ! are  your  crocks  rot- 
ten ? are  your  petticoats  ragged  ? a man  cannot 
walk  in  your  house  for  trincums.’ 

Every  county  of  Great  Britain  has  one  hun- 
dred or  more  of  this  sort  of  fellows,  who  roar 
instead  of  speaking.  Therefore  if  it  be  true, 
that  we  w’omen  are  also  given  to  a greater  flu- 
ency of  words  than  is  necessary,  sure,  she  that 
disturbs  but  a room  or  family,  is  more  to  be 
tolerated,  than  one  who  draws  together  whole 
parishes  and  counties,  and  sometimes  (with  an 
estate  that  might  make  him  the  blessing  and 
ornament  of  the  world  around  him)  has  no 
other  view  and  ambition,  but  to  be  an  animal 
above  dogs  and  horses,  without  the  relish  of 
any  one  enjoyment  w'hich  is  peculiar  to  the 
faculties  of  human  nature.  I know  it  will  here 
be  said,  that  talking  of  mere  country  squires  at 
this  rate,  is,  as  it  were,  to  write  against  Valen- 
tine and  Orson.  To  prove  any  thing  against 
the  race  of  men,  you  must  take  them  as  they  are 


Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

BY  MRS.  JENNY  DISTAFF,  HALF-SISTER  TO 
MR.  BICKERSTAFF. 

White’s  Chocolate-house,  July  2. 


88 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  38. 


adorned  with  education  ; as  they  live  in  courts, 
or  have  received  instructions  in  colleges. 

But  I am  so  full  of  iny  late  entertainment  by 
Mr.  Bellfrey,  that  I must  defer  pursuing  this 
subject  to  another  day  ; and  wave  the  proper 
observations  on  the  different  offenders  in  this 
kind,  some  by  profound  eloquence  on  small  oc- 
casions, others  by  degrading  speech  upon  great 
circumstances.  Expect,  therefore,  to  hear  of 
the  whisperer  without  business,  the  laugher 
without  wit,  the  complainer  without  receiving 
injuries,  and  a very  large  crowd,  which  I shall 
not  forestall,  who  are  common  (though  not  com- 
monly observed)  impertinents,  whose  tongues 
are  too  valuable  for  their  brains,  and  are  the 
general  despisers  of  us  women,  though  we 
have  their  superiors,  men  of  sense,  for  our  ser- 
vants. 

* 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  July  3. 

A very  ingenious  gentleman  was  complain- 
ing this  evening,  that  the  players  are  grown  so 
severe  critics,  that  they  would  not  take  in  his 
play,  though  it  has  as  many  fine  things  in  it  as 
any  play  that  has  been  writ  since  the  days  of 
Dryden.  He  began  his  discourse  about  his 
play  with  a preface. 

‘ There  is,’  said  he,  ‘ Somewhat  (however  we 
palliate  it)  in  the  very  frame  and  make  of  us, 
that  subjects  our  minds  to  chagrin  and  irre- 
solution on  any  emergency  of  time  or  place. 
The  difficult}'-  grows  on  our  sickened  imagina- 
tion, under  all  the  killing  circumstances  of 
danger  and  disappointment.  This  we  see,  not 
only  in  the  men  of  retirement  and  fancy,  but  in 
the  characters  of  the  men  of  action;  with  this 
only  difference,  the  coward  sees  the  danger,  and 
sickens  under  it ; the  hero,  warmed  by  the  diffi- 
culty, dilates,  and  rises  in  proportion  to  that, 
and  in  some  sort  makes  use  of  his  very  fears  to 
disarm  it.  A remarkable  instance  of  this  we 
have  in  the  great  Caesar,  when  he  came  to  the 
Rubicon,  and  was  entering  upon  a part,  perhaps 
the  most  hazardous  he  ever  bore  (certainly  the 
most  ungrateful)  a war  with  his  countrymen. 
When  his  mind  brooded  o’er  personal  affronts, 
perhaps  his  anger  burned  with  a desire  of  rel 
venge.  But  when  more  serious  reflections  laid 
before  him  the  hazard  of  the  enterprise,  with 
the  dismal  consequences  which  were  like  to  at- 
tend it,  aggravated  by  a special  circumstance, 
“ What  figure  it  would  bear  in  the  world,  or 
how  be  excused  to  posterity ! What  shall  he 

do?” His  honour,  which  was  his  religion, 

bids  him  arm  ; and  he  sounds  the  inclinations 
of  his  party,  by  this  set  speech  : 

C^SAR  TO  HIS  PARTY  AT  THE  RUBICON. 

‘Great  Jove,  attend,  and  thmi  my  native  soil, 

Safe  in  my  triumphs,  glutted  in  my  spoil ; 

Witness  with  wiiat  reluctance  I oppose 
My  arms  to  thine,  secure  of  other  foes. 

What  passive  breast  can  bear  disgrace  like  mine? 
Traitor !— Fox  this  I conquered  on  tlie  Rhine, 
Endured  their  ten  years’  drudgery  in  Gaul, 

Adjourned  their  fate,  and  saved  the  Capitol. 

I grew  by  every  guilty  triumph  less ; ) 

The  crowd,  when  drunk  with  joy,  their  souls  express,  V 
Impatient  of  the  war,  yet  fear  success.  I 


Brave  actions  dazzle  with  too  bright  a ray; 

Like  birds  obscene,  they  chatter  at  the  day  ; 

Giddy  with  rule,  and  valiant  in  debate. 

They  throw  the  die  of  v.  ar,  to  save  the  state. 

And,  Gods  ! to  gild  ingratitude  with  fame. 

Assume  the  patriot’s,  Ve  the  rebel’s  name. 

Farewell,  my  friends,  your  general  forlorn, 

I’o  your  bare  pity,  and  the  public  scorn. 

Must  lay  that  Jionour  and  his  laurel  down, 

To  serve  the  vain  caprices  of  the  gown  ; 

E-xposed  to  all  indignities,  the  brave 
Deserve  of  those  they  gloried  but  to  save. 

To  rods  and  axes! — No,  the  slaves  can’t  dare 
Play  with  my  grief,  and  tempt  my  last  despair. 

This,  shall  the  honours  which  it  won,  maintain. 

Or  do  me  justice,  ere  1 hug  my  chain.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  July  4. 

There  has  arrived  no  mail  since  our  last ; 
so  that  we  have  no  manner  of  foreign  news, 
except  we  were  to  give  you  for  such,  the  many 
speculations  which  are  on  foot  concerning  what 
was  imported  by  the  last  advices.  There  are, 
it  seems,  sixty  battalions  and  seventeen  squad- 
rons appointed  to  serve  in  the  siege  of  Tour- 
nay  ; the  garrison  of  which  place  consists  of 
but  eleven  battalions  and  four  squadrons.  Let- 
ters of  the  twenty-ninth  of  the  last  month  from 
Berlin,  have  brought  advice,  that  the  kings  of 
Denmark  and  Prussia,  and  his  majesty  Augus- 
tus, were,  within  few  days,  to  come  to  an  inter- 
view at  Potsdam.  These  letters  mention,  that 
two  Polish  princes,  of  the  family  of  Sapieha 
and  Lubermirsky,  lately  arrived  from  Paris, 
confirm  the  reports  of  the  misery  in  France  for 
want  of  provisions,  and  give  a particular  in- 
stance of  it ; which  is,  that  on  the  day  monsieur 
Rouille  returned  to  court,  the  common  people 
gathered  in  crowds  about  the  dauphin’s  coach, 
crying,  ‘Peace  and  bread,  bread  and  peace.’ 
Mrs.  Distaff  has  taken  upon  her,  while  she 
writes  this  paper,  to  turn  her  thoughts  wholly 
to  the  service  of  her  own  sex,  and  to  propose 
remedies  against  the  greatest  vexations  attend- 
ing female  life.  She  has  for  this  end  written 
a small  treatise  concerning  the  Second  Word, 
with  an  appendix  on  the  use  of  a Reply,  very 
proper  for  all  such  as  are  married  to  persons 
either  ill-bred,  or  ill-natured.  There  is  in  this 
tract  a digression  for  the  use  of  virgins,  con- 
cerning the  w’ords,  I Will. 

A gentlewoman  who  has  a very  delicate  ear, 
wants  a maid  w’ho  can  whisper,  and  help  her 
in  the  government  of  her  family.  If  the  said 
servant  can  clear-starch,  lisp,  and  tread  softly, 
she  shall  have  suitable  encouragement  in  her 
wages. 


No.  38.]  Thursday,  July  7,  1709. 

Q,uicqnid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

BY  MRS.  JENNY  DISTAFF,  HALF-SISTER  TO 
MR.  BICKER  STAFF. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  6. 

I FIND  among  my  brother’s  papers  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  verbatim,  which  I wonder  how 


No.  38.] 


THE  TATLER. 


89 


he  could  suppress  so  long  as  he  has,  since  it  was 
sent  him  for  no  other  end,  but  to  show  the 
good  effect  his  writings  have  already  had  upon 
the  ill  customs  of  the  age. 

London,  June  23. 

‘ Sir, — The  end  of  all  public  papers  ought  to 
bo  the  benefit  and  instruction,  as  well  as  the  di- 
version of  the  readers  : to  which  I see  none  so 
truly  conducive  as  your  late  performances ; 
especially  those  tending  to  the  rooting  out  from 
among  us,  that  unchristian-like  and  bloody 
custom  of  duelling ; which,  that  you  have  al- 
ready in  some  measure  performed,  will  appear 
to  the  public  in  the  following  no  less  true  than 
heroic  story. 

‘ A noble  gentleman  of  this  city,  who  has  the 
honour  of  serving  his  country  as  majbr  of  the 
trainbands,  being  at  the  general  mart  of  stock- 
jobbers, called  Jonathan’s,  endeavouring  to  raise 
himself  (as  all  men  of  honour  ought)  to  the  de- 
gree of  colonel  at  least ; it  happened  that  he 
bought  the  hear  of  another  officer,  who,  though 
not  commissioned  in  the  army,  yet  no  less  emi- 
nently serves  the  public  than  the  other,  in  rais- 
ing the  credit  of  the  kingdom,  by  raising  that 
of  the  stocks.  However,  having  sold  the  hear, 
and  words  arising  about  the  delivery,  the  most 
noble  major,  no  less  scorning  to  be  outwitted  in 
the  coffee-house,  than  to  run  into  the  field  ac- 
cording to  method,  abused  the  otlier  with  the 
titles  of  rogue,  villain,  bearskin-man,  and  the 
like.  Whereupon  satisfaction  was  demanded, 
and  accepted ; so,  forth  the  major  marched, 
commanding  his  adversary  to  follow.  To  a 
most  spacious  room  in  the  sheriff’s  house,  near 
the  place  of  quarrel,  they  come ; where,  having 
due  regard  to  what  you  have  lately  published, 
they  resolved  not  to  shed  one  anotlier’s  blood 
in  that  barbarous  manner  you  prohibited ; yet, 
not  willing  to  put  up  affronts  without  satisfac- 
tion, they  stripped,  and,  in  decent  manner, 
fought  full  fairly  with  their  wrathful  hands. 
The  combat  lasted  a quarter  of  an  hour  ; in 
which  time  victory  was  often  doubtful,  and 
many  a dry  blow  was  strenuously  laid  on  by 
each  side,  until  the  major,  finding  his  adversary 
obstinate,  unwilling  to  give  him  further  chas- 
tisement, with  most  shrill  voice  cried  out,  “ I 
am  satisfied,  enough  !”  Whereupon  the  combat 
ceased,  and  both  were  friends  immediately. 

‘ Thus  the  world  may  see,  how  necessary  it 
is  to  encourage  those  men,  who  make  it  their 
business  to  instruct  the  people  in  every  thing 
necessary  for  their  preservation.  I am  in- 
formed, a body  of  worthy  citizens  have  agreed 
on  an  address  of  thanks  to  you,  for  what  you 
have  writ  on  the  foregoing  subject,  whereby 
they  acknowledge  one  of  their  highly  e-steemed 
officers  preserved  from  death. — Your  humble 
servant.  A.  B.’ 

I fear  the  word  hear  is  hardly  to  be  under- 
stood among  the  polite  people  ; but  I take  the 
meaning  to  be,  that  one  who  insures  a real 
value  upon  an  imaginary  thing,  is  said  to  sell 
a hear,  and  is  the  same  thing  as  a promise 
among  courtiers,  or  a vow  between  lovers.  I 
have  writ  to  my  brother  to  hasten  to  town ; and 
hope  that  printing  the  letters  directed  to  him, 
M 


which  I know  not  how  to  answer,  will  bring 
him  speedily  ; and,  therefore,  1 add  also  the 
following : 

July  5,  1709. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — You  have  hinted  a ge- 
nerous intention  of  taking  under  your  con- 
sideration the  whisperers  without  business,  and 
laughers  without  occasion  ; as  you  tender  the 
welfare  of  your  country,  I entreat  you  not  to 
forget  or  delay  so  public-spirited  a work.  Now 
or  never  is  the  time.  Many  other  calamities 
may  cease  with  the  war ; but  I dismally  dread 
the  multiplication  of  these  mortals  under  the 
ease  and  luxuriousness  of  a settled  peace,  half 
the  blessing  of  which  may  be  destroyed  by  them. 
Their  mistake  lies  certainly  here,  in  a wretched 
belief,  that  their  mimicry  passes  for  real  busi- 
ness, or  true  wit.  Dear  sir,  convince  them,  that 
it  never  was,  is,  or  ever  will  be,  either  of  them; 
nor  ever  did,  does,  or  to  all  futurity  ever  can, 
look  like  either  of  them ; but  that  it  is  the  most 
cursed  disturbance  in  nature,  which  is  possible 
to  be  inflicted  on  mankind,  under  the  noble 
definition  of  a sociable  creature.  In  doing  this, 
sir,  you  will  oblige  more  humble  servants  than 
can  find  room  to  subscribe  their  names.’ 

White's  Chocolate-house,  July  6. 

In  pursuance  to  my  last  date  from  hence,  I 
am  to  proceed  on  the  accounts  I promised  of 
several  personages  among  the  men,  whose  con- 
spicuous  fortunes,  or  ambition  in  showing  their 
follies,  have  exalted  them  above  their  fellows. 
The  levity  of  their  minds  is  visible  in  their 
every  word  and  gesture,  and  there  is  not  a day 
passes  but  puts  me  in  mind  of  Mr.  Wycherley’s 
character  of  a coxcomb  : ‘He  is  ugly  all  over 
with  the  affectation  of  the  fine  gentleman.’  Now 
though  the  women  may  put  on  softness  in  their 
looks,  or  affected  severity,  or  impertinent  gaiety, 
or  pert  smartness,  their  self-love  and  admiration 
cannot,  under  any  of  the^  disguises,  appear  so 
invincible  as  that  of  the  men.  You  may  easily 
take  notice,  that  in  all  their  actions  there  is  a 
secret  approbation,  either  in  the  tone  of  their 
voice,  tlie  turn  of  their  body,  or  cast  of  their 
eye,  which  shows  that  they  are  extremely  in 
their  own  favour. 

Take  one  of  your  men  of  business,  he  shall 
ke’ep  you  half  an  hour  with  your  hat  off,  enter- 
taining you  with  his  consideration  of  that  affair 
you  spoke  of  to  him  last,  until  he  has  drawn  a 
crowd  that  observes  you  in  this  grimace.  Then, 
when  he  is  public  enough,  he  immediately  runs 
into  secrets,  and  falls  a- whispering.  You  and 
he  make  breaks  with  adverbs ; as,  ‘ But  how- 
ever, thus  far;’  and  then  you  whisper  again, 
and  so  on,  until  they  who  are  about  you  are 
dispersed,  and  your  busy  man’s  vanity  is  no 
longer  gratified  by  the  notice  taken  of  what  im- 
portance he  is,  and  how  inconsiderable  you  are; 
for  your  pretender  to  business  is  never  in  secret, 
but  in  public. 

There  is  my  dear  lord  Nowhere,  of  all  men 
the  most  gracious  and  most  obliging,  the  terror 
of  valets  de  chambre,  whom  he  oppresses  with 
good-breeding,  by  inquiring  for  my  good  lord, 
and  for  my  good  lady’s  health.  This  inimitable 


90 


THE  TATLER. 


courtier  will  whisper  a privy-counsellor’s  lac- 
quey with  the  utmost  goodness  and  condescen- 
sion, to  know  when  they  next  sit ; and  is  tho- 
roughly taken  up,  and  thinks  he  has  a part  in  a 
secret,  if  he  knows  that  there  is  a secret.  ‘What 
it  is,’  he  will  whisper  you,  that  ‘ time  will  dis- 
cover then  he  shrugs,  and  calls  you  back 

again ‘ Sir,  I need  not  say  to  you,  that 

these  things  are  not  to  be  spoken  of and 

harkye,  no  names,  I would  not  be  quoted.’ 
What  adds  to  the  jest  is,  that  his  emptiness  has 
its  moods  and  seasons,  and  he  will  not  conde- 
scend to  let  you  into  these  his  discoveries,  except 
he  is  in  very  good  humour,  or  has  seen  some- 
body of  fashion  talk  to  you.  He  will  keep  his 
nothing  to  himself,  and  pass  by  and  overlook  as 
well  as  the  best  of  them;  not  observing  tliat  he 
is  insolent  when  he  is  gracious,  and  obliging 
when  he  is  haughty.  Show  me  a woman  so  in- 
considerable as  this  frequent  character. 

But  my  mind,  now  I am  in,  turns  to  many  no 
less  observable.  Thou,  dear  Will  Shoestring!  I 
profess  myself  in  love  with  thee ! how  shall  I 
speak  thee?  how  shall  I address  thee?  how  shall 
I draw  thee?  thou  dear  outside  ! Will  you  be 
combing  your  wig,  playing  with  your  box,  or 
picking  your  teeth  ? or  choosest  thou  rather  to 
be  speaking ; to  be  speaking  for  thy  only  pur- 
pose in  speaking,  to  show  your  teeth  ? Rub 
them  no  longer,  dear  Shoestring:*  do  not  pre- 
meditate murder  : do  not  for  ever  whiten.  Oh ! 
that  for  my  quiet  and  his  own  they  were  rotten  ! 

But  I will  forget  him,  and  give  my  hand  to 
the  courteous  Umbra.  He  is  a fine  man  indeed, 
but  the  soft  creature  bows  below  my  apron - 
string,  before  he  takes  it ; yet,  after  the  first 
ceremonies,  he  is  as  familiar  as  my  physician, 
and  his  insignificancy  makes  me  half  ready  to 
complain  to  him  of  all  I would  to  my  doctor. 
He  is  so  courteous,  that  he  carries  half  the 
messages  of  ladies’  ails  in  town  to  their  mid- 
wives and  nurses.  He  understands  too  the  art 
of  medicine,  as  far  as  to  the  cure  of  a pimple,  or 
a rash.  On  occasions  of  the  like  importance,  he 
is  the  most  assiduous  of  all  men  living,  in  con- 
sulting and  searching  precedents  from  family 
to  family  ; then  he  speaks  of  his  obsequiousness 
and  diligence  in  the  style  of  real  services.  If 
you  sneer  at  him,  and  thank  him  for  his  great 
friendship,  he  bows,  and  says,  ‘ Madam,  all  the 
good  offices  in  my  power,  while  I have  any 
knowledge  or  credit,  shall  be  at  your  service.’ 
The  consideration  of  so  shallow  a being,  and 
the  intent  application  with  which  he  pursues 
triffes,  has  made  me  carefully  reffect  upon  that 
sort  of  men  we  usually  call  an  impertinent:  and 
I am,  upon  mature  deliberation,  so  far  from  be- 
ing offended  with  him,  that  I am  really  obliged 
to  him ; for  though  he  will  take  you  aside,  and 
talk  half  an  hour  to  you  upon  matters  wholly  in- 
significant, with  the  most  solemn  air,  yet  I con- 
sider, that  these  things  are  of  weight  in  his  im- 
agination, and  thinks  he  is  communicating  what 
is  for  my  service.  If,  therefore,  it  be  a just 
rule,  to  judge  of  a man  by  his  intention,  ac- 


* Sir  William  Wliitlocke,  knight,  member  for  Oxon, 
bencher  of  the  Middle  Temple:  he  is  the  learned  knight 
mentioned,  Tat.  No.  43. 


[No.  38. 

cording  to  the  equity  of  good  breeding,  he  that 
is  impertinently  kind  or  wise,  to  do  you  service, 
ought  in  return  to  have  a proportionable  place' 
both  in  your  affection  and  esteem ; so  that  the 
courteous  Umbra  deserves  the  favour  of  all  his 
acquaintance ; for  though  he  never  served  them, 
he  is  ever  willing  to  do  it,  and  believes  he  does 
it. 

As  impotent  kindness  is  to  be  returned  with 
all  our  abilities  to  oblige ; so  impotent  malice  is 
to  be  treated  with  all  our  force  to  depress  it.  For 
this  reason  Fly-blow  (who  is  received  in  all  the 
families  in  town,  through  the  degeneracy  and 
iniquity  of  their  manners)  is  to  be  treated  like  a 
knave,  though  he  is  one  of  the  w^eakest  of  fools  : 
he  has  by  rote,  and  at  second-hand,  all  that  can 
be  said  of  any  man  of  figure,  wit,  and  virtue,  in 
town.  Name  a man  of  worth,  and  this  creature 
tells  you  the  worst  passage  of  his  life.  Speak 
of  a beautiful  woman,  and  this  puppy  will  whis- 
per the  next  man  to  him,  though  he  has  nothing 
to  say  of  her.  He  is  a ffy  that  feeds  on  the  sore 
part,  and  would  have  nothing  to  live  on  if  the 
whole  body  were  in  health.  You  may  know 
him  hy  the  frequency  of  pronouncing  the  parti- 
cle hut;  for  which  reason  I never  heard  him 
spoke  of  with  common  charity,  without  using 
my  hut  against  him  : for  a friend  of  mine  saying 
the  other  day,  ‘ Mrs.  Distaff  has  wit,  good-hu- 
mour, virtue,  and  friendship ;’  this  oaf  added, 

‘ But  she  is  not  handsome.’  ‘ Coxcomb  ! the 
gentleman  was  saying  what  I was,  not  what  I 
was  not.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  July  6. 

The  approaches  before  Tournay  have  been 
carried  on  with  great  success ; and  our  advices 
from  the  camp  before  that  place  of  the  eleventh 
instant  say,  that  they  had  already  made  a lodg- 
ment on  the  glacis.  Two  hundred  boats  were 
come  up  the  Scheld  with  the  heavy  artillery  and 
ammunition,  which  would  be  employed  in  dis- 
mounting the  enemy’s  defences,  and  raised  on 
the  batteries  the  fifteenth.  A great  body  of 
miners  are  summoned  to  the  camp,  to  counter- 
mine the  works  of  the  enemy.  We  are  con- 
vinced of  the  weakness  of  the  garrison  b}’^  a 
certain  account,  that  they  called  a council  of 
war  to  consult  whether  it  was  not  advisable  to 
march  into  the  citadel,  and  leave  the  town  de- 
fenceless. We  are  assured,  that  when  the  con- 
federate army  was  advancing  towards  the  camp 
of  marshal  Villars,  that  general  despatched  a 
courier  to  his  master  with  a letter,  giving  an  ac- 
count of  their  approach,  which  concluded  with 
the  following  words : ‘ The  day  begins  to  break, 
and,  your  majesty’s  army  is  already  in  order  of 
battle.  Before  noon  I hope  to  have  the  honour 
of  congratulating  your  majesty  on  the  success 
of  a great  action;  and  you  shall  be  very  well 
satisfied  with  the  marshal  Villars.’ 

Mrs.  Distaff  hath  received  the  dialogue,  dated 
Monday  evening,  which  she  has  sent  forward 
to  Mr.  Bickerstaff  at  Maidenhead : and  in  the 
mean  time  gives  her  service  to  the  parties. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  that  when  any  part  of  this 
paper  appears  dull,  there  is  a design  in  it. 


THE  TATLER. 


91 


No.  39.] 

No.  39.]  Saturday^  July  9,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  li  belli.  ,/«?;.•  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 


BY  ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF,  ESQ. 

Grecian  Coffee-house^  July  7. 

As  I am  called  forth  by  the  immense  love  I 
bear  to  my  fellow-creatures,  and  the  warm  in- 
clination I feel  w ithin  me,  to  stem,  as  far  as  I 
can,  the  prevailing  torrent  of  vice  and  ignorance ; 
so  I cannot  more  properly  pursue  that  noble  im- 
pulse, than  by  setting  forth  the  excellence  of 
virtue  and  knowledge  in  their  native  and  beau- 
tiful colours.  For  this  reason,  I made  my  late 
excursion  to  Oxford,  w’here  those  qualities  ap- 
pear in  their  highest  lustre,  and  are  the  only 
pretences  to  honour  and  distinction.  Superiority 
is  there  giv.en  in  proportion  to  men’s  advance- 
ment in  wisdom  and  learning;  and  that  just 
rule  of  life  is  so  universally  received  among 
those  happy  people,  that  you  shall  see  an  earl 
walk  bare-headed  to  the  son  of  the  meanest  ar- 
tificer, in  respect  to  seven  years’  more  worth 
and  knowledge  than  the  nobleman  is  possessed 
of.  In  other  places  they  bow  to  men’s  fortunes, 
but  here  to  their  understandings.  It  is  not  to 
be  expressed,  how  pleasing  the  order,  the  disci- 
pline, the  regularity  of  their  lives,  is  to  a phi- 
losopher, who  has,  by  many  years  experience  in 
the  world,  learned  to  contemn  every  thing  but 
what  is  revered  in  this  mansion  of  select  and 
well-taught  spirits.  The  magnificence  of  their 
palaces,  the  greatness  of  their  revenues,  the 
sweetness  of  their  groves  and  retirements,  seem 
equally  adapted  for  the  residence  of  princes  and 
philosophers;  and  a familiarity  with  objects  of 
splendour,  as  well  as  places  of  recess,  prepares 
the  inhabitants  with  an  equanimity  for  their  fu- 
ture fortunes,  whether  humble  or  illustrious. 
How  was  I pleased  when  I looked  round  at  St. 
Mary’s  and  could,  in  the  faces  of  the  ingenious 
vouth,  see  ministers  of  state,  chancellors,  bish- 
ops, and  judges.  Here  only  is  human  life ! 
Here  only  the  life  of  man  is  that  of  a rational 
being  ! Here  men  understand  and  are  employ- 
e.l  in  works  worthy  their  noble  nature.  This 
transitory  being  passes  away  in  an  employment 
not  unworthy  a future  state,  the  contemplation 
of  the  great  decrees  of  Providence.  Each  man 
lives  as  if  he  were  to  answer  the  questions  made 
to  Job,  ‘Where  wast  thou  when  I laid  the  foun- 
dations of  the  earth  ? Who  shut  up  the  sea 
with  doors,  and  said,  ‘ Hitherto  thou  shalt  come, 
and  no  farther  ?’  Such  speculations  make  life 
agreeable,  and  death  welcome. 

But,  alas  ! I was  torn  from  this  noble  society 
by  the  business  of  this  dirty  mean  world,  and 
the  cares  of  fortune : for  I was  obliged  to  be  in 
London  against  the  seventh  day  of  the  term, 
and  accordingly  governed  myself  by  my  Oxford 
almanack,*  and  came  last  night ; but  find,  to  my 


* The  humour  of  this  paper  is  not  peculiarly  re- 
stricted to  the  Oxford  almanack  for  the  year  1709;  it  is 
equally  applicable  to  all  the  Oxford  almanacks  before 
or  since  that  period,  being  founded  on  the  difference  be- 


great  astonishment,  that  this  ignorant  town  be- 
gan the  term  on  the  twenty -fburtli  of  the  last 
month,  in  opposition  to  all  tlie  learning  and 
astronomy  of  the  famous  University  of  wliich  I 
have  been  speaking;  according  to  which,  the 
term  certainly  v/as  to  commence  on  the  first  in- 
stant. You  may  be  sure  a man,  who  has  turned 
his  studies  as  I have,  could  not  be  mistaken  in 
point  of  time ; for  knowing  I was  to  come  to 
town  in  term,  I examined  the  passing  moments 
very  narrowly,  and  called  an  eminent  astrono- 
mer  to  my  assistance.  Upon  very  strict  obser- 
vation we  found,  that  the  cold  has  been  so  severe 
this  last  winter  (which  is  allowed  to  have  a be- 
numbing quality)  that  it  retarded  the  earth  in 
moving  round,  from  Christmas  to  this  season, 
full  seven  days  and  two  seconds.  My  learned 
friend  assured  me  further,  that  the  earth  had 
lately  received  a shogg  from  a comet  that  cross- 
ed its  vortex,  which,  if  it  had  come  ten  degrees 
nearer  to  us  had  made  us  lose  this  w'hole  term. 
I was  indeed  once  of  opinion  that  the  Gregorian 
computation  w^as  the  most  regular,  as  being 
eleven  days  before  the  Julian  ; but  am  now  fully 
convinced,  that  we  ought  to  be  seven  days  after 
the  chancellor  and  judges,  and  eighteen  before 
the  pope  of  Rome  ; and  that  the  Oxonian  compu- 
tation is  the  best  of  the  three. 

These  are  the  reasons  which  I have  gathered 
from  philosophy  and  nature;  to  which  I can 
add  other  circumstances  in  vindication  of  the 
account  of  this  learned  body  who  publish  this 
almanack. 

It  is  notorious  to  philosophers,  that  joy  and 
grief  can  hasten  and  delay  time.  Mr.  Locke 
is  of  opinion,  that  a man  in  great  misery  may 
so  far  lose  his  measure,  as  to  think  a minute  an 
hour ; or  in  joy  make  an  hour  a minute.  Let  us 
examine  the  present  case  by  this  rule,  and  we 
shall  find,  that  the  cause  of  this  general  mistake 
in  the  British  nation,  has  been  the  great  success 
of  the  last  campaign,  and  the  following  hopes  of 
peace.  Stocks  ran  so  high  at  the  Exchange, 
that  the  citizens  had  gained  three  days  of  the 
courtiers  ; and  we  have  indeed  been  so  happy  all 
this  reign,  that  if  the  University  did  not  rectify 
our  mistakes,  we  should  think  ourselves  but  in 
the  second  year  of  her  present  majesty.  It 
would  be  endless  to  enumerate  the  many  dam- 
ages that  have  happened  by  this  ignorance  of 
the  vulgar.  All  the  recognisances  within  the 
diocess  of  Oxford  have  been  forfeited,  for  not 
appearing  on  the  first  day  of  this  fictitious  term. 
The  University  has  been  nonsuited  in  their  ac- 
tion against  the  booksellers  for  printing  Claren- 
don in  quarto.  Indeed,  what  gives  me  the  most 
quick  concern,  is  the  case  of  a poor  gentleman, 
my  friend,  who  W’as  the  other  day  taken  in  exe- 
cution by  a set  of  ignorant  bailifts.  He  should, 
it  seems,  have  pleaded  in  the  first  week  of 
term ; but  being  a master  of  Arts  at  Oxford,  he 
would  not  recede  from  the  Oxonian  computation. 
He  showed  Mr.  Broad  the  almanack,  and  the 
very  day  when  the  term  began ; but  the  merci- 
less, ignorant  fellow,  against  all  sense  and  learn- 
ing,  would  hurry  him  away.  He  went,  indeed, 
quietly  enough  ; but  he  has  taken  exact  notes  of 

tween  the  University  terms  and  the  Law  terms,  just  as 
obvious  now  as  it  was  then,  as  may  be  seen,  by  com 
paring  the  Oxford  with  the  London  almanack. 


92 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  39. 


the  time  of  arrest,  and  sufficient  witnesses  of 
his  being'  carried  into  gaol ; and  has,  by  advice 
of  the  recorder  of  Oxford,  brought  his  action ; 
and  we  doubt  not  but  we  shall  pay  them  off 
with  damages,  and  blemish  the  reputation  of 
Mr.  Broad.  We  have  one  convincing  proof, 
which  all  that  frequent  the  courts  of  justice  are 
witnesses  of : the  dog  that  comes  constantly  to 
Westminster  on  the  first  day  of  the  term,  did 
not  appear  until  the  first  day  according  to  the 
Oxford  almanack  ; whose  instinct  1 take  to  be 
a better  guide  than  men’s  erroneous  opinions, 
which  are  usually  biassed  by  interest.  I judge 
in  this  case,  as  king  Charles  the  Second  victu- 
alled his  navy  with  the  bread  which  one  of  his 
dogs  chose  of  several  pieces  thrown  before  him, 
rather  than  trust  to  the  asseverations  of  the 
victuallers.  Mr.  Cowper,*  and  other  learned 
counsel,  have  already  urged  the  authority  of 
this  almanack,  in  behalf  of  their  clients.  We 
shall,  therefore,  go  on  with  all  speed  in  our 
cause ; and  doubt  not  but  chancery  will  give  at 
the  end  what  we  lost  in  the  beginning,  by  pro- 
tracting the  term  for  us  until  Wednesday  come 
seven-night.  And  the  University  Orator  shall 
for  ever  pray,  &c. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  7. 

The  subject  of  duels  has,  I find,  been  started 
with  so  good  success,  that  it  has  been  the  fre- 
quent subject  of  conversation  among  polite 
men ; and  a dialogue  of  that  kind  has  been 
transmitted  to  me  verbatim  as  follows.  The 
persons  concerned  in  it  are  men  of  honour  and 
experience  in  the  manners  of  men,  and  have 
fallen  upon  the  truest  foundation,  as  well  as 
searched  the  bottom  of  this  evil. 

Mr.  Sage.  If  it  were  in  my  power,  every  man 
that  drew  his  sword,  unless  in  the  service,  or 
purely  to  defend  his  life,  person,  or  goods,  from 
violence  (I  mean  abstracted  from  all  punctoes 
or  whims  of  honour)  should  ride  the  wooden 
horse  in  the  Tilt-yard  for  such  first  offence  ; for 
the  second,  stand  in  the  pillory  ; and  for  the 
third,  be  prisoner  in  Bedlam  for  life. 

Col.  Plume.  I remember  that  a rencounter 
or  duel  was  so  far  from  being  in  fashion  among 
the  officers  that  served  in  the  parliament-army, 
that  on  the  contrary  it  was  as  disreputable,  and 
as  great  an  impediment  to  advancement  in  the 
service,  as  being  bashful  in  time  of  action. 

Sir  Mark.  Yet  I have  been  informed  by  some 
old  cavaliers,  of  famous  reputation  for  brave  and 
gallant  men,  that  they  were  much  more  in 
mode  among  their  party  than  they  have  been 
during  this  last  war. 

Col.  Plume.  That  is  true  too,  sir. 

Mr.  Sage.  By  what  you  say,  gentlemen,  one 
should  think  that  our  present  military  officers 
are  compounded  of  an  equal  proportion  of  both 
those  tempers ; since  duels  are  neither  quite 
discountenanced,  nor  much  in  vogue. 

Sir  Mark.  That  difference  of  temper  in  re- 
gard to  duels,  which  appears  to  have  prevailed 
between  the  court  and  the  parliament-men  of  the 


* Spencer  Cowper,  brother  to  the  first  earl  of  the 
name,  at  ihat  time  a celebrated  counsellor,  and  after- 
wards chief  justice  of  the  common  pleas. 


sword,  was  not  (I  conceive)  for  want  of  courage 
in  the  latter,  nor  of  a liberal  education ; because 
there  were  some  of  the  best  families  in  England 
engaged  in  that  party  : but  gallantry  and  mode, 
which  glitter  agreeably  to  the  imagination, 
were  encouraged  by  the  court,  as  promoting 
its  splendour  ; and  it  was  as  natural  that  the 
contrary  party  (who  were  to  recommend  tliem- 
selves  to  the  public  for  men  of  serious  and 
solid  parts)  should  deviate  from  every  thing 
chimerical. 

Mr.  Sage.  I have  never  read  of  a duel  among 
the  Romans,  and  yet  their  nobility  used  more 
liberty  with  their  tongues  than  one  may  do  now 
without  being  challenged. 

Sir  Mark.  Perhaps  the  Romans  were  of 
opinion,  that  ill-language  and  brutal  manners 
reflected  only  on  those  who  were  'guilty  of 
them  ; and  that  a man’s  reputation  was  not  at 
all  cleared  by  cutting,  the  person’s  throat  who 
had  reflected  upon  it : but  the  custom  of  those 
times  had  fixed  the  scandal  in  the  action ; 
whereas  now  it  lies  in  the  reproach? 

Mr.  Sage.  And  yet  tlic  only  sort  of  duel  that 
one  can  conceive  to  have  been  fought  upon 
motives  truly  honourable  and  allowable,  was 
that  between  the  Horatii  and  Curiatii. 

Sir  Mark.  Colonel  Plume,  pray  what  was  the 
method  of  single  combat  in  your  time  among 
the  cavaliers  ? I suppose,  that  as  the  use  of 
clothes  continues,  though  the  fashion  of  them 
has  been  mutable  ; so  duels,  though  still  in  use, 
have  had  in  all  times  their  particular  modes  of 
performance. 

Col.  Plume.  We  had  no  constant  rule,  but 
generally  conducted  our  dispute  and  tilt  ac- 
cording to  the  last  that  had  happened  between 
persons  of  reputation  among  the  very  top  fel- 
lows for  bravery  and  gallantry. 

Sir  Mark.  If  the  fashion  of  quarrelling  and 
tilting  was  so  often  changed  in  your  time,  co- 
lonel Plume,  a man  might  fight,  yet  lose  his 
credit  for  want  of  understanding  the  fashion.^ 

Col.  Plume.  Why,  sir  Mark,  in  the  begin- 
ning of  July  a man  would  have  been  censured 
for  want  of  courage,  or  been  thought  indigent 
of  the  true  notions  of  honour,  if  he  had  put  up 
with  words,  wdiich,  in  the  end  of  September  fol- 
lowing, one  could  not  resent  without  passing 
for  a brutal  and  quarrelsome  fellow. 

Sir  Mark.  But,  colonel,  were  duels  or  ren- 
counters most  in  fashion  in  those  days  ? 

Col.  Plume.  Your  men  of  nice  honour,  sir, 
were  for  avoiding  all  censure  of  advantage 
which  they  supposed  might  be  taken  in  a ren- 
counter ; therefore  they  used  seconds  who  were 
to  see  that  all  was  upon  the  square,  and  make  a 
faithful  report  of  the  vrhole  combat;  but  in  a 
little  time  it  became  a fashion  for  the  seconds 
to  fight ; and  I will  tell  you  how  it  happened. 

Mr.  Sage.  Pray  do,  colonel  Plume,  and  the 
method  of  a duel  at  that  time  ; and  give  us  some 
notion  of  the  punctoes  upon  which  your  nice 
men  quarrelled  in  those  days. 

Col.  Plume.  I was  going  to  tell  you,  Mr. 
Sage,  that  one  cornet  Modish  had  desired  his 
friend  captain  Smart’s  opinion  in  some  affair, 
but  did  not  follow  it ; upon  which  captain  Smart 
sent  major  Adroit  (a  very  topping  fellow  of 
those  times)  to  the  person  that  had  slighted  his 


No.  39.] 


THE  TATLER. 


93 


advice.  The  major  never  inquired  into  the 
quarrel,  because  it  was  not  the  manner  then 
among  the  very  topping  fellows ; but  got  two 
swords  of  an  equal  length,  and  then  waited  upon 
cornet  Modish,  desiring  him  to  choose  his 
sword,  and  meet  his  friend  captain  Smart. 
Cornet  Modish  came  with  his  friend,  to  the 
place  of  combat ; there  the  principals  put  on  their 
pumps,  and  stripped  to  their  shirts,  to  show 
that  they  had  nothing  but  what  men  of  honour 
carry  about  them,  and  then  engaged. 

Sir  Mark.  And  did  the  seconds  stand  by,  sir  ? 

Col.  Plume.  It  was  a received  custom  until 
that  time ; but  the  swords  of  those  days  being 
pretty  long,  and  the  principals  acting  on  both 
sides  upon  the  defensive,  and  the  morning  be- 
ing frosty,  major  Adroit  desired  that  the  other 
second,  who  was  also  a very  topping  fellow, 
would  try  a thrust  or  two,  only  to  keep  them 
warm,  until  the  principals  had  decided  the 
matter,  which  was  agreed  to  by  Modish’s  se- 
cond, who  presently  whipt  Adroit  through  the 
body,  disarmed  him,  and  then  parted  the  prin- 
cipals, who  had  received  no  harm  at  all. 

Mr.  Sage.  But  was  not  Adroit  laughed  at  ? 

Col.  Plume.  On  the  contrary,  the  very  top- 
ping fellows  were  ever  after  of  opinion,  that  no 
man,  who  deserves  that  character,  could  serve 
as  a second,  without  fighting;  and  the  Smarts 
and  Modishes  finding  their  account  in  it,  the 
humour  took  without  opposition. 

Mr.  Sage.  Pray,  colonel,  how  long  did  that 
fashion  continue  ? 

Col.  Plume.  Not  long  neither,  Mr.  Sage  ; for 
as  soon  as  it  became  a fashion,  the  very  topping 
fellows  thought  their  honour  reflected  upon,  if 
they  did  not  proffer  themselves  as  seconds  when 
any  of  their  friends  had  a quarrel,  so  that  some- 
times there  were  a dozen  of  a side. 

Sir  Mark.  Bless  me  ! if  that  custom  had  con- 
tinued, we  should  have  been  at  a loss  now  for 
our  very  pretty  fellows  ; for  they  seem  to  be 
the  proper  men  to  officer,  animate,  and  keep  up 
an  army.  But,  pray,  sir,  how  did  that  sociable 
manner  of  tilting  grow  out  of  mode  ? 

Col.  Plume.  Why,  sir,  I will  tell  you  : it  was 
a law  among  the  combatants,  that  the  party 
which  happened  to  have  the  first  man  disarmed 
or  killed,  should  yield  as  vanquished : which  some 
people  thought  might  encourage  the  Modishes 
and  Smarts  in  quarrelling  to  the  destruction  of 
only  the  very  topping  fellows ; and  as  soon  as 
this  reflection  was  started,  the  very  topping  fel- 
lows thought  it  an  incumbrance  ui>on  their  ho- 
nour to  fight  at  all  themselves.  Since  that 
time  the  Modishes  and  the  Smarts,  throughout 
all  Europe,  have  extolled  the  French  king’s 
edict. 

Sir  Mark.  Our  very  pretty  fellows,  w'hom  I 
take  to  be  the  successors  of  the  very  topping 
fellows,  think  a quarrel  so  little  fashionable, 
that  they  will  not  be  exposed  to  it  by  any  other 
man’s  vanity,  or  want  of  sense. 

Mr.  Sage.  But,  colonel,  I have  observed  in 
your  aecounts  of  duels,  that  there  was  a great 
exactness  in  avoiding  all  advantage  that  might 
possibly  be  between  the  combatants. 

Col.  Plume.  That  is  true,  sir ; for  the  wca- 
pons  were  always  equal. 

Mr.  Sage.  Yes,  sir ; but  suppose  an  active 


adroit  strong  man  had  insulted  an  awkward  or 
a feeble,  or  an  unpractised  swordsman  ? 

Col.  Plume.  Then,  sir,  they  fought  with 
pistols. 

Mr.  Sage.  But,  sir,  there  might  bo  a certain 
advantage  that  way  ; for  a good  marksman  will 
be  sure  to  hit  his  man  at  twenty  yards  distance  ; 
and  a man  whose  hand  shakes  (which  is  com- 
mon to  men  that  debauch  in  pleasures,  or  have 
not  used  pistols  out  of  their  holsters)  will  not 
venture  to  fire,  unless  he  touches  the  person  he 
shoots  at.  Now,  sir,  I am  of  opinion,  that  one 
can  get  no  honour  in  killing  a man,  if  one  has 
it  all  rwg,  as  the  gamesters  say,  when  they  have 
a trick  to  make  the  game  secure,  though  they 
seem  to  play  upon  the  square. 

Sir  Mark.  In  truth,  Mr.  Sage,  I think  such 
a fact  must  be  murder  in  a man’s  own  private 
conscience,  whatever  it  may  appear  to  the 
world. 

Col.  Plume.  I have  known  some  men  so  nice 
that  they  would  not  fight  but  upon  a cloak  with 
pistols. 

Mr.  Sage.  I believe  a custom  well  established 
would  outdo  the  grand  monarch’s  edict. 

Sir  Mark.  And  bullies  would  then  leave  off 
their  long  swords.  But  I do  not  find  that  a 
very  pretty  fellow  can  stay  to  change  his  sword 
when  he  is  insulted  by  a bully  with  a long 
die  go ; though  his  own  at  the  same  time  be  no 
longer  than  a pen-knife  ; which  will  certainly 
be  the  case  if  such  little  swords  are  in  mode. 
Pray,  colonel,  how  was  it  between  the  hectors 
of  your  time,  and  the  very  topping  fellows  ? 

Col.  Plume.  Sir,  long  swords  happened  to  be 
generally  worn  in  those  times. 

Mr.  Sage.  In  answer  to  what  you  were  say- 
ing, sir  Mark,  give  me  leave  to  inform  you, 
that  your  knights-errant  (who  were  the  very 
pretty  fellows  of  those  ancient  times)  thought 
they  could  not  honourably  yield,  though  they 
had  fought  their  own  trusty  weapons  to  the 
stumps  ; but  would  venture  as  boldly  with  the 
page’s  leaden  sword,  as  if  it  had  been  of  en- 
chanted metal.  Whence  I conceive,  there  must 
be  a spice  of  romantic  gallantry  in  the  compo- 
sition of  that  very  pretty  fellow. 

Sir  Mark.  I am  of  opinion,  Mr.  Sage,  that 
fashion  governs  a very  pretty  fellow ; nature  or 
common  sense,  your  ordinary  persons,  and 
sometimes  men  of  fine  parts. 

Mr.  Sage.  But  what  is  the  reason  that  men 
of  the  most  excellent  sense  and  morals,  in  other 
points,  associate  their  understandings  with  the 
very  pretty  fellows  in  that  chimera  of  a duel  ? 

Sir  Mark.  There  is  no  disputing  against  so 
great  a majority. 

Mr.  Sage.  But  there  is  one  scruple,  colonel 
Plume,  and  I have  done.  Do  not  you  believe 
there  may  be  some  advantage  even  upon  a cloak 
with  pistols,  which  a man  of  nice  honour  would 
scruple  to  take  ? 

Col.  Plume.  Faith,  I cannot  tell,  sir ; but 
since  one  may  reasonably  suppose  that,  in 
such  a case,  there  can  be  but  one  so  far  in  the 
wrong  as  to  occasion  matters  to  come  to  that 
extremity,  I think  the  chance  of  being  killed 
should  fall  but  on  one ; whereas,  by  their  close 
and  desperate  manner  of  fighting,  it  may  very 
probably  happen  to  both. 


94 


THE  TATLER. 


Sir  Mark.  Why,  gentlemen,  if  they  are  men 
of  such  nice  honour,  and  must  fight,  there  will 
be  no  fear  of  foul  play,  if  they  threw  up  cross 
or  pile  who  should  be  shot. 


No.  40.]  Tuesday,  July  12,  1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

WiWs  Coffee-house,  July  11. 

Letters  from  the  city  of  London  give  an  ac- 
count of  a very  great  consternation  that  place 
is  in  at  present,  by  reason  of  a late  inquiry 
made  at  Guildhall  whether  a noble  person  lias 
parts  enough  to  deserve  the  enjoyment  of  the 
great  estate  of  which  he  is  possessed  The 
city  is  apprehensive,  that  this  precedent  may 
go  farther  than  was  at  first  imagined.  The 
person  against  whom  this  inquisition  is  set  up 
by  his  relations,  is  a peer  of  a neighbouring 
kingdom,  and  has  in  his  youth  made  some  few 
bulls,  by  which  it  is  insinuated,  that  he  has 
forfeited  his  goods  and  chattels.  This  is  the 
more  astonishing,  in  that  there  are  many  per- 
sons in  the  said  city  who  are  still  more  guilty 
than  his  lordship,  and  who,  though  they  are 
idiots,  do  not  only  possess,  but  have  also  them- 
selves acquired  great  estates,  contrary  to  the 
known  laws  of  this  realm,  which  vests  their  pos- 
sessions in  the  crown. 

There  is  a gentleman  in  the  coffee-house  at 
this  time  exhibiting  a bill  in  chancery  against 
his  father’s  younger  brother,  who,  by  some 
strange  magic,  has  arrived  at  the  value  of  half 
a plumb,  as  the  citizens  call  a hundred  thou- 
sand pounds ; and  in  all  the  time  of  growing 
up  to  that  wealth,  was  never  known  in  any  of 
his  ordinary  words  or  actions  to  discover  any 
proof  of  reason.  Upon  this  foundation  my 
friend  has  set  forth,  that  he  is  illegally  master 
of  his  coffers,  and  has  writ  two  epigrams  to 
signify  his  own  pretensions  and  sufficiency  for 
spending  that  estate.  He  has  inserted  in  his 
plea  some  things  which  I fear  will  give  offence ; 
for  he  pretends  to  argue,  that  though  a man 
has  a little  of  the  knave  mixed  with  the  fool, 
he  is  nevertheless  liable  to  the  loss  of  goods  ; 
and  makes  the  abuse  of  reason  as  just  an  avoid- 
ance of  an  estate  as  tlie  total  absence  of  it. 
This  is  what  can  never  pass  ; but  witty  men 
are  so  full  of  themselves,  that  there  is  no  per- 
suading them  ; and  my  friend  will  not  be  con- 
vinced, but  that  upon  quoting  Solomon,  who  al- 
ways used  the  word  fool  as  a term  of  the  same 
signification  with  unjust,  and  makes  all  devia- 
tion from  goodness  and  virtue  to  come  under 
the  notion  of  folly  ; I say,  he  doubts  not,  but  by 
the  force  of  this  authority,  let  his  idiot  uncle  ap- 
pear never  so  great  a knave,  he  shall  prove  him 
a fool  at  the  same  time. 

This  affair  led  the  company  here  into  an  ex- 
amination of  these  points  ; and  none  coming 


[No.  40. 

here  but  wits,  v;hat  was  asserted  by  a young 
lawyer,  that  a lunatic  is  in  the  care  of  the  chan- 
cery, but  a fool  in  that  of  the  crown,  was  re- 
ceived with  general  indignation.  ‘ Why  that  V 
says  old  Renault.  ‘ Why  that  ? Why  must  a 
fool  be  a courtier  more  than  a madman  ? This 
is  the  iniquity  of  this  dull  age.  I remember 
the  time  when  it  went  on  the  mad-side  ; all  your 
top-wits  were  scourers,  rakes,  roarers,  and  de- 
molishers  of  windows.  I knew  a mad  lord,  who 
was  drunk  five  years  together,  and  was  the  envy 
of  that  age,  who  is  faintly  imitated  by  the  dull 
pretenders  to  vice  and  madness  in  this.  Had 
he  lived  to  this  day,  there  had  not  been  a fool  in 
fashion  in  the  whole  kingdom.’  When  Renault 
had  done  speaking,  a very  worthy  man  assumed 
the  discourse  : ‘ This  is,’  said  he,  ‘ Mr.  Bicker- 
staff,  a proper  argument  for  you  to  treat  of  in 
your  article  from  this  place  ; and  if  you  would 
send  your  Pacolet  into  all  our  brains,  you  would 
find,  that  a little  fibre  or  valve,  scarce  discern- 
able,  makes  the  distinction  between  a politician 
and  an  idiot.  We  should,  therefore,  throw  a 
vail  upon  those  unhappy  instances  of  human 
nature,  who  seem  to  breathe  without  the  direc- 
tion of  reason  and  understanding,  as  we  should 
avert  our  eyes  with  abhorrence  from  such  as 
live  in  perpetual  abuse  and  contradiction  to 
these  noble  faculties.  Shall  this  unfortunate 
man  be  divested  of  his  estate,  because  he  is 
tractable  and  indolent,  runs  in  no  man’s  debt, 
invades  no  man’s  bed,  nor  spends  the  estate  he 
owes  his  children  and  his  character  ; when  one 
who  shows  no  sense  above  him,  but  in  such 
practices,  shall  be  esteemed  in  his  senses,  and 
possibly  may  pretend  to  the  guardianship  of 
him  who  is  no  ways  his  inferior,  but  in  being 
less  wicked  ? We  see  old  age  brings  us  indifl 
ferently  into  the  same  impotence  of  soul,  where- 
in nature  has  placed  this  lord.’ 

There  is  something  very  fantastical  in  the 
distribution  of  civil  power  and  capacity  among 
men.  The  law  certainly  gives  these  persons 
into  the  ward  and  care  of  the  crown,  because 
that  is  best  able  to  protect  them  from  injuries, 
and  the  impositions  of  craft  and  knavery  ; that 
the  life  of  an  idiot  may  not  ruin  the  entail  of 
a noble  house,  and  his  weakness  may  not  frus- 
trate  the  industry  or  capacity  of  the  founder 
of  his  family.  But  when  one  of  bright  parts, 
as  we  say,  with  his  eyes  open,  and  all  men’s 
eyes  upon  him  destroys  those  purposes,  there  is 
no  remedy.  Folly  and  ignorance  are  punished  ! 
folly  and  guilt  are  tolerated ! Mr.  Locke  has 
somewhere  made  a distinction  between  a mad- 
man and  a fool : a fool  is  he  that  from  right 
principles  makes  a wrong  conclusion ; but  a 
madman  is  one  who  draws  a just  inference  from 
false  principles.  Thus  the  fool  who  cut  off  the 
fellow’s  head  that  lay  asleep,  and  hid  it,  and 
then  waited  to  see  what  he  would  say  when  he 
awaked,  and  missed  his  head-piece,  was  in  the 
right  in  the  first  thought,  that  a man  would  be 
surprised  to  find  such  an  alteration  in  tilings 
since  he  fell  asleep  ; but  he  was  a little  mistaken 
to  imagine  he  could  awake  at  all  after  his  head 
was  cut  off.  A madman  fancies  himself  a 
prince  ; but,  upon  his  mistake,  he  acts  suitably 
to  that  character ; and  though  he  is  out  in  sup- 


* Richard,  the  fifth  viscount  Wenman. 


THE  TATLER. 


95 


No.  41.] 

posing  he  has  principalities,  while  he  drinks 
gruel,  and  lies  in  straw,  yet  you  shall  see  him 
keep  the  port  of  a distressed  monarch  in  all  his 
words  and  actions.  These  two  persons  are 
equally  taken  into  custody  : but  what  must  be 
done  to  half  this  good  company,  who  every  liour 
; of  their  life  are  knowingly  and  wittingly  both 
i fools  and  madmen,  and  yet  have  capacities  both 
of  forming  principles  and  drawing  conclusions, 
with  the  full  use  of  reason  ? 

I 

i From  my  own  Apart7nent,  July  11. 

This  evening  some  ladies  came  to  visit  my 
sister  Jenny  ; and  the  discourse,  after  very  many 
frivolous  and  public  matters,  turned  upon  llie 
main  point  among  the  women,  the  passion  of 
1 love.  Sappho,  who  always  leads,  on  this  occa- 
sion began  to  show  her  reading,  and  told  us, 
that  sir  John  Suckling  and  Milton  had,  upon  a 
parallel  occasion,  said  the  tenderest  things  she 
ever  read.  ‘ The  circumstance,’  said  she,  ‘ is 
such  as  gives  us  a notion  of  that  protecting 
part,  which  is  the  duty  of  men  in  their  honour- 
able designs  upon,  or  possession  of  women.  In 
; Suckling’s  tragedy  of  Brennoralt  he  makes  the 
lover  steal  into  his  mistress’s  bed-chamber,  and 
draw  the  curtains  ; then,  when  his  heart  is  full  of 
I her  charms,  as  she  lies  sleeping,  instead  of  be- 
ing carried  away  by  the  violence  of  his  desires 
into  thoughts  of  a warmer  nature,  sleep,  which 
! is  the  image  of  death,  gives  this  generous  lover 
reflections  of  a different  kind,  which  regard 
rather  her  safety  than  his  own  passion.  For, 
beholding  her  as  she  lies  sleeping,  he  utters 
these  words : 

: ‘ So  misers  look  upon  their  gold, 

Which,  while  they  joy  to  see,  they  fear  to  lose : 

The  pleasure  of  the  sight  scarce  equalling 
The  jealousy  of  being  dispossessed  by  others. 

Her  face  is  like  the  milky  way  i’  th’  sky, 

A meeting  of  gentle  lights  without  name  !’ 

‘ Heaven!  shall  this  fresh  ornament  of  the  Avorld, 
These  precious  love-lines,  pass  with  other  common 
things 

Amongst  the  wastes  of  time  ? what  pity  ’twerel’ 

‘ When  Milton  makes  Adam  Ibaning  on  his 
arm,  beholding  Eve,  and  lying  in  the  contem- 
plation of  her  beauty,  he  describes  the  utmost 
tenderness  and  guardian  affection  in  one  word: 

‘Adam,  with  looks  of  cordial  love, 

Hung  over  her  enamoured.’ 

‘ This  is  that  sort  of  passion  which  truly  de- 
, serves  the  name  of  love,  and  has  something  more 
'I  generous  than  friendship  itself;  for  it  has  a 
' constant  care  of  the  object  beloved,  abstracted 
I from  its  own  interests  in  the  possession  of  it.’ 

I Sappho  was  proceeding  on  the  subject,  when 
my  sister  produced  a letter  sent  to  her  in  the 
time  of  my  absence,  in  celebration  of  the  mar- 
riage state,  which  is  the  condition  wherein 
only  this  sort  of  passion  reigns  in  full  authority. 
The  epistle  is  as  follows  : 

‘Dear  Madam, — Your  brother  being  absent, 
I dare  take  the  liberty  of  writing  to  you  my 
thoughts  of  that  state,  which  our  whole  sex 
either  is,  or  desires  to  be  in.  You  will  easily 
guess  I mean  matrimony,  which  I hear  so 
much  decried,  that  it  was  with  no  small  labour 
I maintained  my  ground  against  two  opponents ; 


but  as  your  brother  observed  of  Socrates,  I 
drew  them  into  my  conclusion,  from  their  own 
concessions ; thus  : 

‘ In  marriago  are  two  happy  things  allowed, 

A wife  in  wedding-sheets,  and  in  a shroud. 

How  can  a marriage  state  then  be  accursed, 

Since  the  last  day ’s  as  happy  as  the  first  ? 

‘ If  you  think  they  were  too  easily  confuted, 
you  may  conclude  them  not  of  the  first  sense, 
by  their  talking  against  marriage. — Yours, 

‘ MARIANA.’ 

I observed  Sappho  began  to  redden  at  this 
epistle  ; and  turning  to  a lady,  who  was  playing 
with  a dog  she  was  so  fond  of  as  to  carry  him 
abroad  with  her;  ‘Nay,’  says  she,  ‘I  cannot 
blame  the  men  if  they  have  mean  ideas  of  our 
souls  and  affections,  and  wonder  so  many  are 
brought  to  take  us  for  companions  for  life, 
when  they  see  our  endearments  so  triflingly 
placed  : for,  to  my  knowledge,  Mr.  Truman 
would  give  half  his  estate  for  half  the  affection 
you  have  shown  to  that  Shock : nor  do  I be- 
lieve you  would  be  ashamed  to  confess,  that  I 
saw  you  cry,  when  he  had  the  colic  last  week 
with  lapping  sour  milk.  What  more  could  you 
do  for  your  lover  himself ?’  ‘What  morel’  re- 
plied the  lady,  ‘ Tliere  is  not  a man  in  England 
for  whom  I could  lament  half  so  much.’  Then 
she  stiffed  the  animal  with  kisses,  and  called 
him  beau,  life,  dear,  monsieur,  pretty  fellow, 
and  what  not,  in  the  hurry  of  her  impertinence. 
Sappho  rose  up ; as  she  always  does  at  any  thing 
she  observes  done  which  discovers  in  her  own 
sex  a levity  of  mind  that  renders  them  incon- 
siderable in  the  opinion  of  ours. 


No.  41.]  Thursday,  July  14, 1709. 

Celebrare  domestica  facta 

To  celebrate  domestic  deeds. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  July  12. 

There  is  no  one  thing  more  to  be  lamented 
in  our  nation,  than  their  general  affectation  of 
every  thing  that  is  foreign : nay,  we  carry  it  so 
far,  that  we  are  more  anxious  for  our  own 
countrymen  when  they  have  crossed  the  seas, 
than  when  we  see  them  in  the  same  dangerous 
condition  before  our  eyes  at  home  : else  how  is 
it  possible,  that  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  the  last 
month  there  should  have  been  a battle  fought 
in  our  very  streets  of  London,  and  nobody  at 
this  end  of  the  town  have  heard  of  it?  I pro- 
test, I,  who  make  it  my  business  to  inquire 
after  adventures,  should  never  have  known  this, 
had  not  the  following  account  been  sent  me  in- 
closed in  a letter.  This,  it  seems,  is  the  way  of 
giving  out  orders  in  the  Artillery-company ; 
and  they  prepare  for  a day  of  action  with  so 
little  concern,  as  only  to  call  it,  ‘ An  exercise  of 
arms.’ 

‘An  Exercise  at  Arms  of  the  Artillery-com- 
pany, to  be  performed  on  Wednesday,  June 
the  twenty-ninth,  1709,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Sir  Joseph  Woolfe,  Knight  and 
Alderman,  General ; Charles  Hopson,  Es- 


96 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  41. 


quire,  present  Sheriff,  Lieutenant-general ; 
Captain  Richard  Synge,  Major ; Major 
John  Shorey,  Captain  of  Grenadiers ; Cap- 
tain William  Gray  hurst.  Captain  John 
Butler,  Captain  Robert  Carellis,  Captains. 

‘ The  body  marched  from  the  Artillery- 
ground,  through  Moorgate,  Coleman-street, 
Lothbury,  Broad-street,  Finch-lane,  Cornhill, 
Cheapsiide,  St.  Martin’s,  St.  Anne’s-lane,  halt  the 
pikes  under  the  wall  in  Noble-street,  draw  up 
the  firelocks  facing  the  Goldsmiths’-hall,  make 
ready  and  face  to  the  left,  and  fire,  and  so  ditto 
three  times.  Beat  to  arms,  and  march  round 
the  hall,  as  up  Lad-lane,  Gutter-lane,  Honey- 
lane,  and  so  wheel  to  the  right,  and  make  your 
salute  to  my  lord,  and  so  down  St.  Anne’s-lane, 
up  Aldersgate-street,  Barbican,  and  draw  up  in 
Red-cross-street,  the  right  of  St.  Paul’s-alley  in 
the  rear.  March  off  lieutenant-general  with 
half  the  body  up  Beech-lane  : he  sends  a sub- 
division up  King’s-head-court,  and  takes  post 
in  it,  and  marches  two  divisions  round  into 
Red-lion-market,  to  defend  that  pass,  and  suc- 
cour the  division  in  King’s-head-court ; but 
keeps  in  White-cross-street,  facing  Beech-lane, 
the  rest  of  the  body  ready  drawn  up.  Then 
the  general  marches  up  Beech-lane,  is  attacked, 
but  forces  the  division  in  the  court  into  the 
market,  and  enters  with  three  divisions  while 
he  presses  the  lieutenant-general’s  main  body ; 
and  at  the  same  time  the  three  divisions  force 
those  of  the  revolters  out  of  the  market,  and  so 
all  the  lieutenant-general’s  body  retreats  into 
Chiswell-street,  and  lodges  two  divisions  in 
Grub-street ; and  as  the  general  marches  on, 
they  fall  on  his  flank,  but  soon  made  to  give 
way  : but  having  a retreating  place  in  Red-lion- 
court  but  could  not  hold  it,  being  put  to  flight 
through  Paul’s-alley,  and  pursued  by  the  gene- 
ral’s grenadiers,  while  he  marches  up  and  at- 
tacks their  main  body,  but  are  opposed  again 
by  a party  of  men  as  lay  in  Black-raven-court ; 
but  they  are  forced  also  to  retire  soon  in  the 
utmost  confusion,  and  at  the  same  time  those 
brave  divisions  in  Paul’s-alley  ply  their  rear 
with  grenadoes,  that  with  precipitation  they 
take  to  the  route  along  Bunhill-row : so  the 
general  marches  into  the  Artillery-ground,  and 
being  drawn  up,  finds  the  revolting  party  to 
have  found  entrance,  and  makes  a show  as  if 
for  a battle,  and  both  armies  soon  engage  in 
form,  and  fire  by  platoons.’ 

Much  might  be  said  for  the  improvement 
of  this  system  ; which,  for  its  style  and  inven- 
tion, may  instruct  generals  and  their  historians, 
both  in  fighting  a battle,  and  describing  it  when 
it  is  over.  These  elegant  expressions,  ‘ditto — 
and  so — but  soon — but  having — but  could  not — 
but  are — but  they — finds  the  party  to  have 
found,’  &c.  do  certainly  give  great  life  and 
spirit  to  the  relation. 

Indeed  I am  extremely  concerned  for  the 
lieutenant-general,  who,  by  his  overthrow  and 
defeat,  is  made  a deplorable  instance  of  the  for- 
tune of  war,  and  vicissitudes  of  human  affairs. 
He,  alas  ! has  lost,  in  Beech-lane  and  Chiswell- 
street,  all  the  glory  he  lately  gained  in  and 
about  Holborn  and  St.  Giles’s.  The  art  of  sub- 
dividing first,  and  dividing  afterwards,  is  new 


and  surprising;  and,  according  to  this  method, 
the  troops  are  disposed  in  King’s-head-court  and 
Red-lion-market:  nor  is  the  conduct  of  these 
leaders  less  eonspicuous  in  their  choice  of  the 
ground  or  field  of  battle.  Happy  was  it,  that 
the  greatest  part  of  the  achievements  of  this  day, 
was  to  be  performed  near  Grub-street,  that  there 
might  not  be  wanting  a sufficient  number  of 
faithful  historians,  who,  being  eye-witnesses  of 
these  wonders,  should  impartially  transmit  them 
to  posterity  ! But  then  it  can  never  be  enough 
regretted,  that  we  are  left  in  the  dark  as  to  the 
name  and  title  of  that  extraordinary  hero,  who 
commanded  the  divisions  in  Paul’s  alley  ; es- 
pecially because  those  divisions  are  justly  styled 
brave,  and  accordingly  were  to  push  the  enemy 
along  Bunhill-row,  and  thereby  occasion  a 
general  battle.  But  Pallas  appeared  in  the  form 
of  a shower  of  rain,  and  prevented  the  slaugliter 
and  desolation,  which  were  threatened  by  these 
extraordinary  preparations. 

Hi  motus  animoriim,  atque  haec  certamina  tanta 

Pluverisexigui  jactu  compressa  quiescunt. 

Virg.  Georg,  iv.  86. 

Yet  all  those  dreadful  deeds,  this  doubtful  fray, 

A cast  of  scattered  dust  will  soon  allay.  Dryden. 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  July  13. 

Some  part  of  the  company  keep  up  the  old 
way  of  conversation  in  this  place,  which  usually 
turned  upon  the  examination  of  nature,  and  an 
inquiry  into  the  manners  of  men.  There  is  one 
in  the  room  so  ver}^  judicious,  that  he  manages 
impertinents  with  the  utmost  dexterity.  It  was 
diverting  this  evening  to  hear  a discourse  be- 
tween'him  and  one  of  these  gentlemen.  He 
told  me,  before  that  person  joined  us,  that  he 
was  a questioner,  who,  according  to  his  descrip- 
tion, is  one  who  asks  questions,  not  wnth  a de- 
sign to  receive  information,  but  an  affectation 
to  show  his  uneasiness  for  want  of  it.  He  went 
on  in  asserting,  that  there  are  crowds  of  that 
modest  ambition,  as  to  aim  no  farther  than  to 
demonstrate  that  they  are  in  doubt.  By  this 
time  Will  Whynot  was  sat  dowm  by  us.  ‘So, 
gentlemen,  says  he,  ‘ in  how  many  days,  think 
you,  will  we  be  masters  of  Tournay  ? Is  the 
account  of  the  action  of  the  Vivarois  to  be  de- 
pended upon  ? Could  you  have  imagined  En- 
gland had  so  much  money  in  it  as  you  see  it 
has  produced  ? Pray,  sirs,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Will  the  duke  of  Savoy  make  an  irruption  into 
France?  But,’  says  he,  ‘time  will  clear  all 
these  mysteries.’  His  answer  to  himself  gave 
me  the  altitude  of  his  head,  and  to  all  his  ques- 
tions, I thus  answered  very  satisfactorily. 

‘ Sir,  have  you  heard  that  this  Slaughter- 

ford*  never  owned  the  fact  for  wdiich  he  died  ! 
Have  the  newspapers  mentioned  that  matter  ? 
But,  pray,  can  you  tell  me  what  method  will  be 
taken  to  provide  for  these  Palatines  ? But  this, 
as  you  say,  time  will  clear.’  ‘ Ay,  ay,’  says^  he, 
and  whispers  me,  ‘ they  will  never  let  us  into 
these  things  beforehand.’  I whispered  him 
again,  ‘We  shall  know  it  as  soon  as  there  is  a 
proclamation.’ — He  tells  me  in  the  other  ear, 
‘ You  are  in  the  right  of  it.’  Then  he  whisper- 
ed my  friend  to  know  what  my  name  was  ; and 

* A man  hanged  for  the  murder  of  his  sweetheart. 


i 


No.  42.] 


THE  TATLER. 


97 


made  an  obliging  bow,  and  went  to  examine 
another  table.  7'his  led  my  friend  and  me  to 
weigh  this  wandering  manner  in  many  otlier 
incidents,  and  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  several 
little  notes  or  tickets  to  solicit  for  votes  to  em- 
ployments : as,  ‘ Mr.  John  Toplash  having  served 
all  offices,  and  being  reduced  to  great  poverty, 
desires  your  vote  for  singing-clerk  of  this  pa- 
rish.’ Another  has  had  ten  children,  all  whom 
his  wife  has  suckled  herself;  therefore  humbly 
desires  to  be  a schoolmaster. 

There  is  nothing  so  frequent  as  this  way  of 
application  for  offices.  It  is  not  that  you  are  fit 
for  the  place,  but  because  tlie  place  would  be 
convenient  for  you,  that  you  claim  a merit  to  it. 
But  commend  me  to  the  great  Kirlieus  who  has 
lately  set  up  for  midwifery,  and  to  help  child- 
birth, for  no  other  reason,  but  that  he  is  himself 
the  ‘ Unborn  Doctor.’  The  way  is,  to  hit  upon 
something  that  puts  the  vulgar  upon  the  stare, 
or  touches  their  compassion,  which  is  often  the 
weakest  part  about  us.  I know  a good  lady, 
who  has  taken  her  daughters  from  their  old 
dancing-master  to  place  them  with  another,  for 
no  other  reason  but  because  the  new  man  has 
broke  his  leg,  which  is  so  ill  set,  that  he  can 
never  dance  more. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  13. 

As  it  is  a frequent  mortification  to  me  to  re- 
ceive letters,  wherein  people  tell  me,  without 
a name,  they  know  I meant  them  in  such  and 
such  a passage;  so  that  very  accusation  is  an 
argument,  that  there  are  such  beings  in  human 
life,  as  fall  under  our  description,  and  that  our 
discourse  is  not  altogether  fantastical  and 
groundless.  But  in  this  case  I am  treated  as 
I saw  a boy  was  the  other  day,  who  gave  out 
pocky  bills:  every  plain  fellow  took  it  that  pass- 
ed by,  and  went  on  his  way  without  further  no- 
tice : and  at  last  came  one  with  his  nose  a little 
abridged,  who  knocks  the  lad  down,  with  a 

‘ Why,  you  son  of  a w” e,  do  you  think  I am 

p — d ?’  But  Shakspeare  has  made  the  best  apo- 
logy  for  this  way  of  talking  against  the  public 
errors : he  makes  Jacques,  in  the  play  called 
‘As  you  like  it,’  express  himself  thus  : 

‘ Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride, 

That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party? 

What  woman  in  the  city  do  I name, 

When  that  I say,  the  city  woman  bears 
The  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders? 

Who  can  come  in  and  say  that  I mean  her, 

AVhen  such  a one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbour? 

Or,  what  is  he  of  basest  function. 

That  says  his  bravery  is  not  on  my  cost? 

Thinking  that  I mean  him,  but  therein  suits 
His  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech. 

There  then!  How  then?  Then  let  me  see  wherein 
My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him  : If  it  do  him  right, 

Then  he  hath  wrong’d  himself:  if  he  be  free. 

Why  then,  my  taxing,  like  a wild  goose,  flies 
Unclaim’d  of  any  man.’ 


No.  42.]  Saturday,  July  16,  1709. 

Celebrare  domestica  facta. 

To  celebrate  domestic  deeds.  JV*. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  1.5. 

Looking  over  some  old  papers,  I found  a little 
treatise,  written  by  my  great-grandfather,  con- 
N 


cerning  bribery,  and  thought  his  manner  of 
treating  that  subject  not  unworthy  my  remark. 
He  there  has  a digression  concerning  a possi- 
bility, that  in  some  circumstances  a man  may 
receive  an  injury,  and  yet  be  conscious  to  him- 
self  that  he  deserves  it.  There  are  abundance 
of  fine  things  said  on  the  subject ; but  the  whole 
wrapped  up  in  so  much  jingle  and  pun,  which 
was  the  wit  of  those  times,  that  it  is  scarce  in- 
telligible; but  I thought  the  design  was  well 
enough  in  the  following  sketch  of  an  old  gen- 
tleman’s poetry  : lor  in  this  case,  where  two  are 
rivals  for  the  same  thing,  and  propose  to  obtain 
it  by  presents,  he  that  attempts  the  judge’s  ho- 
nesty, by  making  him  offers  of  reward,  ought 
not  to  complain  when  he  loses  his  cause  by  a 
better  bidder.  The  good  old  doggrel  runs  thus : 

‘ A poor  man  once  a judge  besought, 

To  judffe  aright  his  cause. 

And  with  a pot  of  oil  salutes 
This  judger  of  the  laws. 

“ My  friend,”  quoth  he,  “ thy  cause  is  good:” 

He  glad  away  did  trudge  : 

Anon  his  wealthy  foe  did  come 
Before  this  partial  judge. 

A hog  well  fed,  this  churl  presents, 

And  craves  a strain  of  law ; — 

The  hog  received, — the  poor  man’s  right 
Was  judged  not  worth  a straw. 

Therewith  he  cry’d,  ” O!  partial  judge, 

Thy  doom  has  me  undone  ; 

When  oil  I gave,  my  cause  was  good, 

But  now  to  ruin  run.” 

” Poor  man,”  quoth  he,  “ I thee  forgot, 

And  see  thy  cause  of  foil ; 

A hog  came  since  into  my  house. 

And  broke  thy  pot  of  oil.”  ’ 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  July  15. 

The  discourse  happened  this  evening  to  fall 
upon  characters  drawn  in  plays  ; and  a gentle- 
man remarked,  that  there  was  no  method  in  the 
world  of  knowing  the  taste  of  an  age,  or  period 
of  time,  so  good,  as  by  the  observations  of  the 
persons  represented  in  their  comedies.  There 
were  several  instances  produced,  as  Ben  Jen- 
son’s bringing  in  a fellow  smoking,  as  a piece 
of  foppery;  ‘but,’  said  the  gentleman  who  en- 
tertained us  on  this  subject,  ‘ this  matter  is  no 
where  so  observable  as  in  the  difference  of  the 
characters  of  women  on  the  stage  in  the  last 
age  and  in  this.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  it 
was  a poverty  of  genius  in  Shakspeare,  that  his 
women  made  so  small  a figure  in  his  dialogues ; 
but  it  certainly  is,  that  he  drew  women  as  they 
then  were  in  life ; for  that  sex  had  not  in  those 
days  that  freedom  in  conversation;  and  their 
characters  were  only,  that  they  were  mothers, 
sisters,  daughters,  and  wives.  There  were  not 
then  among  the  ladies,  shining  wits,  politicians, 
virtuosJB,  free-thinkers,  and  disputants ; nay, 
there  was  then  hardly  such  a creature  even  as  a 
coquette : but  vanity  had  quite  another  turn, 
and  the  most  conspicuous  woman  at  that  time 
of  day  was  only  the  best  housewife.  Were  it 
possible  to  bring  into  life  an  assembly  of  ma- 
trons of  that  age,  and  introduce  the  learned  lady 
Woodby  into  their  company,  they  would  not  be- 
lieve  the  same  nation  could  produce  a creature 
so  unlike  any  thing  they  ever  saw  in  it. 


98 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  42. 


‘ But  these  ancients  would  be  as  much  asto- 
nished to  see,  in  the  same  age,  so  illustrious  a 
pattern  to  all  who  love  things  praise-worthy  as 
the  divine  Aspasia.*  Methinks  I now  see  her 
walking  in  her  garden  like  our  first  parent,  with 
unaftected  charms,  before  beauty  had  specta- 
tors, and  bearing  celestial  conscious  virtue  in 
her  aspect.  Her  countenance  is  the  lively  pic- 
ture of  her  mind,  which  is  the  seat  of  honour, 
truth,  compassion,  knowledge,  and  innocence. 

‘ There  dwells  the  scorn  of  vice,  and  pity  too.’ 

‘ In  the  midst  of  the  most  ample  fortune,  and 
veneration  of  all  that  behold  and  know  her, 
without  the  least  affectation,  she  consults  retire- 
ment, the  contemplation  of  her  own  being,  and 
that  supreme  Power,  which  bestowed  it.  With- 
out the  learning  of  schools,  or  knowledge  of  a 
long  course  of  arguments,  she  goes  on  in  a 
steady  course  of  uninterrupted  piety  and  virtue, 
, and  adds  to  the  severity  and  privacy  of  the  last 
age,  all  the  freedom  and  ease  of  this.  The  lan- 
guage and  mien  of  a court  she  is  possessed  of 
in  the  highest  degree  ; but  the  simplicity  and 
humble  thoughts  of  a cottage  are  her  more  wel- 
come entertainments.  Aspasia  is  a female  phi- 
losopher, who  does  not  only  live  up  to  the  re- 
signation of  the  most  retired  lives  of  the  ancient 
sages,  but  also  to  the  schemes  and  plans  which 
they  thought  beautiful,  though  inimitable.  This 
lady  is  the  most  exact  economist,  without  ap- 
pearing busy;  the  most  strictly  virtuous,  with- 
out tasting  the  praise  of  it ; and  shuns  applause 
with  as  much  industry  as  others  do  reproach. 
This  character  is  so  particular,  that  it  will  very 
easily  be  fixed  on  her  only,  by  all  that  know 
her;  but  I dare  say,  she  will  be  the  last  that 
finds  it  out. 

‘But,  alas  ! if  we  have  one  or  two  such  la- 
dies, how  many  dozens  are  there  like  the  restless 
Poluglossa,  who  is  a?cquainted  with  all  the  world 
but  herself ; who  has  the  appearance  of  all,  and 
possession  of  no  one  virtue : she  has,  indeed,  in 
her  practice,  the  absence  of  vice,  but  her  dis- 
course is  the  continual  history  of  it ; and  it  is 
apparent,  when  she  speaks  of  the  criminal  gra- 
tification of  others,  that  her  innocence  is  only  a 
restraint,  with  a certain  mixture  of  envy.  She 
is  so  perfectly  opposite  to  the  character  of  Aspa:- 
sia,  that  as  vice  is  terrible  to  her  only  as  it  is  the 
object  of  reproach,  so  virtue  is  agreeable  only  as 
it  is  attended  with  applause.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  July  15. 

It  is  now  twelve  of  the  clock  at  noon,  and  no 
mail  come  in ; therefore,  I am  not  without  hopes 
that  the  town  will  allow  me  the  liberty  which 
my  brother  news-writers  take,  in  giving  them 
what  may  be  for  their  information  in  another 
kind,  and  indulge  me  in  doing  an  act  of  friend- 
ship, by  publishing  the  following  account  of 
goods  and  moveables. 


’''The  character  of  Aspasia  was  written  by  Mr.  Con- 
greve; and  the  person  meant,  was  lady  Elizabeth  Flast- 
ings.  See  the  authority  for  this,  with  an  edifying  ac- 
count of  this  extraordinary  lady,  and  her  benefactions, 
in  a book  in  folio,  intituled  ‘Memorials  and  Characters, 
&c.’  London,  1741,  printed  for  John  Welford,  p.  780. 


This  is  to  give  notice,  that  a magnificent  pa- 
lace, with  great  variety  of  gardens,  statues,  and 
water-works,  may  be  bought  cheap  in  Drury, 
lane,  where  there  are  likewise  several  castles 
to  be  disposed  of,  very  delightfully  situated; 
as  also  groves,  woods,  forests,  fountains,  and 
country  seats,  with  very  pleasant  prospects  on 
all  sides  of  them  ; being  the  moveables  of  Chris- 
topher Rich,*  esquire,  who  is  breaking  up  house- 
keeping, and  has  many  curious  pieces  of  furni- 
ture to  dispose  of,  which  may  be  seen  between 
the  hours  of  six  and  ten  in  the  evening. 

THE  INVEXTORY. 

Spirits  of  right  Nantz  brandy,  for  lamben 
flames  and  apparitions. 

Three  bottles  and  a half  of  lightning. 

One  shower  of  snow  in  the  whitest  French 
paper. 

Two  showers  of  a browner  sort. 

A sea  consisting  of  a dozen  large  waves ; the 
tenthf  bigger  than  ordinary,  and  a little  damaged. 

A dozen  and  a half  of  clouds,  trimmed  with 
black,  and  well-conditioned. 

A rainbow,  a little  faded. 

A set  of  clouds  after  the  French  mode,  streak- 
ed with  lightning,  and  furbelowed. 

A new  moon,  something  decayed. 

A pint  of  the  finest  Spanish  wash,  being  all 
that  is  left  of  two  hogsheads  sent  over  last 
winter. 

A coach  very  finely  gilt  and  little  used,  with 
a pair  of  dragons,  to  be  sold  cheap. 

A setting  sun,  a penny-worth. 

An  imperial  mantle,  made  for  Cyrus  the 
great,  and  worn  by  Julius  Ca?sar,  Bajazet,  king 
Harry  the  Eighth,  and  signor  Valentin i. 

A basket-hilted  sword,  very  convenient  to 
carry  milk  in. 

Roxana’s  night-gown. 

Othello’s  handkerchief. 

The  imperial  robes  of  Xerxes,  never  worn 
but  once. 

A wild  boar  killed  by  Mrs.  Tofts  and  Diocle- 
sian. 

A serpent  to  sting  Cleopatra. 

A mustard-bowl  to  make  thunder  with. 

Another  of  a bigger  sort,  by  Mr.  D s’sl 

directions,  little  used. 

Six  elbow  chairs,  very  expert  in  country- 
dances,  with  six  flower-pots  for  their  partners. 

The  whiskers  of  a Turkish  bassa. 

The  complexion  of  a murderer  in  a band-box; 
consisting  of  a large  piece  of  burnt  cork,  and  a 
coal-black  peruke. 

A suit  of  clothes  for  a ghost,  viz.  a bloody 
shirt,  a doublet  curiously  pinked,  and  a coat 
with  three  great  eyelet-holes  upon  the  breast. 

A bale  of  red  Spanish  wool. 

Modern  plots,  commonly  known  by  the  name 
of  trap-doors,  ladders  of  ropes,  vizard-masques, 
and  tables  wdth  broad  carpets  over  them. 


*Drury-lane  playhouse  was  about  this  time  shut  up 
by  an  order  from  the  lord  Chamberlain.  See  an  account 
of  this  affair  in  C.  Cibber's  ‘Apology  for  his  Life,’  vol.  i. 
p.  296. 

I The  Latin  poets  pretend  that  the  tenth  wave  is  the 
largest  and  most  dangerous. 

t Mr.  John  Dennis,  the  celebrated  critic,  had  just  then 
invented  his  new  mode  of  making  thunder. 


No.  43.] 


THE  TATLER. 


99 


Three  oak-cudgels,  with  one  of  crab-tree ; all 
bought  for  the  use  of  Mr.  Pinkethman. 

Materials  for  dancing ; as  masques,  castanets, 
and  a ladder  of  ten  rounds. 

Aurengzebe’s  scymitar,  made  by  Will  Brown 
in  Piccadilly. 

A plume  of  feathers,  never  used  but  by  Oedi- 
pus and  the  earl  of  Essex. 

There  are  also  swords,  halberds,  slieep-hooks, 
cardinals’  hats,  turbans,  drums,  gallipots,  a gib- 
bet, a cradle,  a rack,  a cart-wheel,  an  altar,  a 
helmet,  a back-piece,  a breast-plate,  a bell,  a tub, 
and  a jointed-baby. 

These  are  the  hard  shifls  we  intelligencers 
are  forced  to ; therefore  our  readers  ought  to  ex- 
cuse us,  if  a westerly  wind,  blowing  for  a fort- 
night together,  generally  fills  every  paper  with 
an  order  of  battle ; when  we  show  our  martial 
skill  in  every  line,  and  according  to  the  space 
we  have  to  fill,  we  range  our  men  in  squadrons 
and  battalions,  or  draw  out  company  by  compa- 
ny, and  troop  by  troop ; ever  observing  that  no 
muster  is  to  be  made  but  when  the  wind  is  in  a 
cross-point,  which  often  happens  at  the  end  of  a 
campaign,  when  half  the  men  are  deserted  or 
killed.  The  Courant  is  sometimes  ten  deep,  his 
ranks  close : the  Postboy  is  generally  in  files, 
for  greater  exactness ; and  the  Postman  comes 
down  upon  you  rather  after  the  Turkish  way, 
sword  in  hand,  pell-mell,  without  form  or  disci- 
pline; but  sure  to  bring  men  enough  into  the 
field ; and  wherever  they  are  raised,  never  to  lose 
a battle  for  want  of  numbers. 


No.  43.]  Tuesday,  July  19,  1709. 

■ Bene  nummatum  decorat  suadela,  Venusque. 

Hor. 

The  goddess  of  persuasion  forms  his  train, 

And  Venus  decks  the  well-bemoneyed  swain. 

Frayicis. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  July  18. 

I WRITE  from  hence  at  present  to  complain, 
that  wit  and  merit  are  so  little  encouraged  by 
people  of  rank  and  quality,  that  the  wits  of  the 
age  are  obliged  to  run  within  Temple-bar  for 
patronage.  There  is  a deplorable  instance  of 
this  kind  in  the  case  of  Mr.  D’Urfey,  who  has 
dedicated  his  inimitable  comedy,  called  ‘ The 
Modern  Prophets,’  to  a worthy  knight,  to  whom, 
it  seems,  he  had  before  communicated  his  plan, 
which  was,  ‘ To  ridicule  the  ridiculers  of  our 
established  doctrine.’  I have  elsewhere  cele- 
brated the  contrivance  of  this  excellent  drama ; 
but  was  not,  until  I read  the  dedication,  wholly 
let  into  the  religious  design  of  it.  I am  afraid 
it  has  suffered  discontinuance  at  this  gay  end 
of  the  town,  for  no  other  reason  but  the  piety  of 
the  purpose.  There  is,  however,  in  this  epistle, 
the  true  life  of  panegyrical  performance ; and  f 
do  not  doubt  but  if  the  patron  would  part  with 
it,  I can  help  him  to  others  with  good  preten- 
sions to  it,  viz ; of  ‘ uncommon  understanding,’ 
who  will  give  him  as  much  as  he  gave  for  it.  I 
know  perfectly  well  a noble  person,  whom  these 
words  (which  are  the  body  of  the  panegyric) 
would  fit  to  a hair. 


‘Your*  easiness  of  humour,  or  rather  your 
harmonious  disposition,  is  so  admirably  mixed 
with  your  composure,  that  the  rugged  cares  and 
disturbance  that  public  affairs  bring  with  it, 
which  does  so  vexatiously  affect  the  heads  of 
other  great  men  of  business,  &c.  does  scarce 
ever  ruffle  your  unclouded  brow  so  much  as  with 
a frown.  And  what  above  all  is  praise-worthy, 
you  are  so  far  from  thinking  yourself  better 
than  others,  that  a flourishing  and  opulent  for- 
tune, which,  by  a certain  natural  corruption  in 
its  quality,  seldom  fails  to  infect  other  posses- 
sors with  pride,  seems  in  this  case  as  if  only 
providentially  disposed  to  enlarge  your  humil- 
ity. 

‘ But  I find,  sir,  I am  now  got  into  a very 
large  field,  where,  though  I could  with  great 
ease  raise  a number  of  plants  in  relation  to  your 
merit  of  this  plauditory  nature ; yet  for  fear  of 
an  author’s  general  vice,  and  that  the  plain  jus- 
tice I have  done  you  should,  by  my  proceeding, 
and  others’  mistaken  judgment,  be  imagined 
flattery,  a thing  the  bluntness  of  my  nature 
does  not  care  to  be  concerned  with,  and  wdiich 
I also  know  you  abominate.’ 

It  is  wonderful  to  see  how  many  judges  of 
these  fine  tilings  spring  up  every  day  by  the 
rise  of  stocks  and  other  elegant  methods  of 
abridging  tlie  way  to  learning  and  criticism. 
But  I do  hereby  forbid  all  dedications  to  any 
persons  within  the  city  of  London ; except  sir 
Francis,t  sir  Stephen,  and  the  Bank,  wull  take 
epigrams  and  epistles  as  value  received  for  their 
notes;  and  the  East-India  company  accept  of 
heroic  poems  for  their  sealed  bonds.  Upon 
wfliich  bottom  our  publishers  have  full  power  to 
treat  with  the  city  in  behalf  of  us  authors,  to 
enable  traders  to  become  patrons  and  fellows  of 
the  Royal  Society,!  as  well  as  to  receive  certain 
degrees  of  skill  in  the  Latin  and  Greek  tongues, 
according  to  the  quantity  of  the  commodities 
which  they  take  off  our  hands. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  July  18. 

The  learned  have  so  long  laboured  under  the 
imputation  of  dryness  and  dullness  in  their  ac- 
counts of  the  phenomena,  that  an  ingenious 
gentleman  of  our  society  has  resolved  to  write  a 
system  of  philosophy  in  a more  lively  method, 
both  as  to  the  matter  and  language,  than  has 
been  hitherto  attempted.  He  read  to  us  the 
plan  upon  which  he  intends  to  proceed.  I 
thought  his  account,  by  way  of  fable,  of  the 
w'orlds  about  us,  had  so  much  vivacity  in  it,  that 
I could  not  forbea.r  transcribing  his  hypothesis, 
to  give  the  reader  a taste  of  my  friend’s  treatise, 
which  is  now  in  the  press. 

‘ The  inferior  deities,  having  designed  on  a 
day  to  play  a game  at  foot-ball,  kneaded  to- 


* An  extract  from  D’Urfey’s  dedication, 
t Sir  Francis  and  sir  Stephen  were  evidently  bankers 
of  the  times;  and,  of  those,  the  two  most  eminent  were 
sir  Francis  Child  and  sir  Steplnm  Evance.  The  latter 
was  ruined,  it  is  thought,  in  the  South-sea  year. 

f 3Ir.  Whiston,  alluded  to  in  the  following  part  of 
this  paper,  was  at  this  time  proposed  as  a member  of 
the  Royal  Society,  and  rejected.  The  pretended  account 
of  his  hypothesis  that  follows  is  mere  pleasantry,  and 
not  a quotation  from  his  book,  or  any  true  account  of 
his  ‘Theory.’ 


100 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  43. 


gether  a numberless  collection  of  dancing  atoms 
into  the  form  of  seven  rolling  globes : and,  that 
nature  might  be  kept  from  a dull  inactivity, 
each  separate  particle  is  endued  with  a principle 
of  motion,  or  a power  of  attraction,  whereby  all 
the  several  parcels  of  matter  draw  each  other 
proportionably  to  their  magnitudes  and  distances, 
into  such  a remarkable  variety  of  different  forms, 
as  to  produce  all  the  wmnderful  appearances  we 
now  observe  in  empire,  philosophy,  and  religion. 
But  to  proceed : 

‘ At  the  beginning  of  the  game,  each  of  the 
globes,  being  struck  forward  with  a vast  violence, 
ran  out  of  sight,  and  wandered  in  a straight  line 
through  the  infinite  spaces.  The  nimble  deities 
pursue,  breathless  almost,  and  spent  in  tlie  eager 
chace;  each  of  them  caught  hold  of  one,  and 
stamped  it  with  his  name;  as  Saturn,  Jupiter, 
Mars,  and  so  of  the  rest.  To  prevent  this  in- 
convenience for  the  future,  tlie  seven  are  con- 
demned to  a precipitation,  which  in  our  inferior 
style  we  call  gravity.  Thus  the  tangential 
and  centripetal  forces,  by  their  counter-strug- 
gle, make  the  celestial  bodies  describe  an  exact 
elipsis. 

‘ There  will  be  added  to  this  an  appendix,  in 
defence  of  the  first  day  of  the  term  according 
to  the  Oxford  almanack,  by  a learned  knight^ 
of  this  realm,  with  an  apology  for  the  said 
knight’s  manner  of  dress ; proving  tliat  liis  ha- 
bit, according  to  tliis  hypotliesis,  is  the  true  mo- 
dern and  fashionable  ; and  tiiat  buckles  are  not 
to  be  worn,  by  tliis  system,  until  the  tenth  of 
March  in  the  year  1714,  which,  according  to 
the  computation  of  some  of  our  greatest  divines, 
is  to  be  the  first  year  of  the  millenniian ; in  which 
blessed  age  all  habits  will  be  reduced  to, a pri- 
mitive simplicity;  and  whoever  shall  be  found 
to  have  persevered  in  a constancy  of  dress,  in 
spite  of  all  the  allurements  of  profane  and  hea- 
then  habits,  shall  be  rewarded  with  a never- 
fading  doublet  of  a thousand  years.  All  points 
in  the  system,  which  are  doubted,  shall  be  at- 
tested by  the  knight’s  extemporary  oath,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  his  readers.’ 

Will's  Coffee-hoiise,  July  18. 

We  were  upon  the  heroic  strain  this  evening,'- 
and  the  question  was,  ‘ What  is  the  true  sub- 
lime?’ Many  very  good  discourses  happened 
thereupon;  after  which  a gentleman  at  the 
table,  who  is,  it  seems,  writing  on  that  subject, 
assumed  the  argument;  and  though  he  ran 
through  many  instances  of  sublimity  from  the 
ancient  writers,  said,  ‘ he  had  hardly  known  an 
occasion  wherein  the  true  greatness  of  soul, 
which  animates  a general  in  action,  is  so  well 
represented,  with  regard  to  the  person  of  whom 
it  was  spoken,  and  the  time  in  which  it  was 
writ,  as  in  a few  lines  in  a modern  poem. 
There  is,  continued  he,  nothing  so  forced  and 
constrained,  as  what  we  frequently  meet  with 
in  tragedies ; to  make  a man  under  the  weight  of 
great  sorrow,  or  full  of  meditation  upon  what 


* Sir  William  Wliitlocke,  knt.  member  for  Oxon, 
bencher  of  the  Middle  Temple,  and  queen’s  serjeant. 
He  is  also  alluded  to  under  the  name  of  ‘Dear  Shoe- 
Etrinj^s,’  which  it  would  seem  that  he  wore  instead  of 
buckles,  Taller,  No.  33. 


he  is  soon  to  execute,  cast  about  for  a simile  to 
what  he  himself  is,  or  the  thing  which  he  is 
going  to  act : but  there  is  nothing  more  proper 
and  natural  for  a poet,  whose  business  it  is  to 
describe,  and  who  is  spectator  of  one  in  that 
circum.stance,  when  his  mind  is  working  upon 
a great  image,  and  that  the  ideas  hurry  upon 
his  imagination — I say,  there  is  nothing  so 
natural,  as  for  a poet  to  relieve  and  clear  him- 
self from  the  burden  of  thought  at  that  time,  by 
uttering  his  conception  in  simile  and  metaphor. 
The  highest  act  of  the  mind  of  man  is  to  pos- 
sess itself  with  tranquillity  in  imminent  danger, 
and  to  have  its  thoughts  so  free,  as  to  act  at  that 
time  without  perplexity.  The  ancient  authors 
have  compared  this  sedate  courage  to  a rock 
that  remains  immoveable  a.midst  the  rage  of 
winds  and  waves ; but  that  is  too  stupid  and  in- 
animate a similitude,  and  could  do  no  credit  to 
the  hero.  At  other  times  they  are  all  of  them 
wonderfully  obliged  to  a Lybian  lion  which  may 
give  indeed  very  agreeable  terrors  to  a descrip- 
tion, but  is  no  compliment  to  the  person  to  whom 
it  is  applied:  eagles,  tigers,  and  wolves,  are 
made  use  of  on  the  same  occasion,  and  very 
often  with  much  beauty  ; but  this  is  still  an 
honour  done  to  the  brute  rather  than  the  hero. 
Mars,  Pallas,  Bacchus,  and  Hercules,  have  eaqh 
of  them  furnished  very  good  similes  in  their 
time,  and  made,  doubtless,  a greater  impression 
on  the  mind  of  a heathen,  than  they  have  on 
that  of  a modern  reader.  But  the  sublime  im- 
age that  I am  talking  of,  and  which  I really 
think  as  great  as  ever  entered  into  the  thought 
of  man,  is  in  the  poem  called  ‘The  Campaign  ;’* 
w’here  the  simile  of  a ministering  angel  sets 
forth  the  most  sedate  and  the  most  active  cou- 
rage, engaged  in  an  uproar  of  nature,  a confu- 
sion of  elements,  and  a scene  of  divine  vengeance. 
Add  to  all,  that  these  lines  compliment  the  ge- 
neral and  his  queen  at  the  same  time,  and  have 
all  the  natural  horrors  heightened  by  the  image 
that  was  still  fresh  in  the  mind  of  every  reader  :t 

“ ’Twas  then  creat  Marlbro's  miebty  soul  was  proved. 
That,  in  the  shock  of  chargin';  hosts  unmoved, 
Amidst  confusion,  horror,  and  despair, 

E.xamined  all  the  dreadful  scenes  of  war  ; 

In  peaceful  thoufflu  the  field  of  death  surveyed, 

To  faintin';  squadrons  sent  the  timely  aid. 

Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage. 

And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage. 

So  when  an  ansel,  by  divine  command. 

With  rising  temfiests  shakes  a euilty  land. 

Such  as  of  late  o’er  pale  Britannia  past, 

Calm  and  .serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast; 

An.1.  pleased  th'  Almighty's  orders  to  perform. 

Rides  in  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm.”  J 

‘ The  whole  poem  is  so  exquisitely  noble  and 
poetic,  that  I think  it  an  honour  to  our  nation 
and  language.’ 

The  gentleman  concluded  his  critique  on  this 
work,  by  saying  that  ‘ he  esteemed  it  wholly 
new%  and  a wonderful  attempt  to  keep  up  the 
ordinary  ideas  of  a marcli  of  an  army,  just  as 
they  happened,  in  so  warm  and  great  a style, 
and  5^et  be  at  once  familiar  and  heroic.  Such 
a performance  is  a chronicle  as  well  as  a poem, 


* By  Addison,  published  in  1T04. 
t The  author  alludes  here  to  the  terrible  tempests 
which  happened  in  November,  1703,  and  made  sad  ha- 
voc in  England,  and  in  several  other  places  of  Europe. 

J Psalm  cslviii.  8. 


THE  TATLER. 


101 


No.  44.] 

and  will  preserve  the  memory  of  our  hero,  vdien 
j all  the  edifices  and  statues  erected  to  his  honour 
are  blended  with  common  dust.’ 


No.  44.]  Thursday,  July  11  Qd- 

Nullis  amor  est  medicabilis  herbis.  Ovid. 

No  herb,  alas  ! can  cure  the  pangs  of  love. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  July  19. 

This  day  passing  through  Covent-garden,  1 
was  stopped  in  the  piazza  by  Pacolet,  to  observe 
what  he  called  the  triumph  of  love  and  youth. 
I turhed  to  the  object  he  pointed  at,  and  there  1 
saw  a gay  gilt  chariot,  drawn  by  fresh  prancing 
horses ; the  coachman  with  a new  cockade,  and 
the  lacqueys  with  insolence  and  plenty  in  their 
countenances.  1 asked  immediately,  ‘ What 
young  heir  or  lover  owned  that  glittering  equi- 
page V But  my  companion  interrupted  : ‘ Do 
you  see  there  the  mourning  ^Esculapius  ?’* 
‘The  mourning?’  said  I.  ‘Yes,  Isaac,’  said 
Pacolet,  ‘ he  is  in  deep  .mourning,  and  is  the 
languisiiing,  hopeless  lover  of  the  divine  Hebe,t 
the  emblem  of  youth  and  beauty.  The  excel- 
lent and  learned  sage  you  behold  in  that  furni- 
ture is  the  strongest  instance  imaginable,  that 
love  is  the  most  powerful  of  all  things. 

‘ You  are  not  so  ignorant  as  to  be  a stranger 
to  the  character  of  Aesculapius,  as  the  patron 
and  most  successful  of  all  who  profess  the  art  of 
medicine.  But  as  most  of  his  operations  are 
owing  to  a natural  sagacity  or  impulse,  he  has 
very  little  troubled  himself  with  the  doctrine  of 
drugs,  but  has  always  given  nature  more  room 
to  help  herself,  than  any  of  her  learned  assist- 
ants ; and,  consequently,  has  done  greater  won- 
ders than  is  in  the  power  of  art  to  perform  : for 
which  reason  he  is  half  deified  by  the  people  ; 
and  has  ever  been  justly  courted  by  all  the 
world,  as  if  he  were  a seventh  son. 

‘ It  happened,  that  the  charming  Hebe  was 
reduced,  by  a long  and  violent  fever,  to  the 
piost  extreme  danger  of  death  ; and  when  all 
skill  failed,  they  sent  for  iEsculapius.  The  re- 
nowned artist  was  touched  with  the  deepest 
compassion  to  see  the  faded  charms  and  faint 
bloom  of  Hebe ; and  had  a generous  concern  in 
beholding  a struggle,  not  between  life,  but  ra- 
ther between  youth  and  death.  All  his  skill 
and  his  passion  tended  to  tlie  recovery  of  Hebe, 
beautiful  even  in  sickness  ; but,  alas  ! the  un- 
happy  physician  knew  not  that  in  all  his  care 
he  was  only  sharpening  darts  for  his  own  de- 
struction. In  a word,  his  fortune  was  the  same 
with  that  of  the  statuary,  who  fell  in  love  with 
the  image  of  his  own  making ; and  the  unfor- 
tunate jEsculapius  is  become  the  patient  of  her 
whom  he  lately  recovered.  Long  before  this 
disaster,  jEsculapius  was  far  gone  in  the  unne- 
cessary and  superfluous  amusements  of  old  age, 
in  increasing  unwieldy  stores,  and  providing, 
in  the  midst  of  an  incapacity  of  enjoyment  of 


*This  paper  was  written  in  ridicule  of  a love-affair 
which  befei  Dr.  Radcliffe,  who  was  at  that  time  about 
sixty;  he  died  November  1, 1714.  aged  sixty-four, 
t The  lady’s  real  name  was  Miss  Tempest. 


what  he  had,  for  a supply  of  more  wants  than 
he  had  calls  for  in  youth  itself.  But  these  low 
considerations  are  now  no  more,  and  love  has 
taken  place  of  avarice,  or  rather  is  become  an 
avarice  of  another  kind,  which  still  urges  him 
to  pursue  what  he  does  not  want.  But,  behold 
the  metamorphosis ; the  anxious  mean  cares  of 
a usurer  are  turned  into  the  languishments  and 
complaints  of  a lover.  “ Behold,”  says  the  aged 
A]lsculapius,  “ I submit ; I own,  great  love,  thy 
empire;  pity,  Hebe,  the  fop  which  you  have 
made.  What  have  I to  w'ith  gilding  but  on 
pills?  Yet,  O fair!  for  thee  I sit  amidst  a 
crowd  of  painted  deities  on  my  chariot,  button- 
ed in  gold,  clasped  in  gold,  without  having  any 
value  for  that  beloved  metal,  but  as  it  adorns 
the  person,  and  laces  the  hat  of  thy  dying  lover. 
I ask  not  to  live,  O Hebe  ! give  me  but  gentle 
death  : Euixva<ri»,  that  is  all  I im- 

plore.” 

When  Aesculapius  bad  finished  his  com- 
plaint, Pacolet  went  on  in  deep  morals  on 
tlie  uncertainty  of  riches,  with  this  remarka- 
ble exclamation  : ‘ O wealth  ! how  impotent  art 
thou  ! and  how  little  dost  thou  supply  us  with 
real  happiness,  when  the  usurer  himself  can 
forget  thee  for  the  love  of  what  is  as  foreign 
to  his  felicity  as  thou  art  1’ 

Will's  Coffee-house,  July  19. 

The  company  here,  who  have  all  a delicate 
taste  for  theatrical  representations,  had  made  a 
gathering  to  purchase  the  moveables  of  the 
neighbouring  playhouse,  for  the  encouragement 
of  one  which  is  setting  up  in  the  Hay-market. 
But  the  proceedings  at  the  auction,  by  which 
method  the  goods  have  been  sold  this  evening, 
have  been  so  unfair,  that  this  generous  design 
has  been  frustrated ; for  the  imperial  mantle 
made  for  Cyrus  was  missing,  as  also  the  chariot 
and  two  dragons  : but,  upon  examination,  it 
was  found  that  a gentleman  of  Hampshire  had 
clandestinely  bought  them  both,  and  is  gone 
down  to  his  country  seat ; and  that  on  Saturday 
last  he  passed  through  Staines,  attired  in  that 
robe,  and  drawn  by  the  said  dragons,  assisted 
by  two  only  of  his  own  horses.  This  theatrical 
traveller  has  also  left  orders  with  Mr.  Halit  to 
send  the  faded  rainbow  to  the  scourer’s,  and 
when  it  comes  home,  to  despatch  it  after  him. 
At  the  same  time,  Christopher  Rich,t  esq.  is 
invited  to  bring  down  his  setting-sun  himself, 
and  be  box-keeper  to  a theatre  erected  by  this 
gentleman  near  Southampton.  Thus,  there  has 
been  nothing  but  artifice  in  the  management  of 
this  affair ; for  which  reason,  I beg  pardon  of 
the  town,  that  I inserted  the  inventory  in  my 
paper  ; and  solemnly  protest,  I knew  nothing 
of  this  artful  design  of  vending  these  rarities  : 
but  I meant  only  the  good  of  the  world,  in  that, 
and  all  other  things  which  I divulge. 

And  now  I am  upon  this  subject,  I must  do 


* A Greek  word  that  signifies  ‘ easy  death,’  which  was 
the  common  wish  of  the  Emperor  Augustus, 
t A noted  auctioneer  of  those  times, 
j The  patentee  for  Drury-lane  play-house,  which  was 
shut  up  about  this  time  by  an  order  from  the  Lord 
Chamberlain. 


102 


THE  TATLER. 


1 


myself  justice  in  relation  to  an  article  in  a 
former  paper,*  wherein  I made  mention  of  a 
person  who  keeps  a puppet-show  in  the  town 
of  Bath  ; I was  tender  of  naming  names,  and 
only  just  hinted,  that  he  makes  larger  promises 
when  he  invites  people  to  his  dramatic  repre- 
sentations,  than  he  is  able  to  perform  : but  I am 
credibly  informed,  that  he  makes  a profane, 
lewd  jester,  whom  he  calls  Punch,  speak  to  the 
dishonour  of  Isaac  Bickerstaff  with  great  fami- 
liarity ; and,  before  all  my  learned  friends  in 
that  place,  takes  upon  him  to  dispute  my  title  to 
the  appellation  of  esquire.  I think  I need  not 
say  much  to  convince  all  the  world,  that  this 
Mr.  Powel,  for  that  is  his  name,  is  a pragmati- 
cal and  vain  person,  to  pretend  to  argue  with 
me  on  any  subject.  Mecum  certasse  feretur ; 
that  is  to  say,  it  will  be  an  honour  to  him 
to  have  it  said  he  contended  with  me:  but  I 
would  have  him  to  know,  that  I can  look  be- 
yond his  wires,  and  know  very  well  the  whole 
trick  of  his  art ; and  that  it  is  only  by  these 
wires  that  the  eye  of  the  spectator  is  cheated, 
and  hindered  from  seeing  that  there  is  a thread 
on  one  of  Punch’s  chops,  which  draws  it  up, 
and  lets  it  fall  at  the  discretion  of  the  said 
Powel,  who  stands  behind  and  plays  him,  and 
makes  him  speak  saucily  of  his  betters.  He  ! 
to  pretend  to  make  prologues  against  me  ! — 
But  a man  never  behaves  himself  with  decency 
in  his  own  case  ; therefore,  I shall  command 
myself,  and  never  trouble  me  further  with  this 
little  fellow,  who  is  himself  but  a tall  puppet, 
and  has  not  brains  enough  to  make  even  wood 
speak  as  it  ought  to  do  : and  I that  have  heard 
the  groaning  boards  can  despise  all  that  his 
puppets  shall  be  able  to  speak  as  long  as  they 
live.  But,  Ex  quovis  ligno  non  Jit  Mercurius. 

‘ Every  log  of  wood  will  not  make  a Mercury.’ 
He  has  pretended  to  write  to  me  also  from 
the  Bath,  and  says,  he  thought  to  have  deferred 
giving  me  an  answer  until  he  came  to  his  books; 
but  that  my  writings  might  do  well  with  the 
waters  : which  are  pert  expressions,  that  be- 
come a school-boy  better  than  one  that  is  to 
teach  others  ; and  when  I have  said  a civil 
thing  to  him,  he  cries,  ‘ Oh  ! I thank  you  for 
that — I am  your  humble  servant  for  that.’  Ah  ! 
Mr.  Powel,  these  smart  civilities  will  never  run 
down  men  of  learning  : I know  well  enough 
your  design  is  to  have  all  men  automata,  like 
your  puppets  ; but  the  world  is  grown  too  wise, 
and  can  look  through  these  thin  devices.  I 
know  your  design  to  make  a reply  to  this ; but 
be  sure  you  stick  close  to  my  words  ; for  if 
you  bring  me  into  discourses  concerning  the 
government  of  your  puppets,  I must  tell  you, 

‘ I neither  am,  nor  have  been,  nor  will  be,  at 
leisure  to  answer  you.’  It  is  really  a burning 
shame  this  man  should  be  tolerated  in  abusing 
the  world  with  such  representations  of  things  : 
but  his  parts  decay,  and  he  is  not  much  more 
alive  than  Partridge. 


=*=  All  the  papers  and  passages  about  Powel,  the  pup- 
pet-show-man, relate  to  the  controversy  between  Hoad- 
ly  and  Offspring  Blackall,  bishop  of  Exeter,  on  which 
they  were  intended  as  a banter : it  is  needless  to  say. 
that  the  wit  and  raillery  is  employed  on  the  side  of 
Hoadly. 


[No.  45.  ; 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  14. 

I must  beg  pardon  of  my  readers,  that  for 
this  time,  I have,  I fear,  huddled  up  my  dis- 
course, having  been  very  busy  in  helping  an 
old  friend  of  mine  out  of  town.  He  has  a very 
good  estate,  and  is  a man  of  wit ; but  he  has 
been  three  years  absent  from  town,  and  cannot 
bear  a jest,  for  which  reason,  I have,  with  some  ii 

pains,  convinced  him  that  he  can  no  more  live  ♦ 

here  than  if  he  were  a downright  bankrupt. 

He  w'as  so  fond  of  dear  London,  that  he  began 
to  fret,  only  inwardly;  but  being  unable  to 
laugh  and  be  laughed  at,  I took  a place  in 
the  northern  coach  for  him  and  his  family  ; and 
hope  he  is  got  to-night  safe  from  all  sneerers,  in 
his  own  parlour. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  July  20. 

This  morning  we  received  by  express  the 
agreeable  news  of  the  surrender  of  the  town  of 
Tournay  on  the  twenty -eighth  instant,  N.  S. 

The  place  was  assaulted  by  the  attacks  of  ge- 
neral  Schuylemberg,  and  that  of  general  Lot- 
turn,  at  the  same  time.  The  action  at  both 
those  parts  of  the  town  was  very  obstinate,  and 
the  allies  lost  a considerable  number  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  dispute ; but  the  fight  was  continued 
with  so  great  bravery,  that  the  enemy,  observ- 
ing our  men  to  be  masters  of  all  the  posts  which 
were  necessary  for  a general  attack,  beat  the 
chamade,  and  hostages  were  received  from  the 
town,  and  others  sent  from  the  besiegers,  in 
order  to  come  to  a formal  capitulation  for  the 
surrender  of  the  place.  We  have  also  this  day 
received  advice,  that  sir  John  Leake,  who  lies 
off  Dunkirk,  had  intercepted  several  ships  laden 
with  corn  from  the  Baltic ; and  that  the  Dutch  i 
privateers  had  fallen  in  with  others,  and  carried  i| 
them  into  Holland.  The  French  letters  advise,  4 
that  the  young  son  to  the  duke  of  Anjou  lived  ■> 
but  eight  days.  | 


No.  45.]  Saturday,  July  23,  1709.  I 

Credo  pudicitiam  Saturno  rege  moratam  W 

In  terris Juv.  Sat.  vi.  i. 

In  Saturn’s  reign,  at  nature’s  early  birth. 

There  was  that  thing  called  chastity,  on  earth. 

Dryden. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  July  22. 

The  other  day  I took  a walk  a mile  or  two 
out  of  town,  and  strolling  wherever  chance  led 
me,  I was  insensibly  carried  into  a by-road, 
along  which  was  a very  agreeable  quickset  of 
an  extraordinary  height,  which  surrounded  a 
very  delicious  seat  and  garden.  From  one  angle 
of  the  hedge,  I heard  a voice  cry,  ‘ Sir,  sir  !’ — 

This  raised  my  curiosity,  and  I heard  the  same 
voice  say,  but  in  a gentle  tone,  ‘ Come  forward, 
come  forward  !’  I did  so,  and  one  through  the 
hedge  called  me  by  my  name,  and  bid  me  go 
on  to  the  left,  and  I should  be  admitted  to  visit 
an  old  acquaintance  in  distress.  The  laws  of 
kniglit-errantry  made  me  obey  the  summons  i 


i 


THE  TATLER. 


103 


No.  45.] 

without  hesitation ; and  I was  let  in  at  the  back 
gate  of  a lovely  house  by  a maid-servant,  who 
carried  me  from  room  to  room  until  I came  into 
a gallery  ; at  the  end  of  which,  I saw  a fine  lady 
dressed  in  the  most  sumptuous  habit,  as  if  she 
were  going  to  a ball,  but  with  the  most  abject 
and  disconsolate  sorrow  in  her  face  that  I ever 
beheld.  As  I came  near,  she  burst  into  tears, 
and  cried,  ‘ Sir,  do  not  you  know  the  unhappy 
Teraminta  V I soon  recollected  her  whole  per- 
son : ‘ But,’  said  I,  ‘ madam,  the  simplicity  of 
dress,  in  which  I have  ever  seen  you  at  your 
good  father’s  house,  and  the  cheerfulness  of 
countenance  with  which  you  always  appeared, 
are  so  unlike  the  fashion  and  temper  you  are 
now  in,  that  I did  not  easily  recover  the  me- 
mory of  you.  Your  habit  was  then  decent  and 
modest,  your  looks  serene  and  beautiful : whence 
then  this  unaccountable  change  ? Nothing  can 
speak  so  deep  a sorrow  as  your  present  aspect ; 
yet  your  dress  is  made  for  jollity  and  revelling  !’ 
— ‘It  is,’  said  she,  ‘an  unspeakable  pleasure  to 
meet  with  one  I know,  and  to  bewail  myself  to 
any  that  is  not  an  utter  stranger  to  humanity. 

‘ When  your  friend  my  father  died,  he  left  me 
to  a wide  world  with  no  defence  against  the  in- 
sults of  fortune  ; but  rather,  a thousand  snares 
to  entrap  me  in  the  dangers  to  which  youth  and 
innocence  are  exposed,  in  an  age  wherein  ho- 
nour and  virtue  are  become  mere  words,  and 
used  only  as  they  serve  to  betray  those  who  un- 
derstand them  in  their  native  sense,  and  obey 
them  as  the  guides  and  motives  of  their  being. 
The  wickedest  of  all  men  livitjg,  the  abandoned 
Decius,  who  has  no  knowledge  of  any  good  art 
or  purpose  of  human  life,  but  as  it  tends  to  the 
satisfaction  of  his  appetites,  had  opportunities 
of  frequently  seeing  and  entertaining  me  at  a 
house  where  mixed  company  boarded,  and 
where  he  placed  himself  for  the  base  intention 
which  he  has  since  brought  to  pass.  Decius 
saw  enough  in  me  to  raise  his  brutal  desires, 
and  my  circumstances  gave  him  hopes  of  ac- 
complishing them.  But  all  the  glittering  ex- 
pectations he  could  lay  before  me,  joined  by  my 
private  terrors  of  poverty  itself,  could  not  for 
some  months  prevail  upon  me;  yet,  however  I 
hated  his  intention,  I still  had  a secret  satisfac- 
tion in  his  courtship,  and  always  exposed  my- 
self to  his  solicitations.  See  here  the  bane  of 
our  sex ! Let  the  flattery  be  never  so  apparent, 
the  flatterer  never  so  ill  thought  of,  his  praises 
are  still  agreeable,  and  we  contribute  to  our 
own  deceit.  I was,  therefore,  ever  fond  of  all 
opportunities  and  pretences  of  being  in  his 
company.  In  a word,  I was  at  last  ruined  by 
him,  and  brought  to  this  place,  where  I have 
been  ever  since  immured;  and  from  the  fatal 
day  after  my  fall  from  innocence,  my  worshipper 
became  my  master  and  my  tyrant. 

Thus,  you  see  me  habited  in  the  most  gorge- 
ous manner,  not  in  honour  of  me  as  a woman 
he  loves,  but  as  this  attire  charms  his  own  eye, 
and  urges  him  to  repeat  the  gratification  he 
takes  in  me,  as  the  servant  of  his  brutish  lusts 
and  appetites.  I know  not  where  to  fly  for  re- 
dress ; but  am  here  pining  away  life  in  the 
solitude  and  severity  of  a nun,  but  the  con- 
science and  guilt  of  a harlot.  I live  in  this 
lewd  practice  with  a religious  awe  of  my  minis- 


ter of  darkness,  upbraided  with  the  support  I 
receive  from  him,  for  the  inestimable  possession 
of  youth,  of  innocence,  of  honour,  and  of  con- 
science. I see,  sir,  my  discourse  grows  pain- 
ful to  you  ; all  I beg  of  you  is,  to  paint  it  in 
so  strong  colours,  as  to  let  Decius  see  I am 
discovered  to  be  in  his  possession,  that  I 
may  be  turned  out  of  this  detestable  scene  of 
regular  iniquity,  and  either  think  no  more,  or 
sin  no  more.  If  your  writings  have  the  good 
effect  of  gaining  my  enlargement,  I promise 
you  I will  atone  for  this  unhappy  step,  by  pre- 
ferring an  innocent  laborious  poverty,  to  all  the 
guilty  affluence  the  world  can  offer  me.’ 

WiWs  Coffee-house,  July  21. 

To  show  that  I do  not  bear  an  irreconcileable 
hatred  to  my  mortal  enemy,  Mr.  Bowel,  at 
Bath,  I do  his  function*  the  honour  to  publish 
to  the  world,  that  plays  represented  by  pup- 
pets are  permitted  in  our  universities,  and  that 
sort  of  drama  is  not  wholly  thought  unworthy 
the  critique  of  learned  heads ; but,  as  I have 
been  conversant  rather  with  the  greater  ode, 
as  I think  the  critics  call  it,  I must  be  so  hum- 
ble as  to  make  a request  to  Mr.  Bowel,  and  de- 
sire him  to  apply  his  thoughts  to  answering  the 
difficulties  with  which  my  kinsman,  the  author 
of  the  following  letter,  seems  to  be  embarrassed. 

‘ To  MY  HONOURED  KINSMAN,  ISAAC  BiCKERSTAFF, 

Esquire. 

From  Mother  Gourclon’s  at  Hedington,t 
near  Oxon,  June  16. 

‘ Dear  Cousin, — Had  the  family  of  the  Bea- 
dlestaffs,  whereof  I,  though  unworthy,  am  one, 
known  of  your  being  lately  at  Oxon,  we  had  in 
our  own  name,  and  in  the  university’s,  as  it  is 
our  office,  made  you  a compliment : but  your 
short  stay  here  robbed  us  of  an  opportunity  of 
paying  our  due  respects,  and  you  of  receiving 
an  ingenious  entertainment,  with  which  we  at 
present  divert  ourselves  and  strangers.  A pup- 
pet-show at  this  time  supplies  the  want  of  an 
act.  And  since  the  nymphs  of  this  city  are 
disappointed  of  a luscious  music-speech,  and  the 
country  ladies  of  hearing  their  sons  or  brothers 
speak  verses ; yet  the  vocal  machines,  like  them, 
by  the  help  of  a prompter,  say  things  as  much 
to  the  benefit  of  the  audience,  and  almost  as 
properly  their  own.  The  licence  of  a Terrce- 
Filius  is  refined  to  the  well-bred  satire  of  Bunche- 
nello.  Now,  cousin  Bickerstaff,  though  Bunch 
has  neither  a French  nightcap,  nor  long  pockets, 
yet  you  must  own  him  to  be  a Bretty  Fellow, a very 
Bretty  Fellow ; nay,  since  he  seldom  leaves  the 
company  without  calling  son  of  a whore,  demand- 
ing satisfaction,  and  duelling,  he  must  be  owned 
a Smart  Fellow,  too.  Yet,  by  some  indecencies 
towards  the  ladies,  he  seems  to  be  of  a third 
character,  distinct  from  any  you  have  yet  touched 
upon.  A young  gentleman  who  sat  next  me 
(for  I had  the  curiosity  of  seeing  this  enter  tain- 


*An  allusion  to  Offspring  Blackall’s  being  a bishop. 
The  university  of  Oxford  declared  publicly  in  favour  of 
his  lordship,  and  his  doctrine  of  passive  obedience. 

t A village  near  Oxford;  where  Dr.  King  takes  the 
scene  of  his  droll  tragi  comedy,  called  ‘ Joan  of  Heding 
ton.’ 


104 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  45. 


merit)  in  a tufted  gown,  red  stockings,  and  long 
wig  (which  I pronounce  to  be  tantamount  to  red 
heels,  and  a dangling  cane)  was  enraged  when 
Punchenello  disturbed  a soft  love-scene  with  his 
ribaldry.  You  would  oblige  us  mightily  by 
laying  down  some  rules  for  adjusting  the  ex- 
travagant behaviour  of  this  Almanzor  of  the  play, 
and  by  writing  a treatise  on  this  sort  of  dramatic 
poetry,  so  much  favoured,  and  so  little  under- 
stood, by  the  learned  world. 

‘From  its  being  conveyed  in  a cart,  after  the 
Thespian  manner,  all  the  parts  being  recited 
by  one  person,  as  the  custom  was  before  Hils- 
chylus,  and  from  the  behaviour  of  Punch,  as  if 
he  had  won  the  goat,  you  may  possibly  deduce 
its  antiquity,  and  settle  the  chronology,  as  well 
as  some  of  our  modern  critics.  In  its  natural 
transitions  from  mournful  to  merry  ; as  from 
the  hanging  of  a lover  to  dancing  upon  the 
rope ; from  the  stalking  of  a ghost  to  a lady’s 
presenting  you  with  a jig,  you  may  discover 
such  a decorum,  as  is  not  to  be  found  elsewhere 
than  in  our  tragi-comedies.  But  I forgot  my- 
self ; it  is  not  for  me  to  dictate : I thought  fit, 
dear  cousin,  to  give  you  these  hints,  to  show 
you  that  the  Eeadlestaffs  do  not  walk  before  men 
ofletters  to  no  purpose  ; and  that  though  we  do 
but  hold  up  the  train  of  arts  and  sciences,  yet, 
like  other  pages,  we  are  now  and  then  let  into 
our  ladies’  secrets.  I am  your  affectionate 
kinsman, 

‘BENJAMIN  BEADLESTAFF.’ 
Fram  my  own  Apartment,  July  22. 

I am  got  hither  safe,  but  never  spent  time 
with  so  little  satisfaction  as  this  evening ; for 
you  must  know,  I was  five  hours  with  three 
merry,  and  two  honest,  fellows.  The  former, 
sang  catches;  and  the  latter  even  died  with 
laughing  at  the  noise  they  made.  ‘Well,’  says  j 
Tom  Bellfrey,  ‘ you  scholars,  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  j 
are  the  worst  company  in  the  world.’ — ‘ Ay,’ 
says  his  opposite,  ‘you  are  dull  to-night;  pr’y- 
thee  be  merry.’  With  that  I huzzaed,  and 
took  a jump  cross  the  table,  then  came  clever 
upon  my  legs,  and  fell  a-laughing.  ‘ Let  Mr. 
Bickerstaff  alone,’  says  one  of  the  honest  fel- 
lows ; ‘ when  he  is  in  a good  humour,  he  is  as 
good  company  as  any  man  in  England.’  He 
had  no  sooner  spoke,  but  I snatched  his  hat  off 
his  head,  and  clapped  it  upon  my  own,  and 
burst  out  a-laughing  again  ; upon  which  we  all 
fell  a-laughing  for  half  an  hour.  One  of  the 
honest  fellows  got  behind  rne  in  the  interim,  and 
hit  me  a sound  slap  on  the  back ; upon  which 
he  got  the  laugh  out  of  my  hands ; and  it  was 
such  a twang  on  my  shoulders,  that  I confess 
he  was  much  merrier  than  I.  I was  half 
angry  ; but  resolved  to  keep  up  the  good  hu- 
mour of  the  company  ; and  after  hallooing  as 
loud  as  I could  possibly,  I drank  off  a bumper 
of  claret,  that  made  me  stare  again.  ‘Nay,’ 
says  one  of  the  honest  fellows,  ‘ Mr.  Isaac  is  in 
the  right;  there  is  no  conversation  in  this ; what 
signifies  jumping,  or  hitting  one  another  on  the 
back?  let  us  drink  about.’  We  did  so  from 
seven  of  the  clock  until  eleven ; and  now  I am 
come  hither,  and,  after  the  manner  of  the  wise 
Pythagoras,  begin  to  reflect  upon  tlie  passages 


of  the  day.  I remember  nothing  but  that  I am  ». 

bruised  to  death ; and  as  it  is  my  way  to  write  | 

down  all  the  good  things  I have  heard  in  the  t 
last  conversation,  to  furnish  my  paper,  I can 
from  this  only  tell  you  my  sufferings  and  my 
bangs. 

I named  Pythagoras  just  now;  and  I protest 
to  you,  as  he  believed  men  after  death  entered 
into  other  species,  I am  now  and  then  tempted  m 
to  think  other  animals  enter  into  men,  and  could  ^ 
name  several  on  two  legs,  that  never  discover 
any  sentiments  above  what  is  common  with  the 
species  of  a lower  kind ; as  we  see  in  these  bodily 
wits  with  whom  I was  to-night,  whose  parts 
consist  in  strength  and  activity  ; but  their  bois- 
terous mirth  gives  me  great  impatience  for  the  J 
return  of  such  happiness  as  I enjoyed  in  a con-  | 
versation  last  week.  Among  others  in  that  % 
company  we  had  Florio,  who  never  interrupted  i 
any  man  living  when  he  was  speaking  ; or  ever  » 
ceased  to  speak,  but  others  lamented  that  he  had  i 

done.  His  discourse  ever  rises  from  the  fulness  * 

of  the  matter  before  him,  and  not  from  osten-  : 
tation  or  triumph  of  his  understanding;  for 
though  he  seldom  delivers  what  he  need  fear 
being  repeated,  he  speaks  without  having  that  i 
end  in  view ; and  his  forbearance  of  calumny  or 
bitterness  is  owing  rather  to  his  good-nature  j 
than  his  discretion ; for  which  reason  he  is 
esteemed  a gentleman  perfectly  qualified  for 
conversation,  in  whom  a general  good-will  to 
mankind  takes  off  the  necessity  of  caution  and  : 
circumspection. 

We  had  at  the  same  time  that  evening,  the 
best  sort  of  companion  that  can  be  ; a good-na-  / 
tured  old  man.  This  person,  in  the  company  i 
of  young  men,  meets  with  veneration  for  his  i 
benevolence  ; and  is  not  only  valued  for  the  good  ■ 
qualities  of  which  lie  is  niaster,  but  reaps  an  | 
acceptance  from  the  pardon  ho  gives  to  other  i 
men’s  faults : and  the  ingenious  sort  of  men  with  >| 
whom  he  converses,  have  so  just  a regard  for  1 
him,  that  he  rather  is  an  example,  than  a check,  ■ 
to  their  behaviour.  For  this  reason,  as  Senecio  I 
never  pretends  to  be  a man  of  pleasure  before  ■ 
youth,  so  young  men  never  set  up  for  wisdom  B 
before  Senecio ; so  that  you  never  meet,  where  ■ 
he  is,  those  monsters  of  conversation,  who  are  I 
grave  or  gay  above  their  years.  He  never  con-  .If 
verses  but  with  followers  of  nature  and  good  ' 
sense,  where  all  that  is  uttered  is  only  the  effect  i 
of  a communicable  temper,  and  not  of  emulation  A 
to  excel  their  companions ; all  desire  of  supe-  ■ 
riority  being  a contradiction  to  that  spirit  which  ■ 
makes  a just  conversation,  the  very  essence  of  # 
which  is  mutual  good-will.  Hence  it  is,  that  I I 
take  it  for  a rule,  that  the  natural,  and  not  the  i * 
acquired  man,  is  the  companion.  Learning, 
wit,  gallantry,  and  good  breeding,  are  all  but 
subordinate  qualities  in  society,  and  are  of  no 
value,  but  as  they  are  subservient  to  benevolence,  j. 
and  tend  to  a certain  manner  of  being  or  appear-  A 
ing  equal  to  the  rest  of  the  company  ; for  con-  ^ 
versation  is  composed  of  an  assembly  of  men,  as 
they  are  men,  and  not  as  they  are  distinguished 
by  fortune  : therefore  he  who  brings  his  quality  > 
with  him  into  conversation,  should  always  pay 
the  reckoning ; for  he  came  to  receive  homage,  < 
and  not  to  meet  his  friends.  But  the  din  about  ( 
my  ears  from  the  clamour  of  the  people  I was  ^ 

\ 


No.  46.] 


THE  TATLER. 


105 


with  this  evening,  has  carried  me  beyond  my 
intended  purpose,  whieh  was  to  explain  upon 
the  order  of  merry  fellows  ; but  I think  I may 
pronounee  of  them,  as  I heard  good  Seneeio, 
with  a spiee  of  the  wit  of  the  last  age,  say,  viz. 
‘ That  a merry  fellow  is  the  saddest  fellow  in 
the  world.’ 


No.  46.]  Tuesday,  July  26, 1 709. 

Non  bene  conveniunt,  nec  in  una  scde  morantur, 

Majestas  et  amor. Ovid.  Met.  ii.  88. 

Love  but  ill  agrees  with  kingly  pride. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  July  25. 

We  see  every  day  volumes  written  against 
that  tyrant  of  human  life  called  Love  ; and  yet 
there  is  no  help  found  against  his  cruelties,  or 
barrier  against  the  inroads  he  is  pleased  to  make 
into  the  mind  of  man.  After  this  preface,  you 
will  expect  I am  going  to  give  particular  in- 
stances of  what  I have  asserted.  Tliat  expecta- 
tion cannot  be  raised  too  high  for  the  novelty  of 
the  history  and  manner  of  life  of  the  emperor 
Aurengezebe,*  wlio  has  resided  for  some  years 
in  the  cities  of  London  and  Westminster,  with 
the  air  and  mien  indeed  of  his  imperial  quality, 
but  the  equipage  and  appointment  only  of  a 
private  gentleman.  This  potentate,  for  a long 
series  of  time,  appeared  from  the  hour  of  twelve 
until  that  of  two  at  a coffee-house  near  the  Ex- 
change, and  had  a seat  (though  without  a canopy) 
sacred  to  himself,  where  he  gave  diurnal  audi- 
ences eoncerning  commerce,  politics,  tare  and 
tret,  usury  and  abatement,  with  all  things  neces- 
sary for  helping  the  distressed,  who  are  willing 
to  give  one  limb  for  the  better  maintenance  of 
the  rest ; or  sueh  joyous  youths,  whose  philoso- 
phy is  confined  to  the  present  hour,  and  were 
desirous  to  call  in  the  revenue  of  the  next  half- 
year  to  double  the  enjoyment  of  this.  Long  did 
this  growing  monarch  employ  himself  after  this 
manner : and,  as  alliances  are  necessary  to  all 
great  kingdoms,  he  took  particularly  the  inter- 
ests of  Lewis  the  XIVth  into  his  care  and  pro- 
tection. When  all  mankind  were  attacking 
that  unhappy  monarch,  and  those  who  had  nei- 
ther valour  nor  wit  to  oppose  against  him  would 
be  still  showing  their  impotent  malice,  by  lay- 
ing wagers  in  opposition  to  his  interests,  Au- 
rengezebe  ever  took  the  part  of  his  contemporary, 
and  laid  immense  treasures  on  his  side,  in  de- 
fence of  his  important  magazine  of  Toulon. 
Aurengezebe  also  had  all  this  while  a constant 
intelligence  with  India ; and  his  letters  were 
answered  in  jewels,  which  he  soon  made  bril- 
liant, and  caused  to  be  affixed  to  his  imperial 
castor,  wliich  he  always  wears  cocked  in  front, 
to  show  his  defiance  ; with  a heap  of  imperial 
snuff  in  the  middle  of  his  ample  visage,  to  show 
his  sagacity.  The  zealots  for  this  little  spot 
called  Great  Britain,  fell  universally  into  this 
emperor’s  policies,  and  paid  homage  to  his  su- 
perior genius,  in  forfeiting  their  coffers  to  his 
, treasury. 

This  name  has  been  applied  to  a very  celebrated 
East-Indian  governor  of  that  time.  See  more  of  Au- 
rengezebe in  Tattler,  No.  50. 

O 


But  wealth  and  wisdom  are  possessions  too 
solemn  not  to  give  weariness  to  active  minds, 
without  the  relief  (in  vacant  hours)  of  wit  and 
love,  which  are  the  proper  amusements  of  the 
powerful  and  the  w'ise.  This  emperor,  therc- 
Ibre,  with  great  regularity,  every  day  at  five  in 
the  afternoon,  leaves  his  money-changers,  his 
publicans,  and  little  hoarders  of  wealth,  to  their 
low  pursuits,  and  ascends  his  chariot,  to  drive 
to  Will’s  ; where  the  taste  is  refined,  and  a relish 
given  to  men’s  possessions,  by  a polite  skill  in 
gratifying  their  passions  and  appetites.  There 
it  is  that  the  emperor  has  learned  to  live  and  to 
love,  and  not,  like  a miser,  to  gaze  only  on  his 
ingots  or  his  treasures ; but,  with  a nobler  satis- 
faction, to  live  the  admiration  of  others,  for  his 
splendour  and  happiness  in  being  master  of  them. 
But  a prince  is  no  more  to  be  his  own  caterer 
in  his  love,  than  in  his  food ; therefore  Aurenge- 
zebe has  ever  in  waiting  two  purveyors  for 
his  dishes,  and  his  wrenches  for  his  retired  hours, 
by  whom  the  scene  of  his  diversion  is  prepared 
in  the  following  manner  : 

There  is  near  Covent-garden  a street  known 
by  the  name  of  Drury,  which,  before  the  days 
of  Christianity,  was  purchased  by  the  queen  of 
Paphos,  and  is  the  only  part  of  Great  Britain 
w'here  the  tenure  of  vassalage  is  still  in  being. 
All  that  long  course  of  building  is  under  par- 
ticular  districts  or  ladj^ships,  after  the  manner 
of  lordships  in  other  parts,  over  which  matrons 
of  known  abilities  preside,  and  have,  for  the 
support  of  their  age  and  infirmities,  certain 
taxes  paid  out  of  the  rewards  of  the  amorous 
labours  of  the  young.  This  seraglio  of  Great 
Britain  is  disposed  into  convenient  alleys  and 
apartments,  and  every  house,  from  the  cellar  to 
tlic  garret,  inhabited  by  nymphs  of  different  or- 
ders, that  persons  of  every  rank  may  be  accom- 
modated with  an  immediate  consort,  to  allay 
their  flames,  and  partake  of  their  cares.  Here 
it  is  that,  when  Aurengezebe  thinks  fit  to  give 
a loose  to  dalliance,  the  purveyors  prepare  the 
entertainment ; and  what  makes  it  more  august 
is,  that  every  person  concerned  in  the  interlude 
has  his  set  part,  and  the  prince  sends,  before- 
hand, w'ord  what  he  designs  to  say,  and  directs 
also  the  very  answer  wdiich  shall  be  made  to  him. 

It  has  been  before  hinted,  that  this  emperor 
has  a continual  commerce  with  India ; and  it 
is  to  be  noted,  that  the  largest  stone  that  rich 
earth  has  produced,  is  in  our  Aurengezebe’s  pos- 
session. 

But  all  things  are  now  disposed  for  his  recep- 
tion. At  his  entrance  into  the  seraglio,  a ser- 
vant delivers  him  his  beaver  of  state  and  love, 
on  which  is  fixed  this  inestimable  jewel  as  his 
diadem.  When  he  is  seated,  the  purveyors, 
Pandarus  and  Nuncio,  marching  on  each  side 
of  the  matron  of  the  house,  introduce  her  into 
his  presence.  In  the  midst  of  the  room,  they 
bow'^  all  together  to  the  diadem.  When  the  ma- 
tron— 

‘ Whoever  thou  art,  as  thy  awful  aspect  speaks 
thee  a man  of  power,  be  propitious  to  this  man- 
sion of  love,  and  let  not  the  severity  of  thy  wis- 
dom disdain,  that  by  the  representation  of  naked 
innocence,  or  pastoral  figures,  we  revive  in  thee 
the  memory  at  least  of  that  power  of  Venus,  to 
which  all  the  wise  and  the  brave  are  some  part 


106 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  46. 


of  their  lives  devoted.’  Aurengezebe  consents 
by  a nod,  and  they  go  out  backward.’ 

After  this,  an  unhappy  nymph,  who  is  to  be 
supposed  just  escaped  from  the  hands  of  a ra- 
visher,  with  her  tresses  dishevelled,  runs  into 
the  room  with  a dagger  in  her  hand,  and  falls 
before  the  emperor. 

‘ Pity,  oh  ! pity,  whoever  thou  art,  an  unhappy 
virgin,  whom  one  of  thy  train  has  robbed  of  her 
innocence;  her  innocence,  which  was  all  her 

portion Or  rather,  let  me  die  like  the  me- 

morable  Lucretia.’ — Upon  which  she  stabs  her- 
self. The  body  is  immediately  examined  after 
the  manner  of  our  coroners.  Lucretia  recovers 
by  a cup  of  right  Nantz ; and  the  matron,  who 
is  her  next  relation,  stops  all  process  at  law. 

This  unhappy  affair  is  no  sooner  over,  but  a 
naked  mad  woman  breaks  into  the  room,  calls 
for  her  duke,  her  lord,  her  emperor.  As  soon 
as  she  spies  Aurengezebe,  the  object  of  all  her 
fury  and  love,  she  calls  for  petticoats,  is  ready 
to  sink  with  shame,  and  is  dressed  in  all  haste 
in  new  attire  at  his  charge.  This  unexpected 
accident  of  the  mad  woman,  makes  Aurengezebe 
curious  to  know,  whether  others  who  are  in  their 
senses  can  guess  at  his  quality.  For  which  rea- 
son, the  whole  convent  is  examined  one  by  one. 
The  matron  marches  in  with  a tawdry  country 

girl ‘ Pray,  Winifred,’  says  she,’  who  do  you 

think  that  fine  man  with  those  jewels  and  pearls 

is?’ ‘I  believe,’  says  Winifred,  ‘it  is  our 

landlord It  must  be  the  esquire  himself.’ 

The  emperor  laughs  at  her  simplicity ‘ Go, 

fool,’  says  the  matron  : then  turning  to  the  em- 
peror  ‘ Your  greatness  will  pardon  her  igno- 

rance!’ After  her,  several  others  of  difterent 
characters  are  instructed  to  mistake  who  he  is, 
in  the  same  manner : then  the  whole  sisterhood 
are  called  together,  and  the  emperor  rises,  and 
cocking  his  hat,  declares,  he  is  the  great  mogul, 
and  they  his  concubines.  A general  murmur 
goes  through  the  whole  assembly  ; and  Aurenge- 
zebe, certifying  that  he  keeps  them  for  state 
rather  than  use,  tells  them,  they  are  permitted 
to  receive  all  men  into  their  apartments ; then 
proceeds  through  the  crowd,  among  whom  he 
throws  medals  shaped  like  half-crowns,  and  re- 
turns  to  his  chariot. 

This  being  all  that  passed  the  last  day  in 
which  Aurengezebe  visited  the  women’s  apart- 
ments, I consulted  Pacolet  concerning  the  foun- 
dation of  such  strange  amusements  in  old  age  : 
to  which  he  answered,  ‘You  may  remember, 
when  I gave  you  an  account  of  my  good  fortune 
in  being  drowned  on  the  tliirtieth  day  of  my 
human  life,  I told  you  of  the  disasters  I should 
otherwise  have  met  with  before  I arrived  at  the 
end  of  my  stamen,  which  was  sixty  years.  I 
may  now  add  an  observation  to  you,  that  all 
who  exceed  that  period,  except  the  latter  part 
of  it  is  spent  in  the  exercise  of  virtue  and  con- 
templation of  futurity,  must  necessarily  fall  into 
an  indecent  old  age ; because,  with  regard  to  all 
the  enjoyments  of  the  years  of  vigour  and  man- 
hood, childhood  returns  upon  them : and  as  in- 
fants ride  on  sticks,  build  houses  in  dirt,  and 
make  ships  in  gutters,  by  a faint  idea  of  things 
they  are  to  act  hereafter ; so  old  men  play  the 
lovers,  potentates,  and  emperors,  for  the  decay- 
ing image  of  the  more  perfect  performances  of 


their  stronger  years : therefore,  be  sure  to  insert 
jEsculapius  and  Aurengezebe  in  your  next  bill 
of  mortality  of  the  metaphorically  defunct.’ 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  July  24. 

As  soon  as  I came  hither  this  evening,  no 
less  than  ten  people  produced  the  following 
poem,  which  they  all  reported  was  sent  to  each 
of  them  by  the  penny -post  from  an  unknown 
hand.  All  the  battle-writers  in  the  room  were 
in  debate,  who  could  be  the  author  of  a piece 
so  martially  written ; and  every  body  applauded 
the  address  and  skill  of  the  author,  in  calling  it 
a postscript:  it  being  the  nature  of  a postscript 
to  contain  something  very  material  which  was 
forgotten,  or  not  clearly  expressed  in  the  letter 
itself.  Thus  the  verses  being  occasioned  by  a 
march  without  beat  of  drum,  and  that  circum- 
stance being  nowise  taken  notice  of  in  any  of 
the  stanzas,  the  author  calls  it  a postscript;  not 
that  it  is  a postscript,  but  figuratively  because 
it  wants  a postscript.  Common  writers,  when 
what  they  mean  is  not  expressed  in  the  book 
itself,  supply  it  by  a preface ; but  a postscript 
seems  to  me  the  more  just  way  of  apology ; be- 
cause, otherwise,  a man  makes  an  excuse  before 
the  offence  is  committed.  All  the  heroic  poets 
were  guessed  at  for  its  author;  but  though  we 
could  not  find  out  his  name,  yet  one  repeated  a 
couplet  in  Hudibras,  which  spoke  his  qualifica- 
tions ; 

‘ r tir  midst  of  all  this  warlike  rabble, 

Crowdero  march’d,  expert  and  able.’ 

The  poem  is  admirably  suited  to  the  occasion : 
for  to  write  without  discovering  your  meaning, 
bears  a just  resemblance  to  marching  without 
beat  of  drum. 

‘ ON  THE  MARCH  TO  TOURNAY  WITHOUT 
BEAT  OF  DRUM. 

‘ The  Brussels  Postscript. 

‘ Could  I with  plainest  words  e.xpress 
That  great  man's  wonderful  address, 

His  penetration,  and  histow’ring'thought ; 

It  would  the  gazing  w’orld  surprise, 

To  see  one  man  at  all  times  wise. 

To  view  the  wonders  he  with  ease  has  wrought. 

Refining  schemes  approach  his  mind, 

Like  breezes  of  a southern  wind. 

To  temperate  a sultry  glorious  day; 

Whose  fannings,  with  a useful  pride, 

Its  mighty  heat  do  softly  guide. 

And,  having  clear’d  the  air," glide  silently  away. 

Thus  his  immensity  of  thought 
Is  deeply  form’d,  and  gently  wrought. 

His  temper  always  softening  life’s  disease; 

That  Fortune,  when  she  does  intend 
To  rudely  frown,  she  turns  his  friend. 

Admires  his  judgment,  and  applauds  his  ease. 

His  great  address  in  this  design 
Does  now,  and  will  for  ever  shine. 

And  wants  a Waller  but  to  do  him  right ; 

The  whole  amusement  was  so  strong. 

Like  fate  he  dooiti'd  them  to  be  wrong. 

And  Tournay’s  took  by  a peculiar  slight. 

Thus,  Madam,  all  mankind  behold 
Your  vast  ascendant,  not  by  gold. 

But  by  your  wisdom  and  your  pious  life ; 

Your  aim  no  more,  than  to  destroy 
That  which  does  Europe’s  ease  annoy. 

And  supersede  a reign  of  shame  and  strife.’ 


No.  47.] 


THE  TATLER. 


107 


St.  James's  Coffee-house,  July  24. 

My  brethren  of  the  quill,  the  ingenious  socie- 
ty of  news-writers,  having  with  great  spirit  and 
elegance  already  informed  the  world,  that  the 
town  of  Tournay  capitulated  on  the  twenty- 
eighth  instant,  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to 
say,  but  to  congratulate  the  good  company  here, 
that  we  have  reason  to  hope  for  an  opportunity 
of  thanking  Mr.  Withers*  next  winter  in  this 
place,  for  the  service  he  has  done  his  country. 
No  man  deserves  better  of  his  friends  than  that 
gentleman,  whose  distinguished  character  it  is, 
that  he  gives  his  orders  with  the  familiarity,  and 
enjoys  his  fortune  with  the  generosity,  of  a fel- 
low-soldier. His  grace  the  duke  of  Argyle  had 
also  an  eminent  part  in  the  reduction  of  this  im- 
portant place.  That  illustrious  youth  discovers 
the  peculiar  turn  of  spirit  and  greatness  of  soul, 
which  only  make  men  of  high  birth  and  quality 
useful  to  their  country ; and  considers  nobility 
as  an  imaginary  distinction,  unless  accompanied 
with  the  practice  of  those  generous  virtues  by 
which  it  ought  to  be  obtained.  But  that  our 
military  glory  is  arrived  at  its  present  height, 
and  that  men  of  all  ranks  so  passionately  afl'ect 
their  share  in  it,  is  certainly  owing  to  the  merit 
and  conduct  of  our  glorious  general:  for,  as  the 
great  secretin  chemistry,  though  not  in  nature, 
has  occasioned  many  useful  discoveries;  and  the 
fantastic  notion  of  being  wholly  disinterested  in 
friendship  has  made  men  do  a thousand  gene- 
rous actions  above  themselves ; so,  though  the 
present  grandeur  and  fame  of  the  duke  of  Marl- 
borough is  a station  of  glory  to  which  no  one 
hopes  to  arrive,  yet  all  carry  their  actions  to  a 
higher  pitch,  by  having  that  great  example  laid 
before  them. 


No.  47.]  Thursday,  July  28,  1709. 

Q.iiicquid  a^unt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White'' s Chocolate-house,  July  18. 

My  friend  sir  Thomas  has  communicated  to 
me  his  letters  from  Epsom  of  the  twenty-fifth 
instant,  which  give,  in  general,  a very  good  ac- 
count of  the  present  posture  of  affairs  in  that 
place;  but  that  the  tranquillity  and  correspond- 
ence of  the  company  begins  to  be  interrupted 
by  the  arrival  of  sir  Taffety  Trippet,t  a fortune- 
hunter,  whose  follies  are  too  gross  to  give  diver- 
sion; and  whose  vanity  is  too  stupid  to  let  him 
be  sensible  that  he  is  a public  offence.  If  people 
will  indulge  a splenetic  humour,  it  is  impossible 
to  be  at  ease,  when  such  creatures  as  are  the 
scandal  of  our  species  set  up  for  gallantry  and 
adventures.  It  will  be  much  more  easy,  there- 
fore, to  laugh  sir  Taffety  into  reason,  than  con- 
vert him  from  his  foppery  by  any  serious  con- 


*  Henry  Withers  was  at  that  time  a major-general  in 
the  British  army.  He  died  in  1729. 

t Henry  Cromwell,  Esq.  who  died  in  1728,  was  the 
original  of  the  character  here  delineated  under  the  name 
of  sir  Taffety  Trippet. 


tempt.  I knew  a gentlemen  that  made  it  a 
maxim  to  open  his  doors,  and  ever  run  into  the 
way  of  bullies,  to  avoid  their  insolence.  The 
rule  will  hold  as  well  with  coxcombs:  they  are 
never  mortified,  but  when  they  see  you  receive 
and  despise  them ; otherwise  they  rest  assured, 
that  it  is  your  ignorance  makes  them  out  of 
your  good  graces;  or,  that  it  is  only  want  of  ad- 
mittance  prevents  their  being  amiable  where 
they  are  shunned  and  avoided.  But  sir  Taffety 
is  a fop  of  so  sanguine  a complexion,  that  I fear 
it  will  be  very  hard  for  the  fair-one  he  at  present 
pursues  to  get  rid  of  the  chase,  without  being 
so  tired,  as,  for  her  own  ease,  to  fall  into  the 
mouth  of  the  mongrel  she  runs  from.  But  the 
history  of  sir  Taffety  is  as  pleasant  as  his  cha- 
racter. 

It  happened  that,  when  he  first  set  up  for  a 
fortune-hunter,  he  chose  Tunbridge  for  the  scene 
of  action,  w'here  were  at  that  time  two  sisters 
upon  the  same  design.  The  knight  believed  of 
course  the  elder  must  be  the  better  prize;  and 
consequently  makes  all  his  sail  that  way.  Peo- 
ple that  want  sense  do  always  in  an  egregious 
manner  want  modesty,  which  made  our  hero 
triumph  in  making  his  amour  as  public  as  was 
possible.  The  adored  lady  was  no  less  vain  of 
his  public  addresses.  An  attorney  with  one 
cause  is  not  half  so  restless  as  a woman  with 
one  lover.  Wherever  they  met,  they  talked  to 
each  other  aloud,  chose  each  other  partner  at 
balls,  saluted  at  the  most  conspicuous  parts  of 
the  service  of  the  church,  and  practised,  in  ho- 
nour of  each  other,  all  the  remarkable  particu- 
larities  which  are  usual  for  persons  who  admire 
one  another,  and  are  contemptible  to  the  rest  of 
the  world.  These  two  lovers  seemed  as  much 
made  for  each  other  as  Adam  and  Eve,  and  all 
pronounced  it  a match  of  nature’s  own  mak- 
ing; but  the  night  before  the  nuptials,  so  uni- 
vcrsally  approved,  the  younger  sister,  envious 
of  the  good  fortune  even  of  her  sister,  who  had 
been  present  at  most  of  their  interviews,  and 
had  an  equal  taste  for  the  charms  of  a fop,  as 
there  are  a set  of  women  made  for  that  order  of 
men ; the  younger,  I say,  unable  to  see  so  rich 
a prize  pass  by  her,  discovered  to  sir  Taffety, 
that  a coquet  air,  much  tongue,  and  three  suits, 
was  all  the  portion  of  his  mistress.  His  love 
vanished  that  moment,  himself  and  equipage  the 
next  morning.  It  is  uncertain  wdiere  the  lover 
has  been  ever  since  engaged ; but  certain  it  is, 
he  has  not  appeared  in  his  character  as  a follower 
of  love  and  fortune  until  he  arrived  at  Epsom, 
wdiere  there  is  at  present  a young  lady  of  youth, 
beauty,  and  fortune,  who  has  alarmed  all  the 
vain  and  the  impertinent  to  infest  that  quarter. 
At  the  head  of  this  assembly,  sir  Taffety  shines 
in  the  brightest  manner,  with  all  the  accomplish- 
ments which  usually  ensnare  the  heart  of  a wo- 
man; with  this  particular  merit,  which  often  is 
of  great  service,  that  he  is  laughed  at  for  her 
sake.  The  friends  of  the  fair  one  are  in  much 
pain  for  the  sufferings  she  goes  through  from 
the  perseverance  of  this  hero ; but  they  may  be 
much  more  so  from  the  danger  of  his  succeed- 
ing, toward  which  they  give  a helping  hand,  if 
they  dissuade  her  with  bitterness  ; for  there  is  a 
fantastical  generosity  in  the  sex  to  approve 
creatures  of  the  least  merit  imaginable,  when 


108 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  47. 


they  see  the  imperfections  of  their  admirers  are 
become  marks  of  derision  for  their  sakes,  and 
there  is  nothing  so  frequent,  as  that  he,  who 
was  contemptible  to  a woman  in  her  own  judg- 
ment, has  won  her  by  being  too  violently  oppos- 
ed by  others. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  July  27. 

In  the  several  capacities  I bear  of  astrologer, 
civilian,  and  physician,  T have  with  great  ap- 
plication studied  the  public  emolument ; to  this 
end  serve  all  my  lucubrations,  speculations,  and 
whatever  other  labours  I undertake,  whether 
nocturnal  or  diurnal.  On  this  motive  am  I in- 
duced to  publish  a never-failing  medicine  for 
the  spleen  : my  experience  in  this  distemper 
came  from  a very  remarkable  cure  on  my  ever 
worthy  friend  Tom  Spindle,  who  through  ex- 
cessive gayety,  had  exhausted  that  natural  stock 
of  wit  and  spirit  he  had  long  been  blessed  with ; 
he  was  sunk  and  flattened  to  the  lowest  degree 
imaginable,  sitting  whole  hours  over  the  ‘ Book 
of  Martyrs’  and  ‘ Pilgrim’s  Progress ;’  his  other 
contemplations  never  rising  higher  than  the 
colour  of  his  urine,  or  the  regularity  of  his 
pulse.  In  this  condition  I found  him,  accom- 
panied by  the  learned  Dr.  Drachm,  and  a good 
old  nurse.  Drachm  had  prescribed  magazines  of 
herbs,  and  mines  of  steel.  I soon  discovered 
the  malady,  and  descanted  on  the  nature  of  it, 
until  I convinced  both  the  patient  and  his  nurse, 
that  the  spleen  is  not  to  be  cured  by  medicine 
but  by  poetry.  Apollo,  the  author  of  physic, 
shone  with  diffusive  rays,  the  best  of  poets  as 
well  as  of  physicians  ; and  it  is  in  this  double 
capacity  that  I have  made  my  way  ; and  have 
found  sweet,  easy,  ff owing  numbers  are  oft 
superior  to  our  noblest  medicines.  When  the 
spirits  are  low,  and  nature  sunk,  the  muse,  with 
sprightly  and  harmonious  notes,  give  an  un- 
expected turn  with  a grain  of  poetry  ; which  I 
prepare  without  the  use  of  mercury.  I have 
done  wonders  in  this  kind  ; for  the  spleen  is  like 
the  Tarantula,  the  effects  of  whose  malignant 
poison  are  to  be  prevented  by  no  other  remedy 
but  the  charms  of  music : for  you  are  to  under- 
stand, that  as  some  noxious  animals  carry  anti- 
dotes for  their  own  poisons,  so  there  is  some- 
thing equally  unaccountable  in  poetry ; for 
though  it  is  sometimes  a disease,  it  is  to  be 
cured  only  by  itself.  Now,  I knowing  Tom 
Spindle’s  constitution,  and  that  he  is  not  only  a 
pretty  gentleman,  but  also  a pretty  poet,  found 
the  true  cause  of  his  distemper  was  a violent 
grief,  that  moved  his  affections  too  strongly  ; 
for  during  the  late  treaty  of  peace,  he  had  writ 
a most  excellent  poem  on  that  subject ; and 
when  he  wanted  but  two  lines  in  the  last  stanza 
for  finishing  the  whole  piece,  there  comes  news 
that  the  French  tyrant  would  not  sign.  Spindle 
in  a few  days  took  his  bed,  and  had  lain  there 
still,  had  not  I been  sent  for.  I immediately 
told  him,  there  was  great  probability  the  French 
would  now  sue  to  us  for  peace.  I saw  immedi- 
ately a new  life  in  his  eyes,  and  I knew  that 
nothing  could  help  him  forward  so  well,  as 
hearing  verses  which  he  would  believe  worse 
than  his  own.  I read  him,  therefore,  the 
Brussels  Postscript:  after  Avhich  I recited  some 


heroic  lines  of  my  own,  which  operated  so 
strongly  on  the  tympanum  of  his  ear,  that  I 
doubt  not  but  I have  kept  out  all  other  sounds 
for  a fortnight;  and  have  reason  to  hope,  we 
shall  see  him  abroad  the  day  before  his  poem. 

This,  you  see,  is  a particular  secret  I have 
found  out,  viz.  that  you  are  not  to  choose  your 
physician  for  his  knowledge  in  your  distemper, 
but  for  having  it  himself.  Therefore,  I am  at 
hand  for  all  maladies  arising  from  poetical 
vapours,  beyond  which  I never  pretend.  For 
being  called  the  other  day  to  one  in  love,  I took 
indeed  their  three  guineas,  and  gave  them  my 
advice,  which  was  to  send  for  iEsculapius.  Ails, 
culapius,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  patient,  cries 
out,  ‘ It  is  love  ! it  is  love  ! Oh  ! the  unequal 
pulse  ! these  are  the  symptoms  a lover  feels ; 
such  sighs,  such  pangs,  attend  the  uneasy  mind; 
nor  can  our  art,  or  all  our  boasted  skill,  avail. — 
Yet,  O fair  ! for  thee’ — Thus  the  sage  ran  on, 
and  owned  the  passion  which  he  pitied,  as  well 
as  that  he  felt  a greater  pain  than  ever  he  cured  : 
after  which  he  concluded,  ‘ All  I can  advise,  is 
marriage : charms  and  beauty  will  give  new 
life  and  vigour,  and  turn  the  course  of  nature 
to  its  better  prospect.’  This  is  the  new  way; 
and  thus  ^Esculapius  has  left  his  beloved  pow- 
ders, and  writes  a recipe  for  a wife  at  sixty. 
In  short,  my  friend  followed  the  prescription, 
and  married  youth  and  beauty  in  its  perfect 
bloom. 

‘ Supine  in  Silvia’s  snowy  arms  he  lies, 

And  all  the  busy  cares  of  life  defies  : 

Each  happy  hour  is  filled  with  fresh  delight, 

While  peace  the  day,  and  pleasure  crowms  the  night.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  27. 

Tragical  passion  was  the  subject  of  the  dis- 
course where  I last  visited  this  evening;  and  a 
gentleman  who  knows  that  I am  at  present 
writing  a very  deep  tragedy,  directed  his  dis- 
course in  a particular  manner  to  me.  ‘ It  is 
the  common  fault,’  said  he,  ‘ of  you  gentlemen 
who  write  in  the  buskin  style,  that  you  give 
us  rather  the  sentiments  of  such  who  behold 
tragical  events,  than  of  such  who  bear  a part 
in  them  themselves.  I wmuld  advise  all  who 
pretend  this  way,  to  read  Shakspeare  with  care ; 
and  they  will  soon  be  deterred  from  putting 
forth  what  is  usually  called  tragedy.  The  way 
of  common  w’riters  in  this  kind  is  rather  the 
description  than  the  expression  of  sorrow. 
There  is  no  medium  in  these  attem.pts,  and 
you  must  go  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  heart, 
or  it  is  all  mere  language ; and  the  writer  of 
such  lines  is  no  more  a poet,  than  a man  is  a 
physician  for  knowing  the  names  of  distempers, 
without  the  causes  of  them.  Men  of  sense  are 
professed  enemies  to  all  such  empty  labours  ; 
for  he  who  pretends  to  be  sorrowful,  and  is  not, 
is  a wretch  yet  more  contemptible  than  he  who 
pretends  to  be  merry,  and  is  not.  Such  a 
tragedian  is  only  maudlin  drunk.’  The  gentle- 
man went  on  with  much  warmth  ; but  all  he 
could  say  had  little  effect  upon  me : but  when  I 
came  hither,  I so  far  observed  his  counsel,  that 
I looked  into  Shakspeare.  The  tragedy  I dipped 
into  was  ‘ Henry  the  Fourth.’  In  the  scene 
where  Morton  is  preparing  to  tell  Northumber- 


No.  48.] 


THE  TATLER. 


109 


land  of  his  son’s  death,  the  old  man  does  not 
give  him  time  to  speak,  but  says, 

‘ The  w'hiteness  of  thy  cheeks 
Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand ; 

Even  such  a man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless. 

So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  vvoe-begone, 

Drew  Priam’s  curtain  at  the  dead  of  night. 

And  would  have  told  him  half  his  Troy  was  burnt; 
But  Priam  found  the  fire,  ere  he  his  tongue. 

And  I my  Piercy’s  death,  ere  thou  report’st  it.’ 

The  image  in  this  place  is  wonderfully  noble 
and  great ; yet  this  man  in  all  this  is  but  rising 
towards  his  great  affliction,  and  is  still  enough 
himself,  as  you  see,  to  make  a simile.  But 
when  he  is  certain  of  his  son’s  death,  he  is  lost 
to  all  patience,  and  gives  up  all  the  regards  of 
this  life ; and  since  the  last  of  evils  is  fallen  up- 
on him,  he  calls  for  it  upon  all  the  world. 

‘ Now  let  not  nature’s  hand 
Keep  the  wild  flood  confined ; let  order  die, 

And  let  the  world  no  longer  be  a stage, 

To  feed  contention  in  a ling’ring  act ; 

But  let  one  spirit  of  the  first-born  Cain 
Reign  in  all  bosoms,  that  each  heart  being  set 
On  bloody  courses,  the  wide  scene  may  end. 

And  darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead.’ 

Reading  but  this  one  scene  has  convinced 
me,  that  he,  who  describes  the  concern  of  great 
men,  must  have  a soul  as  noble,  and  as  sus- 
ceptible  of  high  thoughts,  as  they  whom  he 
represents : I shall  therefore  lay  by  my  drama 
for  some  time,  and  turn  my  thoughts  to  cares 
and  griefs  somewhat  belovv  that  of  heroes,  but 
no  less  moving.  A misfortune,  proper  for  me 
to  take  notice  of,  has,  too,  lately  happened : the 
disconsolate  Maria  has  three  days  kept  her 
chamber  for  the  loss  of  the  beauteous  Fidelia, 
her  lap-dog.  Lesbia  herself  did  not  shed  more 
tears  for  her  sparrow.  What  makes  her  the 
more  concerned  is,  that  we  know  not  whether 
Fidelia  was  killed  or  stolen  : but  she  was  seen 
in  the  parlour-window  when  the  train-bands 
went  by,  and  never  since.  Whoever  gives  | 
notice  of  her,  dead  or  alive,  shall  be  rewarded  j 
with  a kiss  of  her  lady. 


No.  48.]  Saturday^  July  30, 1709. 

Virtutem  verba  putant,  ut 

Lucum  ligna Hor.  Ep.  vi.  31. 

They  look  on  virtue  as  an  empty  name. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  29. 

This  day  I obliged  Pacolet  to  entertain  me 
with  matters  which  regarded  persons  of  his 
own  character  and  occupation.  We  chose  to 
take  our  walk  on  Tower-hill ; and  as  we  were 
coming  from  thence,  in  order  to  stroll  as  far  as 
Garraway’s,*  I observed  two  men  who  had  but 
just  landed  coming  from  the  water-side.  I 
thought  there  was  something  uncommon  in 
their  mien  and  aspect;  but  though  they  seemed 
by  their  visage  to  be  related,  yet  there  was  a 
warmth  in  their  manner,  as  if  they  differed 


* Garraway  kept  a coffee-house  at  that  time  opposite 
to  the  Royal  Exchange,  probably  in  the  place  where 
there  is  now  a coffee-house  well  known  by  the  same 
name. 


very  much  in  their  sentiments  of  the  subject 
on  which  they  were  talking.  One  of  them 
seemed  to  have  a natural  confidence  mixed  with 
an  ingenious  freedom,  in  his  gesture  ; his  dress 
very  plain,  but  very  graceful  and  becoming : 
the  other,  in  the  midst  of  an  overbearing  car- 
riage, betrayed,  by  frequently  looking  round 
him,  a suspicion  that  he  was  not  enough  re- 
garded by  those  he  met,  or  that  he  feared  they 
would  make  some  attack  upon  him.  This  per- 
son was  much  taller  than  his  companion,  and 
added  to  that  height  the  advantage  of  a feather 
in  his  hat,  and  heels  to  his  shoes  so  monstrously 
high,  that  he  had  three  or  four  times  fallen 
down,  had  he  not  been  supported  by  his  friend. 
They  made  a full  stop  as  they  came  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  place  where  we  stood.  The 
plain  gentleman  bowed  to  Pacolet ; the  other 
looked  upon  him  with  some  displeasure  : upon 
which  I asked  him  who  they  both  were  ? when 
he  thus  informed  me  of  their  persons  and  cir- 
cumstances : 

‘You  may  remember,  Isaac,  that  I have  of- 
ten told  you  there  are  beings  of  a superior 
rank  to  mankind ; who  frequently  visit  the 
habitations  of  men,  in  order  to  call  them  from 
some  wrong  pursuits  in  which  they  are  actually 
engaged,  or  divert  them  from  methods  which 
will  lead  them  into  errors  for  the  future.  He 
that  will  carefully  reflect  upon  the  occurrences 
of  his  life,  will  find  he  has  been  sometimes  ex- 
tricated out  of  difficulties,  and  received  favours 
where  he  could  never  have  expected  such  bene- 
fits ; as  well  as  met  with  cross  events  from 
some  unseen  hand,  which  has  disappointed  his 
best  laid  designs.  Sueh  aecidents  arrive  from 
the  interventions  of  aerial  beings,  as  they  are 
benevolent  or  hurtful  to  the  nature  of  man ; 
and  attend  his  steps  in  the  tracks  of  ambition, 
of  business,  and  of  pleasure.  Before  I ever 
appeared  to  you  in  the  manner  I do  now,  I 
have  frequently  followed  you  in  your  evening- 
walks  ; and  have  often,  by  throwing  some  acci- 
dent in  your  way,  as  the  passing  by  of  a funeral, 
or  the  appearance  of  some  other  solemn  object, 
given  your  imagination  a new  turn,  and  changed 
a night  you  have  destined  to  mirth  and  jollity, 
into  an  exercise  of  study  and  contemplation.  I 
was  the  old  soldier  who  met  you  last  summer  in 
Chelsea-fields,  and  pretended  that  I had  broken 
my  wooden-leg,  and  could  not  get  home  ; but  I 
snapped  it  short  off*,  on  purpose  that  you  might 
fall  into  the  reflections  you  did  on  that  subject, 
and  take  me  into  your  hack.  If  you  remember, 
you  made  yourself  very  merry  on  that  fracture, 
and  asked  me  whether  I thought  I should  next 
winter  feel  cold  in  the  toes  of  that  leg  ? as 
is  usually  observed,  that  those  who  lose  limbs 
are  sensible  of  pains  in  the  extreme  parts,  even 
after  those  limbs  are  cut  off.  However,  my 
keeping  you  then  in  the  story  of  the  battle  of 
the  Boyne  prevented  an  assignation,  which 
would  have  led  you  into  more  disasters  than  I 
then  related. 

‘To  be  short:  those  two  persons  whom  you 
see  yonder  are  such  as  I am ; they  are  not  real 
men,  but  are  mere  shades  and  figures,  one  is 
named  Alethes,  the  other  Verisimilis.  Their 
office  is  to  be  the  guardians  and  representatives 
of  conscience  and  honour.  They  are  now  going 


110 


THE  TATLER. 


to  visit  the  several  parts  of  the  town,  to  see  how 
their  interests  in  the  world  decay  or  flourish, 
and  to  purge  themselves  from  the  many  false 
imputations  they  daily  meet  with  in  the  com- 
merce and  conversation  of  men.  You  observed 
Verisimilis  frowned  when  he  first  saw  me. 
What  he  is  provoked  at  is,  that  I told  him  one 
day,  though  he  strutted  and  dressed  with  so 
much  ostentation,  if  he  kept  himself  within  his 
own  bounds,  he  was  but  a lackey,  and  wore 
only  that  gentleman’s  livery  whom  he  is  now 
with.  This  frets  him  to  the  heart;  for  you  must 
know,  he  has  pretended  a long  time  to  set  up 
for  himself,  and  gets  among  a crowd  of  the 
more  unthinking  part  of  mankind,  who  take 
him  for  a person  of  the  first  quality ; though  his 
introduction  into  the  world  was  wholly  owing 
to  his  present  companion.’ 

This  encounter  was  very  agreeable  to  me,  and 
I was  resolved  to  dog  them,  and  desired  Pacolet 
to  accompany  me.  I soon  perceived  what  he  told 
me  in  the  gesture  of  the  persons ; for,  when 
they  looked  at  each  other  in  discourse,  the 
well-dressed  man  suddenly  cast  down  his  eyes, 
and  discovered  that  the  other  had  a painful 
superiority  over  him.  After  some  further  dis- 
course, they  took  leave.  The  plain  gentleman 
went  down  towards  Thames-street,  in  order  to 
be  present,  at  least,  at  the  oaths  taken  at  the 
custom-house ; and  the  other  made  directly  for 
the  heart  of  the  city.  It  is  incredible  how  great 
a change  there  immediately  appeared  in  the 
man  of  honour,  when  he  got  rid  of  his  uneasy 
companion:  he  adjusted  the  cock  of  his  hat 
a-new,  settled  his  sword-knot,  and  haS  an  ap- 
pearance that  attracted  a sudden  inclination 
for  him  and  his  interests  in  all  who  beheld  him. 

‘ For  my  part,’  said  I to  Pacolet,  ‘ I cannot  but 
think  you  are  mistaken  in  calling  this  person 
of  the  lower  quality  ; for  he  looks  much  more 
like  a gentleman  than  the  other.  Do  not  vou 
observe  all  eyes  are  upon  him,  as  he  advances  ? 
how  each  sex  gazes  at  his  stature,  aspect,  ad- 
dress, and  motion  ? Pacolet  only  smiled  and 
shaked  his  head  ; as  leaving  me  to  be  convinced 
b}'^  my  own  further  observation.  We  kept  on 
our  way  after  him  until  we  came  to  Exchange- 
alley,  where  the  plain  gentleman  again  came 
up  to  the  other;  and  they  stood  together  after 
the  manner  of  eminent  merchants,  as  if  ready 
to  receive  application ; but  I could  observe  no 
man  talk  to  either  of  them.  The  one  was 
laughed  at  as  a fop ; and  I heard  many  whispers 
against  the  other,  as  a whimsical  sort  of  a fel- 
low, and  a great  enemy  to  trade.  They  crossed 
Cornhill  together,  and  came  into  the  full  Ex- 
change, where  some  bowed,  and  gave  themselves 
airs  in  being  known  to  so  fine  a man  as  Verisi- 
milis, who,  they  said,  had  great  interest  in  all 
prince’s  courts ; and  the  other  was  taken  notice 
of  by  several,  as  one  they  had  seen  somewhere 
long  before.  One  more  particularly  said,  he 
had  formerly  been  a man  of  consideration  in 
the  world ; but  was  so  unlucky,  that  they  who 
dealt  with  him,  by  some  strange  infatuation  or 
other,  had  a way  of  cutting  off  their  own  bills, 
and  were  prodigiously  slow  in  improving  their 
stock.  But  as  much  as  I was  curious  to  observe 
the  reception  these  gentlemen  met  with  upon 
the  Exchange,  I could  not  help  being  interrupt- 


[No.  48. 

ed  by  one  that  came  up  towards  us,  to  whom 
every  body  made  their  compliments.  He  was 
of  the  common  height,  and  in  his  dress  there 
seemed  to  be  great  care  to  appear  no  way  par- 
ticular, except  in  a certain  exact  and  feat  man- 
ner  of  behaviour  and  circumspection.  He  was 
wonderfully  careful  that  his  shoes  and  clothes 
should  be  without  the  least  speck  upon  them ; 
and  seemed  to  think,  that  on  such  an  accident 
depended  his  very  life  and  fortune.  There  was 
hardly  a man  on  the  Exchange  who  had  not  a note 
upon  him  ; and  each  seemed  very  well  satisfied 
that  their  money  lay  in  his  hands,  without  de- 
manding payment.  I asked  Pacolet,  what  great 
merchant  that  was,  who  was  so  universally  ad- 
dressed to,  yet  made  too  familiar  an  appear- 
ance to  command  that  extraordinary  deference? 
Pacolet  answered,  ‘ This  person  is  the  demon 
or  genius  of  credit;  his  name  is  Umbra.  If  you 
observe,  he  follows  Alethes  and  Verisimilis  at  a 
distance  ; and  indeed  has  no  foundation  for  the 
figure  he  makes  in  the  world,  but  that  he  is 
thought  to  keep  their  cash  ; though,  at  the  same 
time,  none  who  trust  him  would  trust  the  others 
for  a groat.’  As  the  company  rolled  about,  the 
three  spectres  were  jumbled  into  one  place: 
when  they  were  so,  and  all  thought  there  was 
an  alliance  between  them,  they  immediately 
drew  upon  them  the  business  of  the  whole  Ex- 
change. But  their  affairs  soon  increased  to 
such  an  unwieldy  bulk,  that  Alethes  took  his 
leave,  and  said,  ‘ he  would  not  engage  further 
than  he  had  an  immediate  fund  to  answer.’ 
Verisimilis  pretended,  ‘ that  though  he  had  re- 
venues large  enough  to  go  on  his  own  bottom, 
yet  it  was  below  one  of  his  family  to  condescend 
to  trade  in  his  own  name ;’  therefore  he  also  re- 
tired. I was  extremely  troubled  to  see  the 
glorious  mart  of  London  left  with  no  other 
guardian  but  him  of  credit.  But  Pacolet  told 
me,  that  traders  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
honour  or  conscience  of  their  correspondents, 
provided  they  supported  a general  behaviour  in 
the  world,  which  could  not  hurt  their  credit  or 
their  purses:  for,  said  he,  ‘you  may,  in  this  one 
tract  of  building  of  London  and  Westminster, 
see  the  imaginary  motives  on  which  the  great- 
est affairs  move,  as  well  as  in  rambling  over  the 
face  of  the  earth.  For  though  Alethes  is  the 
real  governor,  as  well  as  legislator  of  mankind, 
he  has  very  little  business  but  to  make  up  quar- 
rels ; and  is  only  a general  referee,  to  whom 
every  man  pretends  to  appeal,  but  is  satisfied 
with  his  determinations  no  further  than  they 
promote  his  own  interest.  Hence  it  is,  that  the 
soldier  and  the  courtier  model  their  actions  ac- 
cording to  Verisimilis’s  manner,  and  the  mer- 
chant according  to  that  of  Umbra.  Among 
these  men,  honour  and  credit  are  not  valuable 
possessions  in  themselves,  or  pursued  out  of  a 
principle  of  justice;  but  merely  as  they  are 
serviceable  to  ambition  and  to  commerce.  But 
the  world  will  never  be  in  any  manner  of  order 
or  tranquillity,  until  men  are  firmly  convinced 
that  conscience,  honour,  and  credit,  are  all  in 
one  interest ; and  that,  without  the  concurrence 
of  the  former,  the  latter  are  but  impositions 
upon  ourselves  and  others.  The  force  these 
delusive  words  have,  is  not  seen  in  the  transac- 
tions of  the  busy  world  only,  but  they  have  also 


No.  49.] 


THE  TATLER. 


Ill 


their  tyranny  over  the  fair  sex.  Were  you  to 
ask  the  unhappy  Lais,  what  pangs  of  reflection 
preferring  the  consideration  of  her  honour  to 
laer  conscience  has  given  her  ? she  could  tell  you, 
that  it  has  forced  her  to  drink  up  half  a gallon, 
this  winter,  of  Tom  Dassapas’s  potions : that 
she  still  pines  away  for  fear  of  being  a mother ; 
and  knows  not  but  the  moment  she  is  such,  she 
shall  be  a murderess : but  if  conscience  had  as 
strong  a force  upon  the  mind  as  honour,  the 
first  step  to  her  unhappy  condition  had  never 
been  made ; she  had  still  been  innocent  as  she 
is  beautiful.  Were  men  so  enlightened  and 
studious  of  tlieir  own  good,  as  to  act  by  the 
dictates  of  their  reason  and  reflection,  and  not 
the  opinion  of  others,  conscience  would  be  the 
steady  ruler  of  human  life ; and  the  words  truth, 
law,  reason,  equity,  and  religion,  would  be  but 
synonymous  terms  for  that  only  guide  which 
makes  us  pass  our  days  in  our  own  favour  and 
approbation.’ 


No.  49.]  Tuesday,  August  2,  1709. 

duicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  li belli.  Jiiv.  Sat.  i.  85, 80. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

While's  Chocolate-house,  August  1. 

Thk  imposition  of  honest  names  and  words 
upon  improper  subjects,  has  made  so  regular  a 
I confusion  among  us,  that  we  are  apt  to  sit  down 
with  our  errors,  well  enough  satisfied  with  the 
methods  we  are  fallen  into,  without  attempting 
to  deliver  ourselves  from  the  tyranny  under 
which  we  are  reduced  by  such  innovations.  Of 
all  the  laudable  motives  of  human  life,  none 
have  suffered  so  much  in  this  kind,  as  love  ; un- 
der which  revered  name  a brutal  desire  called 
lust,  is  frequently  concealed  and  admitted ; 
though  they  differ  as  much  as  a matron  from  a 
I prostitute,  or  a companion  from  a buffoon.  Phi- 
lander the  other  day  was  bewailing  this  misfor- 
tune with  much  indignation,  and  upbraided  me 
[ for  having  some  time  since  quoted  those  excel- 
lent lines  of  the  satirist: 

‘To  an  exact  perfection  they  have  brought 
The  action  love;  the  passion  is  forgot.’  " 

‘ How  could  you,’  said  he,  ‘ leave  such  a hint 
so  coldly  ? How  could  Aspasia  and  Sempronia 
. enter  into  your  imagination  at  the  same  time, 
j and  you  never  declare  to  us  the  different  recep- 
tions you  gave  them  ?’ 

I The  figures  which  the  ancient  mythologists 
and  poets  put  upon  Love  and  Lust  in  their  writ- 
ings are  very  instructive.  Love  is  a beauteous 
blind  child,  adorned  with  a quiver  and  a bow, 
which  he  plays  with,  and  shoots  around  him, 
without  design  or  direction ; to  intimate  to  us 
that  the  person  beloved  has  no  intention  to  give 
us  the  anxieties  we  meet  with,  but  that  the 
beauties  of  a worthy  object  are  like  the  charms 
of  a lovely  infant ; they  cannot  but  attract  your 
concern  and  fondness,  though  the  child  so  re- 
garded^ is  as  insensible  of  the  value  you  put  upon 
^t,  as  it  is  that  it  deserves  your  benevolence. 


On  the  other  side,  the  sages  figured  Lust  in  the 
form  of  a satyr ; of  shape,  part  human,  part  bes- 
tial ; to  signify  that  the  followers  of  it  prostitute 
the  reason  of  a man  to  pursue  the  appetites  of  a 
beast.  This  satyr  is  made  to  haunt  the  paths 
and  coverts  of  the  wood-nymiths  and  shep- 
herdesses, to  lurk  on  the  banks  of  rivulets,  and 
watch  the  purling  streams,  as  the  resorts  of  re- 
tired virgins ; to  show,  that  lawless  desire  tends 
chieffy  to  prey  upon  innocence,  and  has  some- 
thing so  unnatural  in  if,  tliat  it  liates  its  own 
make,  and  shuns  the  object  it  loved,  as  soon  as 
it  has  made  it  like  itselt’.  Love,  therefore,  is  a 
child  that  complains  and  bewails  its  inability  to 
help  itself,  and  weeps  for  assistance,  without  an 
immediate  reflection  or  knowledge  of  the  food  it 
wants : Lust,  a w’atchful  thief,  which  seizes  its 
prey,  and  lays  snares  for  its  own  relief;  and  its 
principal  object  being  innocent,  it  never  robs  but 
it  murders  at  the  same  time. 

From  this  idea  of  a Cupid  and  a Satyr,  we 
may  settle  our  notions  of  these  different  desires, 
and  accordingly  rank  their  followers.  Aspasia 
must,  therefore,  be  allowed  to  be  the  first  of  the 
beauteous  order  of  Love,  whose  unaffected  free- 
dom., and  conscious  innocence,  give  her  the  at- 
tendance of  the  graces  in  all  her  actions.  That 
awful  distance  which  we  bear  toward  her  in  all 
our  thoughts  of  her,  and  that  cheerful  familiarity 
with  which  we  approach  her,  are  certain  in- 
stances of  her  being  the  truest  object  of  love  of 
any  of  her  sex.  In  this  accomplished  lady,  love 
is  the  constant  effect,  because  it  is  never  the  de- 
sign. Yet,  though  her  mien  carries  much  more 
invitation  than  command,  to  behold  her  is  an 
immediate  check  to  loose  behaviour  ; and  to  love 
her  is  a liberal  education ; for,  it  being  the  na- 
ture of  all  love  to  create  an  imitation  of  the  be- 
loved person  in  the  lover,  a regard  for  Aspasia 
naturally  produces  decency  of  manners,  and 
good  conduct  of  life  in  her  admirers.  If,  there- 
fore, the  giggling  Leucippe  could  but  see  her 
train  of  fops  assembled,  and  Aspasia  move  by 
them,  she  would  be  mortified  at  the  veneration 
with  w’hich  she  is  beheld,  oven  by  Leucippe’s 
own  unthinking  equipage,  whose  passions  have 
long  taken  leave  of  their  understandings. 

/As  charity  is  esteemed  a conjunction  of  the 
good  qualities  necessary  to  a virtuous  man,  so 
love  is  the  happy  composition  of  all  the  accom- 
plishments that  make  a fine  gentleman.  The 
motive  of  a man’s  life  is  seen  in  all  his  actions ; 
and  such  as  have  the  beauteous  boy  for  their  in- 
spirer,  have  a simplicity  of  behaviour,  and  a 
certain  evenness  of  desire,  which  burns  like  the 
lamp  of  life  in  their  bosoms  ; while  they  who  are 
instigated  by  the  satyr,  are  ever  tortured  by 
jealousies  of  the  object  of  their  wishes ; often 
desire  what  they  scorn,  and  as  often  consciously 
and  knowingly  embrace  where  they  are  mutu- 
ally indifferent. 

Florio,  the  generous  husband,  and  Limber- 
ham,  the  kind  keeper,  are  noted  examples  of  the 
different  effects  which  these  desires  produce  in 
the  mind.  Amanda,  who  is  the  wife  of  Florio, 
lives  in  the  continual  enjoyment  of  new  instances 
of  her  husband’s  friendship,  and  sees  it  the  end 
of  all  his  ambition  to  make  her  life  one  series  of 
pleasure  and  satisfaction ; and  Amanda’s  relish 
of  the  goods  of  life  is  all  that  makes  them  pleas- 


112 


THE  TATLER. 


ing  to  Florio : tliey  behave  themselves  to  each 
other,  when  present,  with  a certain  apparent 
benevolence,  which  transports  above  rapture  ; 
and  they  think  of  each  other  in  absence  with  a 
confidence  unknown  to  the  highest  friendship  : 
their  satisfactions  are  doubled,  their  sorrows 
lessened,  by  participation. 

On  the  other  hand,  Corinna,*  who  is  the  mis- 
tress of  Limberham,  lives  in  constant  torment : 
her  equipage  is  an  old  woman,  who  was  what 
Corinna  is  now  ; and  an  antiquated  footman, 
who  was  pimp  to  Lirnberham’s  father ; and  a 
chambermaid,  who  is  Limberham’s  wench  by 
fits,  out  of  a principle  of  politics  to  make  her 
jealous  and  watchful  of  Corinna.  Under  this 
guard,  and  in  this  conversation,  Corinna  lives  in 
state;  the  furniture  of  her  habitation,  and  her 
own  gorgeous  dress,  make  her  the  envy  of  all 
the  strolling  ladies  in  the  town  ; but  Corinna 
knows  she  herself  is  but  part  of  Limberham’s 
household^tuff,  and  is  as  capable  of  being  dis- 
posed of  elsewhere,  as  any  other  moveable.  But 
while  her  keeper  is  persuaded  by  his  spies,  that 
no  enemy  has  been  within  his  doors  since  his 
last  visit,  no  Persian  prince  was  ever  so  magnifi- 
cently bountiful : a kind  look  or  falling  tear  is 
worth  a piece  of  brocade,  a sigh  is  a jewel,  and 
a smile  is  a cupboard  of  plate.  All  this  is  shared 
between  Corinna  and  her  guard  in  his  absence. 
With  this  great  economy  and  industry  does  the 
unhappy  Limberham,  purchase  the  constant  tor- 
tures of  jealousy,  the  favour  of  spending  his 
estate,  and  the  opportunity  of  enriching  one  by 
whom  he  knows  he  is  hated  and  despised.  These 
are  the  ordinary  and  common  evils  which  attend 
keepers  ; and  Corinna  is  a wench  but  of  common 
size  of  wickedness,  were  you  to  know  what 
passes  under  the  roof  where  the  fair  Messalina 
reigns  with  her  humble  adorer. 

Messalina  is  the  professed  mistress  of  man- 
kind ; she  has  left  the  bed  of  her  husband,  and 
her  beauteous  offspring,  to  give  a loose  to  want 
of  shame  and  fulness  of  desire.  Wretched 
Nocturnes,  her  feeble  keeper  ! How  the  poor 
creature  fribbles  in  his  gait,  and  shuttles  from 
place  to  place,  to  despatch  his  necessary  affairs 
in  painful  daylight,  that  he  may  return  to  the 
constant  twilight  preserved  in  that  scene  of 
wantonness,  Messalina’s  bed-chamber ! Hcm^ 
does  he,  while  he  is  absent  from  thence,  con- 
sider in  his  imagination  the  breadth  of  his  por- 
ter’s shoulders,  the  spruce  night-cap  of  his  valet, 
the  ready  attendance  of  bis  butler ! any  of  all 
whom  he  knows  she  admits,  and  professes  to 
approve  of.  This,  alas  ! is  the  gallantry,  this 
the  freedom  of  our  fine  gentlemen ; for  this  they 
preserve  their  liberty,  and  keep  clear  of  that 
bugbear,  marriage.  But  he  does  not  understand 
either  vice  or  virtue,  who  will  not  allow,  that  life 
without  the  rules  of  morality  is  a wayward  un- 
easy being,  with  snatches  only  of  pleasure ; but 
under  the  regulation  of  virtue,  a reasonable  and 
uniform  habit  of  enjoyment.  I have  seen,  in  a 
play  of  old  Haywood’s,  a speech  at  the  end  of  an 
act,  which  touched  this  point  with  much  spirit. 
He  makes  a married  man  in  the  play,  upon  some 
endearing  occasion,  look  at  his  spouse  with  an 


The  persons  here  alluded  to  under  the  names  of  Co- 
rinna and  Limberham,  were  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Thomas, 
junior,  and  Henry  Cromwell,  esquire. 


[No.  50. 

air  of  fondness,  and  fall  into  the  following  re- 
flection on  his  condition : 

Oh  marriage ! happiest,  easiest,  safest  state  ; 

Let  debauchees  amt  drunkards  scorn  thy  rites. 

Who,  in  their  nauseous  draughts  and  lust,  profane 
Both  thee  and  heaven,  by  whom  thou  wert  ordained 
How  can  the  savage  call  it  loss  of  freedom. 

Thus  to  converse  with,  thus  to  gaze  at 
A faithful,  beauteous  friend  ? 

Blush  not,  niy  fair-one,  that  thy  love  applauds  thee, 

Nor  be  it  painful  to  my  wedded  wife 

That  my  full  heart  o’erflows  in  praise  of  thee. 

Thou  art  by  law,  by  interest,  passion,  mine: 

Passion  and  reason  join  in  love  of  thee. 

Thus,  through  a world  of  calumny  and  fraud. 

We  pass  both  unreproach’d  both  undeceiv’d  ; 

While  in  eacli  other’s  interest  and  happiness. 

We  without  art  all  faculties  employ. 

And  all  our  settees  without  guilt  enjoy. 


No.  50.]  Thursday,  August  4,  1700. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  65,86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

While's  Chocolate-house,  August  2.  * 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ORLANDO  THE  FAIR. 

Whatever  malicious  men  may  say  of  our 
lucubrations,  we  have  no  design  but  to  produce 
unknown  merit,  or  place  in  a proper  light  the 
actions  of  our  contemporaries  who  labour  to 
distinguish  themselves,  whether  it  be  by  vice  or 
virtue.  For  we  shall  never  give  accounts  to  the 
world  of  any  thing,  but  what  the  lives  and  en- 
deavours of  the  persons,  of  whom  we  treat,  make 
the  basis  of  their  fame  and  reputation.  For 
this  reason,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  our  appearance 
is  reputed  a public  benefit ; and  though  certain 
persons  may  turn  what  we  mean  for  panegyric 
into  scandal,  let  it  be  answered  once  for  all,  that 
if  our  praises  are  really  designed  as  raillery, 
such  malevolent  persons  owe  their  safety  from 
it,  only  to  their  being  too  inconsiderable  for  his- 
tory. It  is  not  every  man  who  deals  in  ratsbane, 
or  is  unseasonably  amorous,  that  can  adorn  story 
like  iEsculapius  ; nor  every  stock-jobber  of  the 
India  company  can  assume  the  port,  and  per- 
sonate the  figure  of  Aurengezebe.  My  noble  an- 
cestor, Mr.  Shakspeare,  who  was  of  the  race  of 
the  Staffs,  was  not  more  fond  of  the  memorable 
sir  John  FalstaflT,  than  I am  of  those  worthies  ; 
but  the  Latins  have  an  admirable  admonition 
expressed  in  three  words,  to  wit,  Ne  quid  nimis, 
which  forbids  my  indulging  myself  on  those  de- 
lightful subjects,  and  calls  me  to  do  justice  to 
others,  who  make  no  less  figures  in  our  genera- 
tion ; of  such,  the  first  and  most  renowned  is  * 
that  eminent  hero  and  lover,  Orlando,^  the  hand- 
some, whose  disappointments  in  love,  in  gallan- 
try, and  in  war,  have  banished  him  from  public 
view,  and  made  him  voluntarily  enter  into  a 
confinement  to  which  the  ungrateful  age  would 
otherwise  have  forced  him.  Ten  lustraf  and 


* Robert  Fielding,  esq.  commonly  known  then  by  the 
name  of  beau  Fielding,  a handsome  and  very  comely 
gentleman,  much  distinguished  in  the  ‘ Annals  of  Gal- 
lantry’ at  that  time. 

t Ten  lustra  amount  to  half  a century.  A lustrum 
was  undoubtedly  a period  of  five  years  complete,  and  an 
olympiad  of  four. 


No.  50.] 


THE  TATLER. 


113 


more  are  wholly  past  since  Orlando  first  appear- 
ed in  the  metropolis  of  this  island  ; his  descent 
noble,  his  wit  humorous,  his  person  charming. 
But  to  none  of  these  recommendatory  advantages 
was  his  title  so  undoubted,  as  that  of  his  beauty. 
His  complexion  was  fair,  but  his  countenanee 
manly;  his  stature  of  the  tallest,  his  shape  the 
most  exact:  and  though  in  all  his  limbs  he  had 
a proportion  as  delieate  as  we  see  in  the  works 
of  the  most  skilful  statuaries,  his  body  had  a 
strength  and  firmness  little  inferior  to  the  mar- 
ble of  which  such  images  are  formed.  This 
made  Orlando  the  universal  flame  of  all  the  fair 
sex  ; innocent  virgins  sighed  for  him,  as  Adonis  ; 
experieneed  widows,  as  Hercules.  Thus  did 
this  figure  walk  alone  the  pattern  and  ornament 
of  our  species,  but  of  course  the  envy  of  all  who 
had  the  same  passions  without  his  superior  merit 
and  pretences  to  the  favour  of  that  enchanting 
creature,  woman.  However,  the  generous  Or- 
lando believed  himself  formed  for  the  world,  and 
not  to  be  engrossed  by  any  particular  affection. 
He  sighed  not  for  Delia,  for  Chloris,  for  Chloe, 
for  Betty,  nor  my  lady,  nor  for  the  ready  cham- 
ber-maid, nor  distant  baroness  : woman  was  his 
mistress,  and  the  whole  sex  his  seraglio.  His 
form  was  always  irresistible  : and  if  we  consider, 
that  not  one  of  five  hundred  can  bear  the  least 
favour  from  a lady  without  being  exalted  above 
himself ; if  also  we  must  allow,  that  a smile  from 
a side-box  has  made  Jack  Spruce  half  mad  ; we 
cannot  think  it  wonderful  that  Orlando’s  repeat- 
ed conquests  touched  his  brain  : so  it  certainly 
did,  and  Orlando  became  an  enthusiast  in  love  ; 
and  in  all  his  address  contracted  something  out 
of  the  ordinary  course  of  breeding  and  civility. 
However,  powerful  as  he  was,  he  would  still  add 
to  the  advantages  of  his  person,  that  of  a profes- 
sion which  the  ladies  always  favour,  and  imme- 
diately commenced  soldier.*  Thus  equipped  for 
love  and  honour,  our  hero  seeks  distant  climes 
and  adventures,  and  leaves  the  despairing 
nymphs  of  Great  Britain,  to  the  courtships  of 
beaux  and  witlings  till  his  return.  His  exploits 
in  foreign  nations  and  courts  have  not  been 
regularly  enough  communicated  unto  us,  to  re- 
port them  with  that  veracity  which  we  profess 
in  our  narrations : but  after  many  feats  of  arms 
(which  those  who  were  witnesses  to  them  have 
suppressed  out  of  envy,  but  which  we  have  had 
faithfully  related  from  his  own  mouth  in  our 
public  streets)  Orlando  returns  home  full,  but 
not  loaded  with  years.  Beaux  born  in  his  ab- 
sence made  it  their  business  to  decry  his  furni- 
ture, his  dress,  his  manner;  but  all  such  rivalry 
he  suppressed  (as  the  philosopher  did  the  sceptic, 
who  argued  there  was  no  such  thing  as  motion) 
by  only  moving.  The  beauteous  Villaria,t  who 
only  was  formed  for  his  paramour,  became  the 
object  of  his  affection.  His  first  speech  to  her 
was  as  follows  : 

‘ Madam, — It  is  not  only  that  nature  has  made 
us  two  the  most  aceornplished  of  each  sex,  and 
pointed  to  us  to  obey  her  dictates  in  becoming 


* Fielding  embarked  in  the  fortunes  of  king  James  II. 
who  gave  him  the  nomination  of  colonel,  and  for  whom 
he  raised  a regiment  in  his  native  county  of  Warwick. 

t Barbara,  daughter  and  heiress  to  William  Villiers, 
lord  viscount  Grandison  of  the  kingdom  of  Ireland. 

P 


one;  but  that  there  is  also  an  ambition  in  follow- 
ing the  mighty  persons  you  have  favoured. 
Where  kings  and  heroes,  as  great  as  Alexander, 
or  sueh  as  could  personate  Alexander,*  have 
bowed,  permit  your  general  to  lay  his  laurels.’ 

According  to  Milton ; 

The  fair  with  conscious  majesty  approv’d 
His  pleaded  reason. 

Fortune  having  now  supplied  Orlando  with 
necessaries  for  his  high  taste  of  gallantry  and 
pleasure,  his  equipage  and  economy  had  some- 
thing in  them  more  sumptuous  and  gallant  than 
could  be  received  in  our  degenerate  age ; there- 
fore his  figure,  though  highly  graceful,  appeared 
so  exotic,  that  it  assembled  all  the  Britons  under 
the  age  of  sixteen,  who  saw  his  grandeur,  to  fol- 
low his  chariot  with  shouts  and  acclamations ; 
which  he  regarded  with  the  contempt  which 
great  minds  affect  in  the  midst  of  applauses. 
I remember,  I had  the  honour  to  see  him  one 
day  stop,  and  call  the  youths  about  him  to  whom 
he  spake  as  follows  : 

‘ Good  bastards — Go  to  school,  and  do  not  lose 
your  time  in  following  my  wdieels  : I am  loth  to 
hurt  you,  beeause  I know  not  but  you  are  all  my 
own  offspring  : hark  ye,  you  sirrah  with  the 
white  hair,  I am  sure  you  are  mine  : there  is 
half-a-crown.  Tell  your  mother,  this,  with  the 
half-crown  I gave  her  when  I got  you,  comes  to 
five  shillings.  Thou  hast  cost  me  all  that,  and 
yet  thou  art  good  for  nothing.  Why,  you  young 
dogs,  did  you  never  see  a man  before  ?’  ‘ Never 
such  a one  as  you,  noble  general,’  replied  a 
truant  from  Westminster.  ‘Sirrah,  I believe 
thee : there  is  a crown  for  thee.  Drive  on, 
coachman.’ 

This  vehicle,  though  saered  to  love,  was  not 
adorned  with  doves  : such  a hieroglyphic  denoted 
too  languishing  a passion.  Orlando,  therefore, 
gave  the  eagle, f as  being  of  a constitution  which 
inclined  him  rather  to  seize  his  prey  with  talons, 
than  pine  for  it  with  murmurs. 

I'rom  my  oion  Apartment,  August  2. 

I have  received  the  following  letter  from  Mr. 
Powel  of  Bath,  who,  I think,  runs  from  the  point 
between  us ; which  I leave  the  whole  world  to 
judge. 

To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire. 

Bath,  July  28. 

‘ Sir, — Having  a great  deal  of  more  advantage- 
ous business  at  present  on  my  hands,  I thought 
to  have  deferred  answering  your  Tatler  of- the 
twenty-first  instant  until  the  company  was  gone 
and  season  over  ; but,  having  resolved  not  to  re- 
gard any  impertinences  of  your  paper,  except 
what  relate  partieularly  to  me,  I am  the  more 
easily  induced  to  answer  you,  as  I shall  find  time 
to  do  it.  First,  partly  lest  you  should  think 
yourself  neglected,  which  I have  reason  to  be- 
lieve you  would  take  heinously  ill.  Secondly, 
partly  because  it  will  increase  my  fame,  and 
consequently  my  audience,  when  all  the  quality 


* An  allusion  to  Goodman  the  player,  who  was  one 
of  the  promiscuous  train  above-mentioned. 

t The  Fieldings  give  the  Spread  Eagle,  as  counts  of  the 
German  Empire. 


114 


THE  TATLER. 


shall  see  with  how  much  wit  and  raillery  I show 
you — I do  not  care  a farthing-  for  you.  Thirdly, 
partly  because  being  without  books,  if  I do  not 
show  much  learning,  it  will  not  be  imputed  to  my 
having  none. 

‘ I have  travelled  Italy,  France,  and  Spain, 
and  fully  comprehended  whatever  any  German 
artist  in  the  world  can  do  ; yet  cannot  I ima- 
gine why  you  should  endeavour  to  disturb  the 
repose  and  plenty  which,  though  unworthy,  I 
enjoy  at  this  place.  It  cannot  b^e,  that  you  take 
offence  at  my  prologues  and  epilogues,  which 
you  are  plea^d  to  miscall  foolish  and  abusive. 
No,  no,  until  you  give  a better,  I shall  not  for- 
bear thinking  that  the  true  reason  of  your  pick- 
ing a quarrel  with  me  was,  because  it  is  more 
agreeable  to  your  principles,  as  well  as  more  to 
the  honour  of  your  assured  victory,  to  attack  a 
governor.  Mr.  Isaac,  Mr.  Isaac,  I can  see  into  a 
mill-stone  as  far  as  another,  as  the  saying  is  ; 
you  are  for  sowing  the  seeds  of  sedition  and  dis- 
obedience among  my  puppets,  and  your  zeal  for 
the  good  old  cause  would  make  you  persuade 
Punch  to  pull  the  string  from  his  chops,  and  not 
move  his  jaw  when  I have  a mind  he  should 
harangue.  Now,  I appeal  to  all  men,  if  this  be 
not  contrary  to  that  unaccountable  and  uncon- 
trollable dominion,  which  by  the  laws  of  nature 
I exercise  over  them  ; for  all  sorts  of  wood  and 
wire  were  made  for  the  use  and  benefit  of  man : 
I have,  therefore,  an  unquestionable  right  to 
frame,  fashion,  and  put  them  together  as  I 
please ; and  having  made  them  what  they  are, 
my  puppets  are  my  property,  and  therefore  my 
slaves ; nor  is  there  in  nature  any  thing  more 
just,  than  the  homage  which  is  paid  by  a less  to 
a more  excellent  being ; so  that  by  the  right, 
therefore,  of  a superior  genius,  I am  their  su- 
preme moderator,  although  you  would  insinuate, 
agreeably  to  your  levelling  principles,  that  I 
am  myself  but  a great  puppet,  and  can  therefore 
have  but  a co-ordinate  jurisdiction  vttith  them.  I 
suppose,  I have  now  sufficiently  made  it  appear, 
that  I have  a paternal  right  to  keep  a puppet- 
show,  and  this  right  I will  maintain  in  my  pro- 
logues on  all  occasions. 

‘ And,  therefore,  if  you  write  a defence  of 
yourself  against  this  my  self-defence,  I admon- 
ish you  to  keep  within  bounds ; for  every  day 
will  not  be  so  propitious  to  you  as  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  April ; and  perhaps  my  resentment  may 
get  the  better  of  my  generosity,  and  I may  no 
longer  scorn  to  fight  one  who  is  not  my  equal, 
with  unequal  weapons  : there  are  such  things  as 
scandalums  magnatums ; therefore,  take  heed 
hereafter  how  you  write  such  things  as  I can- 
not easily  answer,  for  that  will  put  me  in  a 
passion. 

‘ I order  you  to  handle  only  these  two  pro- 
positiqns,  to  which  our  dispute  may  be  reduced  : 
the  first,  whether  I have  not  an  absolute  power, 
whenever  I please,  to  light  a pipe  with  one  of 
Punch’s  legs,  or  warm  my  fingers  with  his 
whole  carcass  ? the  second,  whether  the  devil 
would  not  be  in  Punch,  should  he  by  word  or 
deed  oppose  my  sovereign  will  and  pleasure? 
and  then,  perhaps,  I may,  if  I can  find  leisure 
for  it,  give  you  the  trouble  of  a second  letter. 

‘ But  if  you  intend  to  tell  me  of  the  original 
of  puppet-shows : and  the  several  changes  and 


[No.  51. 

revolutions  that  have  happened  in  them  since 
Thespis,  and  I do  not  care  who,  that  is  Noli  me 
tangerel  I have  solemnly  engaged  to  say  no- 
thing of  what  I cannot  approve.  Or,  if  j’ou  talk 
of  certain  contracts  with  the  mayor  and  bur- 
gesses, or  fees  to  the  constables,  for  the  privilege 
of  acting,  I will  not  write  one  single  word  about 
any  such  matters;  but  shall  leave  you  to  be 
mumbled  by  the  learned  and  very  ingenious  au- 
thor of  a late  book,  who  knows  very  well  what  is 
to  be  said  and  done  in  such  cases.  He  is  now 
shuffling  the  cards,  and  dealing  to  Timothy  ; but 
if  he  wins  the  game,  I will  send  him  to  play  at 
back-gammon  with  you ; and  then  he  will  satisfy 
you  that  duce-ace  makes  five. 

‘ And  so,  submitting  myself  to  be  tried  by  my 
country,  and  allowing  any  jury  of  twelve  good 
men  and  true,  to  be  that  country  ; not  excepting 
any,  unless  Mr.  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  to  be  of  the 
pannel,  for  you  are  neither  good  nor  true.  I bid 
you  heartily  farewell ; and  am,  Sir,  Your  loving 
friend, 

‘POWEL.’ 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Proper  cuts  for  the  historical  part  of  this  pa- 
per, are  now  almost  finished,  by  an  engraver 
lately  arrived  from  Paris,  and  will  be  sold  at  all 
the  toy-shops  in  London  and  Westminster. 


No.  51.]  Saturday^  August  6, 1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house^  August  5. 

CONTINUATION  OF  THE  HISTORY  OF 
ORLANDO  THE  FAIR.* 

Fortune  being  now  propitious  to  the  gay  Or- 
lando, he  dressed,  he  spoke,  he  moved  as  a man 
might  be  supposed  to  do  in  a nation  of  pygmies, 
and  had  an  equal  value  for  our  approbation  or 
dislike.  It  is  usual  for  those  who  profess  a con- 
tempt for  the  world,  to  fly  from  it  and  live  in  ob- 
scurity ; but  Orlando,  with  a greater  magna- 
nimity, contemned  it,  and  appeared  in  it  to  tell 
them  so.  If,  therefore,  his  exalted  mien  met 
with  an  unwelcome  reception,  he  was  sure  al- 
ways to  double  the  cause  which  gave  the  distaste. 
You  see  our  beauties  affect  a negligence  in  the 
ornament  of  their  hair,  and  adjusting  their  head- 
dresses, as  conscious  that  they  adorn  whatever 
they  wear.  Orlando  had  not  only  this  humour 
in  common  with  other  beauties,  but  also  had  a 
neglect  whether  things  became  him  or  not,  in  a 
world  he  contemned.  For  this  reason,  a noble 
particularity  appeared  in  all  his  economy,  fur- 
niture, and  equipage.  And  to  convince  the  pre- 
sent little  race,  how  unequal  all  their  measures 
were  to  Antediluvian,  as  he  called  himself,  in 
respect  of  the  insects  which  now  appear  for  men, 
he  sometimes  rode  in  an  open  tumbril,  of  less 
size  than  ordinary,  to  show  the  largeness  of  his 


* See  No.  50.  p.  112. 


No.  51.] 


THE  TATLER. 


115 


limbs,  and  the  grandeur  of  his  personage,  to  the 
greater  advantage.  At  other  seasons,  all  his 
appointments  had  a magnificence,  as  if  it  were 
formed  by  the  genius  of  Triinalchio  of  old  ; 
which  showed  itself  in  doing  ordinary  things 
with  an  air  of  pomp  and  grandeur.  Orlando 
therefore  called  for  tea  by  beat  of  drum ; his 
valet  got  ready  to  shave  him  by  a trumpet  to 
horse  ; and  water  was  brought  for  his  teeth, 
when  the  sound  was  changed  to  boots  and  sad- 
dle. 

In  all  these  glorious  excesses  from  the  com- 
mon practice,  did  the  happy  Orlando  live  and 
reign  in  an  uninterrupted  tranquillity,  until  an 
unlucky  accident  brought  to  his  remembrance, 
that  one  evening  he  was  married  before  he 
courted  the  nuptials  of  Villaria.  Several  fatal 
memorandums  were  produced  to  revive  the 
memory  of  this  accident ; and  the  unhappy 
lover  was  for  ever  banished  her  presence,  to 
whom  he  owed  the  support  of  his  just  renown 
and  gallantry.  But  distress  does  not  debase 
noble  minds ; it  only  changes  the  scene,  and 
gives  them  new  glory  by  that  alteration.  Or- 
lando therefore  now  raves  in  a garret,  and  calls 
to  his  neighbour-skies  to  pity  his  dolours,  and 
to  find  redress  for  an  unhappy  lover.  All  high 
spirits,  in  any  great  agitation  of  mind,  are  in- 
clined to  relieve  themselves  by  poetry  : the  re- 
nowned porter  of  Oliver*  had  not  more  volumes 
around  his  cell  in  his  college  of  Bedlam,  than 
Orlando  in  his  present  aparttnent.  And  though 
inserting  poetry  in  the  midst  of  prose  be  thought 
a licence  among  correct  writers  not  to  be  in- 
dulged, it  is  hoped  the  necessity  of  doing  it,  to 
give  a just  idea  of  the  hero  of  whom  we  treat, 
will  plead  for  the  liberty  we  shall  hereafter  take, 
to  print  Orlando’s  soliloquies  in  verse  and  prose, 
after  the  manner  of  great  wits,  and  such  as  those 
to  whom  they  are  nearly  allied. 

Will's  Cojfee-house,  August  5. 

A good  company  of  us  were  this  day  to  see, 
or  rather  to  hear,  an  artful  person  do  several 
feats  of  activity  with  his  throat  and  windpipe. 
The  first  thing  wherewith  he  presented  us,  was 
a ring  of  bells,  which  he  imitated  in  a most  mi- 
raculous manner ; after  that,  he  gave  us  all  the 
different  notes  of  a pack  of  hounds,  to  our  great 
delight  and  astonishment.  The  company  ex- 
pressed their  applause  with  much  noise  ; and 
never  was  heard  such  a harmony  of  men  and 
dogs : but  a certain  plump,  merry  fellow,  from 
an  angle  of  the  room,  fell  a crowing  like  a cock 
so  ingeniously,  that  he  won  our  hearts  from  the 
other  operator  in  an  instant.  As  soon  as  I saw 
him,  I recollected  I had  seen  him  on  the  stage, 
and  immediately  knew  it  to  be  Tom  Mirrour,f 
the  comical  actor.  He  immediately  addressed 
himself  to  me,  and  told  me,  ‘ he  was  surprised 
to  see  a virtuoso  take  satisfaction  in  any  repre- 
sentations below  that  of  human  life  and  asked 
me,  ‘ whether  I thought  this  acting  bells  and 


* Cromwell’s  porter  is  said  to  have  been  the  original 
from  which  Cains  Gabriel,  father  of  Colley  Cibber,  co- 
pied one  of  the  lunatic  figures  on  Bedlam  gate. 

t Mr.  Richard  Estcourt,  commonly  called  Dick  Est- 
court,  celebrated  for  his  mimic  powers,  in  which  he  was 
inimitable. 


dogs  was  to  be  considered  under  the  notion  of 
wit,  humour,  or  satire?  Were  it  not  better,’ 
continued  he,  ‘ to  have  some  particular  picture 
of  man  laid  before  your  eyes,  that  might  incite 
your  laughter  ?’  He  had  no  sooner  spoke  the 
word,  but  he  immediately  quitted  his  natural 
shape,  and  talked  to  me  in  a very  different  air 
and  tone  from  what  he  had  used  before  : upon 
which,  all  that  sat  near  us  laughed  ; but  I saw 
no  distortion  in  his  countenance,  or  any  thing 
that  appeared  to  me  disagreeable.  I asked  Pa- 
colet,  ‘ what  meant  that  sudden  whisper  about 
us  ?’  for  I could  not  take  tlie  jest.'He  answered, 
‘ The  gentleman  you  were  talking  to  assumed 
your  air  and  countenance  so  exactly,  that  all 
fell  a-laughing  to  see  how  little  you  knew  your- 
self, and  how  much  you  were  enamoured  with 
your  own  image.  But  that  person,’  continued 
my  monitor,  ‘ if  men  would  make  the  right  use 
of  him,  might  be  as  instrumental  to  their  re- 
forming errors  in  gesture,  language,  and  speech, 
as  a dancing-master,  linguist,  or  orator.  You 
see  he  laid  yourself  before  you  with  so  much 
address,  that  you  saw  nothing  particular  in  his 
behaviour  : he  has  so  happy  a knack  of  repre- 
senting errors  and  imperfections,  that  you  can 
bear  your  faults  in  him  as  well  as  in  yourself : 
lie  is  the  first  mimic  that  ever  gave  the  beau- 
ties, as  well  as  the  deformities,  of  the  man  he 
acted.  What  Mr.  Dryden  said  of  a very  great 
man,  may  be  well  applied  to  him  ; 

‘ He  seems  to  be 

Not  one,  but  all  mankind’s  epitome.’ 

You  are  to  know,  that  this  pantomime  may 
be  said  to  be  a species  of  himself : he  has  no 
commerce  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  but  as 
they  are  tlie  objects  of  imitation;  like  the  Indian 
fowl,  called  the  Mock-bird,  who  has  no  note  of 
his  own,  but  hits  every  sound  in  the  wood  as 
soon  as  he  hears  it ; so  that  Mirrour  is  at 
once  a copy  and  an  original.  Poor  Mirrour’s 
fate,  as  well  as  talent,  is  like  that  of  the  bird  we 
just  now  spoke  of ; the  nightingale,  the  linnet, 
the  lark,  are  delighted  with  his  company  ; but 
the  buzzard,  the  crow,  and  the  owl,  are  observed 
to  be  his  mortal  enemies.  Whenever  Sophro- 
nius  meets  Mirrour,  he  receives  him  with  civili- 
ty and  respect,  and  well  knows  a good  copy  of 
liimself  can  be  no  injury  to  him  ; but  Bathillus 
shuns  the  street  where  he  expects  to  meet  him ; 
for  he  that  knows  his  every  step  and  look  is 
constrained  and  affected,  must  be  afraid  to  be 
rivalled  in  his  action,  and  of  having  it  discover- 
ed to  be  unnatural  by  its  being  practised  by 
another  as  well  as  himself. 

Fro?n  my  own  Apartment^  August  5. 

Letters  from  Coventry  and  other  places  have 
been  sent  to  me,  in  answer  to  what  I have  said 
in  relation  to  my  antagonist  Mr.  Powel ; and 
advise  me  with  warm  language  to  keep  to  sub- 
jects more  proper  for  me  than  such  high  points. 
But  the  writers  of  these  epistles  mistake  the 
use  and  service  I proposed  to  the  learned  world 
by  such  observations : for  you  are  to  understand, 
that  the  title  of  this  paper  gives  me  a right  in 
taking  to  myself,  and  inserting  in  it,  all  such 
parts  of  any  book  or  letter  which  are  foreign  to 


116 


THE  TATLER. 


the  purpose  intended,  or  professed  by  the  writer : 
so  that,  suppose  two  great  divines  should  argue, 
and  treat  each  other  with  warmth  and  levity 
unbecoming  their  subject  or  character,  all  that 
they  say  unfit  for  that  place  is  very  proper  to  be 
inserted  here.  Therefore,  from  time  to  time,  in 
all  writings  which  shall  hereafter  be  published, 
you  shall  have  from  me  extracts  of  all  that  shall 
appear  not  to  the  purpose ; and  for  the  benefit 
of  the  gentle  reader,  I will  show  what  to  turn 
over  unread,  and  what  to  peruse.  For  this  end 
I have  a mathematical  sieve  preparing,  in  which 
I will  sift  every  page  and  paragraph  ; and  all 
that  falls  through  I shall  make  bold  with  for  my 
own  use.  The  same  thing  will  be  as  beneficial 
in  speech ; for  all  superfluous  expressions  in  talk 
fall  to  me  also : as  when  a pleader  at  the  bar 
designs  to  be  extremel)'^  impertinent  and  trou- 
blesome, and  cries,  ‘ Under  favour  of  the  court 

with  submission,  my  lord 1 humbly 

offer’ and,  ‘ I think  I have  well  considered 

this  matter  ; for  I would  be  very  far  from  tri- 
fling with  your  lordship’s  time,  or  trespassing 
upon  your  patience — however,  thus  I will  ven- 
ture to  say ’ and  so  forth.  Or  else,  when  a 

sufficient  self-conceited  coxcomb  is  bringing  out 
something  in  his  own  praise,  and  begins,  ‘ With- 
out vanity,  I must  take  this  upon  me  to  assert.’ 
There  is  also  a trick  which  the  fair  sex  have, 
that  will  greatly  contribute  to  swell  my  volumes  : 
as,  when  a woman  is  going  to  abuse  her  best 
friend,  ‘ Pray,’  says  she,  ‘ have  you  heard  what 
is  said  of  Mrs.  Such-a-one  ? I am  heartily  sorry 
to  hear  any  thing  of  that  kind  of  one  1 have  so 
great  a value  for  ; but  they  make  no  scruple  of 
telling  it ; and  it  was  not  spoken  of  to  me  as  a 
secret,  for  now  all  the  town  rings  of  it.’  All 
such  flowers  in  rhetoric,  and  little  refuges  for 
malice,  are  to  be  noted,  and  naturally  belong 
only  to  Tatlers.  By  this  method,  you  will  im- 
mediately find  folios  contract  themselves  into 
octavos,  and  the  labour  of  a fortnight  got  over 
in  half  a day. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  August  5. 

Last  night  arrived  a mail  from  Lisbon,  which 
gives  a very  pleasing  account  of  the  posture  of . 
affairs  in  that  part  of  the  world,  the  enemy  hav- 
ing been  necessitated  wholly  to  abandon  the 
blockade  of  Olivenza.  These  advices  say,  that 
sir  John  Jennings  is  arrived  at  Lisbon.  When 
that  gentleman  left  Barcelona,  his  catholic  ma- 
jesty was  taking  all  possible  methods  for  carry- 
ing on  an  offensive  war.  It  is  observed  with 
great  satisfaction  in  the  court  of  Spain,  that 
there  is  a very  good  intelligence  between  the 
general  officers : count  Staremberg  and  Mr. 
Stanhope  acting  in  all  things  with  such  una- 
nimity, that  the  public  affairs  receive  great  ad- 
vantages from  their  personal  friendship  and 
esteem  to  each  other,  and  mutual  assistance  in 
promoting  the  service  of  the  common  cause. 

This  is  to  give  notice,  that  if  any  able-bodied 
Palatine  will  enter  into  the  bonds  of  matrimony 
with  Betty  Pepin,  the  said  Palatine  shall  be  set- 
tled in  a freehold  of  forty  shillings  per  annum 
in  the  county  of  iMiddlesex. 


[No.  52. 

No.  52.]  Tuesday,  August  9,  1709. 

Gluicquid  agunt  homines 

noslh  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Oar  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  7. 

DELAMIRA  RESIGNS  HER  FAN. 

Long  had  the  crowd  of  the  gay  and  young 
stood  in  suspense,  as  to  their  fate,  in  their  pas- 
sion to  the  beauteous  Delamira;  but  all  their 
hopes  are  lately  vanished,  by  the  declaration 
that  she  has  made  of  her  choice,  to  take  the 
happy  Archibald  for  her  companion  for  life. 
Upon  her  making  this  known,  the  expense  of 
sweet  powder  and  jessamine  are  considerably 
abated  ; and  the  mercers  and  milliners  complain 
of  her  want  of  public  spirit,  in  not  concealing 
longer  a secret  which  was  so  much  the  benefit 
of  trade.  But  so  it  has  happened ; and  no  one  w^as 
in  confidence  with  her  in  carrying  on  this  treaty, 
but  the  matchless  Virgulta,  whose  despair  of 
ever  entering  the  matrimonial  state  made  her, 
some  nights  before  Delamira’s  resolution  was 
published  to  the  world,  address  herself  to  her  in 
the  following  manner  : 

‘ Delamira  ! you  are  now  going  into  that  state 
of  life  wherein  the  use  of  your  charms  is  wholly 
to  be  applied  to  the  pleasing  only  one  man. 
That  swimming  air  of  your  body,  that  janty 
bearing  of  your  head  over  one  shoulder,  and  that 
inexpressible  beauty  in  your  manner  of  playing 
your  fan,  must  be  lowered  into  a more  confined 
behaviour  ; to  show  that  you  would  rather  shun 
than  receive  addresses  for  the  future.  There- 
fore, dear  Delamira,  give  me  those  excellencies 
you  leave  off,  and  acquaint  me  with  your  man- 
ner of  charming  : for  I take  the  liberty  of  our 
friendship  to  say,  that  when  I consider  my  own 
statue,  motion,  complexion,  wit,  or  breeding,  I 
cannot  think  myself  any  way  your  inferior  ; yet 
do  I go  through  crowds  without  wounding  a 
man,  and  all  my  acquaintance  marry  round  me, 
while  1 live  a virgin  unasked,  and  I think  un- 
regarded.’ 

Delamira  heard  her  with  great  attention,  and 
with  that  dexterity  which  is  natural  to  her,  told 
her,  that  ‘ all  she  had  above  the  rest  of  her  sex 
and  contemporary  beauties  was  wholly  owing 
to  a fan,  (that  was  left  her  by  her  mother,  and 
had  been  long  in  the  family)  which,  whoever 
had  in  possession,  and  used  wfith  skill,  should 
command  the  hearts  of  all  her  beholders  ; and 
since,’  said  she  smiling,  ‘ I have  no  more  to  do 
with  extending  my  conquests  or  triumphs,  I 
will  make  you  a present  of  this  inestimable 
rarity.’  Virgulta  made  her  expressions  of  the 
highest  gratitude  for  so  uncommon  a confidence 
in  her,  and  desired  she  would  ‘ show  her  what 
was  peculiar  in  the  management  of  that  utensil, 
v,diich  rendered  it  of  such  general  force  while 
she  was  mistress  of  it.’  Delamira  replied, 

‘ You  see,  madam,  Cupid  is  the  principal  figure 
painted  on  it ; and  the  skill  in  playing  this  fan 
is  in  your  several  motions  of  it,  to  let  him  ap- 
pear  as  little  possible;  for  honourable  lovers  fly 
all  endeavours  to  ensnare  them  ; and  your  Cupid 
must  hide  his  bow  and  arrov/,  or  he  will  never 


THE  TATLER. 


117 


No.  52.] 

be  sure  of  his  game.  You  may  observe,’  con- 
i’! tinued  she,  ‘ that  in  all  public  assemblies,  the 
1 sexes  seem  to  separate  themselves,  and  draw 
t up  to  attack  each  other  with  eye-shot : that  is 
I the  time  when  the  fan,  which  is  all  the  armour 
t of  a woman,  is  of  most  use  in  our  defence ; 
for  our  minds  are  construed  by  the  waving  of 
that  little  instrument,  and  our  thoughts  appear 
in  composure  or  agitation,  according  to  the 
motion  of  it.  You  may  observe,  when  Will 
I Peregrine  comes  into  the  side-box,  miss  Gatty 
I flutters  her  fan  as  a fly  does  its  wings  round  a 
candle ; while  her  elder  sister,  who  is  as  much 
in  love  with  him  as  she  is,  is  as  grave  as  a 
vestal  at  his  entrance ; and  the  consequence  is 
accordingly.  He  watches  half  the  play  for  a 
glance  from  her  sister,  while  Gatty  is  overlooked 
and  neglected.  I wish  you  heartily  as  much 
success  in  the  management  of  it  as  I have  had  ; 
If  you  think  fit  to  go  on  where  I left  off,  I will 
give  you  a short  account  of  the  execution  I have 
made  with  it. 

I ‘ Cymon,  who  is  the  dullest  of  mortals,  and 
' though  a wonderful  great  scholar,  does  not  only 
pause,  but  seems  to  take  a nap  with  his  eyes 
I open  between  every  other  sentence  in  his  dis- 
course : him  have  I made  a leader  in  assemblies  ; 
and  one  blow  on  the  shoulder  as  I passed  by 
him,  has  raised  him  to  a downright  impertinent 
( in  all  conversations.  The  airy  Will  Sampler  is 
become  as  lethargic  by  this  my  wand,  as  Cymon 
is  sprightly.  Take  it,  good  girl,  and  use  it 
without  mercy  ; for  the  reign  of  beauty  never 
lasted  full  three  years,  but  it  ended  in  marriage 
or  condemnation  to  virginity.  As  you  fear, 
therefore,  the  one,  and  hope  for  the  other,  I ex- 
: pect  an  hourly  journal  of  your  triumphs ; for  I 

have  it  by  certain  tradition,  that  it  was  given  to 
I the  first  who  wore  it,  by  an  enchantress,  with 
this  remarkable  power,  that  it  bestows  a husband 
in  half-a-year  on  her  who  does  not  overlook  her 
' proper  minute  ; but  assigns  to  a long  despair  the 
woman  who  is  well  offered,  and  neglects  that 
proposal.  May  occasion  attend  your  charms, 

! and  your  charms  slip  no  occasion  ! Give  me,  I 
j say,  an  account  of  the  progress  of  your  forces  at 
our  next  meeting  ; and  you  shall  hear  what  I 
think  of  my  new  condition.  I should  meet  my 
future  spouse  this  moment.  Farewell.  Live  in 
I just  terror  of  the  dreadful  words,  She  was.'' 

I i 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  8. 

j I HAD  the  honour  this  evening  to  visit  some 
i ladies,  where  the  subject  of  the  conversation  was 

I I Modesty ; which  they  commended  as  a quality 
quite  as  becoming  in  men  as  in  women.  I took 

I the  liberty  to  say,  ‘ it  might  be  as  beautiful  in 
I our  behaviour  as  in  theirs,  yet  it  could  not  be 
said,  it  was  as  successful  in  life ; for  as  it  was 
the  only  recommendation  in  them,  so  it  was  the 
greatest  obstacle  to  us,  both  in  love  and  business.’ 
A gentleman  present  was  of  my  mind,  and  said, 
that  ‘ we  must  describe  the  difference  between 
the  modesty  of  women  and  that  of  men,  or  we 
should  be  confounded  in  our  reasonings  upon  it  ; 
for  this  virtue  is  to  be  regarded  with  respect  to 
our  different  ways  of  life.  The  woman’s  pro- 
vince is,  to  be  careful  in  her  economy,  and  chaste 
in  her  affections ; the  man’s,  to  be  active  in  the 


improvement  of  his  fortune,  and  ready  to  under 
take  whatever  is  consistent  with  his  reputation 
for  that  end.’  Modesty,  therefore,  in  a woman, 
has  a certain  agreeable  fear  in  all  she  enters  up- 
on ; and,  in  men,  it  is  composed  of  a right  judg- 
ment of  what  is  proper  for  them  to  attempt. 
From  hence  it  is,  that  a discreet  man  is  always 
a modest  one.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  modesty 
in  a man  is  never  to  be  allowed  as  a good  quality, 
but  a weakness,  if  it  suppresses  his  virtue,  and 
hides  it  from  the  world,  when  he  has  at  the  same 
time  a mind  to  exert  himself.  A French  author 
says,  very  justly,  that  modesty  is  to  the  other 
virtues  in  a man,  what  shade  in  a picture  is  to 
the  parts  of  the  thing  represented.  It  makes  all 
the  other  beauties  conspicuous,  which  would 
otherwise  be  but  a wild  heap  of  colours.  This 
shade  in  our  actions  must,  therefore,  be  very 
justly  applied  ; for,  if  there  be  too  much,  it  hides 
our  good  qualities,  instead  of  showing  them  to 
advantage. 

Nestor*  in  Athens  was  an  unhappy  instance 
of  this  truth  ; for  he  was  not  orfly  in  his  profes- 
sion the  greatest  man  of  that  age,  but  had  given 
more  proofs  of  it  than  any  other  man  ever  did  ; 
yet,  for  want  of  that  natural  freedom  and  au- 
dacity which  is  necessary  in  commerce  with 
men,  his  personal  modesty  overthrew  all  his 
public  actions.  Nestor  was  in  those  days  a skil- 
ful architect,  and  in  a manner  the  inventor  of 
the  use  of  mechanic  powers ; which  he  brought 
to  so  great  perfection,  that  he  knew  to  an  atom 
what  foundation  would  bear  such  a superstruc- 
ture ; and  they  record  of  him,  that  he  was  so 
prodigiously  exact,  that,  for  the  experiment’s 
sake,  he  built  an  edifice  of  great  beauty,  and 
seeming  strength ; but  contrived  so  as  to  bear 
only  its  own  weight,  and  not  to  admit  the  ad- 
dition of  the  least  particle.  This  building  was 
beheld  with  much  admiration  by  all  the  virtuosi 
of  that  time  ; but  fell  down  with  no  other  pres- 
sure, but  the  settling  of  a W ren  upon  the  top  of 
it.  Yet  Nestor’s  modesty  was  such,  that  his  art 
and  skill  were  soon  disregarded,  for  want  of 
that  manner  with  which  men  of  the  world  sup- 
port and  assert  the  merit  of  their  own  perform- 
ances. Soon  after  this  instance  of  his  art,  Athens 
was,  by  the  treachery  of  its  enemies,  burned  to 
the  ground.  This  gave  Nestor  the  greatest  oc- 
casion that  ever  builder  had  to  render  his  name 
immortal,  and  his  person  venerable : for  all  the 
new  city  rose  according  to  his  disposition,  and 
all  the  monuments  of  the  glories  and  distresses 
of  that  people  were  erected  by  that  sole  artist : 
nay,  all  their  temples  as  well  as  houses,  were 
the  effects  of  his  study  and  labour  ; insomuch, 
that  it  was  said  by  an  old  sage,  ‘ Sure  Nestor 
will  now  be  famous,  for  the  habitations  of  gods, 
as  well  as  men,  are  built  by  his  contrivance.’ 
But  this  bashful  quality  still  put  a damp  upon 
his  great  knowledge,  which  has  as  fatal  an  effect 
upon  men’s  reputations  as  poverty  ; for  as  it  was 
said,  ‘ the  poor  man  saved  the  city,  and  the  poor 
man’s  labour  was  forgot ;’  so  here  we  find,  ‘ the 


* Sir  Christopher  Wren,  the  real  person  here  alluded 
to,  very  properly  under  the  name  of  Nestor,  both  in  re- 
spect of  his  great  wisdom  and  his  great  age,  was  born  at 
East  Knoyle  in  Wiltshire,  Oct.  5, 1632,  and  died  at  Hamp- 
ton Court,  Feb.  25,  1723,  in  his  ninety-first  year. 


118 


THE  TATLER. 


modest  man  built  the  city,  and  the  modest  man’s 
skill  was  unknown.’ 

Thus  we  see,  every  man  is  the  maker  of  his 
own  fortune ; and  what  is  very  odd  to  consider, 
he  must  in  some  measure  be  the  trumpeter  of 
his  own  fame  ; not  that  men  are  to  be  tolerated 
who  directly  praise  themselves  ; but  they  are  to 
be  endued  with  a sort  of  defensive  eloquence, 
by  which  ]they  shall  be  always  capable  of  ex- 
pressing the  rules  and  arts  whereby  they  govern 
themselves. 

Varillus  was  the  man,  of  all  I have  read  of, 
the  happiest  in  the  true  possession  of  this  quality 
of  modesty.  My  author  says  of  him,  modesty 
in  Varillus  is  really  a virtue,  for  it  is  a voluntary 
quality,  and  the  effect  of  good  sense.  He  is 
naturally  bold  and  enterprising ; but  so  justly 
discreet,  that  he  never  acts  or  speaks  any  thing, 
but  those  who  behold  him  know  he  has  forbore 
much  more  tl^an  he  has  performed  or  uttered, 
out  of  deference  to  the  persons  before  whom  he 
is.  This  make.s  Varillus  truly  amiable,  and  all 
his  attempts  successful ; for,  as  bad  as  the  world 
is  thought  to  be  by  those  who  are  perhaps  un- 
skilled in  it,  want  of  success  in  our  actions  is 
generally  owing  want  of  judgment  in  what 
we  ought  to  attempt,  or  a rustic  modesty,  which 
will  not  give  us  leave  to  undertake  what  we 
ought.  But  how  unfortunate  this  diffident 
temper  is  to  those  who  are  possessed  with  it, 
may  be  best  seen  in  the  success  of  such  as  are 
wholly  unacquainted  with  it. 

Wo  have  one  peculiar  elegance  in  our  Ian- 
guage  above  all  others,  which  is  conspicuous  in 
the  term  ‘ Fellow.’  This  word,  added  to  any 
of  our  adjectives,  extremely  varies,  or  quite 
alters,  the  sense  of  that  with  which  it  is  joined. 
Thus,  though  ‘ a modest  man’  is  the  most  un- 
fortunate of  all  men,  yet  ‘ a modest  fellow’  is  as 
superlatively  happy.  ‘A  modest  fellow’  is  a 
ready  creature,  who,  with  great  humility,  and 
as  great  forwardness,  visits  his  patrons  at  all 
hours,  and  meets  them  in  ail  places,  and  has  so 
moderate  an  opinion  of  himself,  that  he  makes 
his  court  at  large.  If  you  v;ill  not  give  him  a 
great  employment,  he  will  be  glad  of  a little 
one.  He  has  so  great  a deference  for  his  bene- 
factor’s judgment,  that  as  he  thinks  himself  fit 
for  any  thing  he  can  get,  so  he  is  above  nothing 
which  is  offered.  He  is  like  the  young  bachelor 
of  arts,  who  came  to  town  recommended  to  a 
chaplain’s  place ; but  none  being  vacant,  mo- 
destly accepted  that  of  a postilion. 

We  have  very  many  conspicuous  persons  of 
this  undertaking  yet  modest  turn ; I have  a 
grandson  who  is  very  happy  in  this  quality : I 
sent  him  in  the  time  of  the  last  peace  into 
France.  As  soon  as  he  landed  at  Calais,  he 
sent  me  an  exact  account  of  the  nature  of  the 
people,  and  the  policies  of  the  king  of  France. 

I got  him  since  chosen  a member  of  a corpo- 
ration ; the  modest  creature,  as  soon  as  he  came 
into  the  common-council,  told  a senior  burgess, 
he  was  perfectly  out  of  the  orders  of  their  house. 
In  other  circumstances,  he  is  so  thoroughly 
* modest  a fellow,’  that  he  seems  to  pretend  only 
to  things  he  understands.  He  is  a citizen  only 
.at  court,  and  in  the  city  a courtier.  In  a word, 
to  speak  the  characteristical  difference  between 

modest  man’  and  ‘a  modest  fellow;’  the 


[No.  53. 

modest  man  is  in  doubt  in  all  his  actions  : a 
modest  fellow  never  has  a doubt  from  his  cradle 
to  his  grave. 


No.  53.]  Thursday,  August  11, 1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate'er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  10. 

THE  CIVIL  HUSBAND. 

The  fate  and  character  of  the  inconstant 
Osmyn  is  a just  excuse  for  the  little  notice 
taken  by  his  widow  of  his  daparture  out  of  this 
life,  which  was  equally  troublesome  to  Elmira, 
his  faithful  spouse  and  to  himself.  That  life 
passed  between  them  after  this  manner,  is  the 
reason  the  town  has  just  now  received  a lady 
with  all  that  gayety,  after  having  been  a relict 
but  three  months,  which  other  w'omen  hardly 
assume  under  fifteen,  after  such  a disaster. 
Elmira  is  the  daughter  of  a rich  and  worthy 
citizen,  who  gave  her  to  Osmyn  w’ith  a portion 
which  might  have  obtained  her  an  alliance  with 
our  noblest  houses,  and  fixed  her  in  the  eye  of 
the  world,  wffiere  her  story  had  not  been  now 
to  be  related : for  her  good  qualities  had  made 
her  the  object  of  universal  esteem  among  the 
polite  part  of  mankind,  from  whom  she  has 
been  banished  and  immured  until  the  death  of 
her  jailor.  It  is  now  full  fifteen  years  since 
that  beauteous  lady  was  given  into  the  hands 
of  the  happy  Osmyn,  who,  in  the  sense  of  all 
the  world,  received  at  that  time  a present  more 
valuable  than  the  possession  of  both  the  Indies. 
She  was  then  in  her  early  bloom,  with  an  un- 
derstanding and  discretion  very  little  inferior 
to  the  most  experienced  matrons.  She  W’as  not 
beholden  to  the  charms  of  her  sex,  that  her 
company  was  preferable  to  any  Osmyn  could 
meet  with  abroad  ; for,  were  all  she  said  con- 
sidered without  regard  to  her  being  a woman, 
it  might  stand  the  examination  of  the  severest 
judges.  She  had  all  the  beauty  of  her  own  sex, 
with  all  the  conversation-accomplishments  of 
ours.  But  Osmyn  very  soon  grew  surfeited 
with  the  charms  of  her  person  by  possession, 
and  of  her  mind  by  w’ant  of  taste  ; for  he  w as 
one  of  that  loose  sort  of  men,  who  have  but  one 
reason  for  setting  any  value  upon  the  fair  sex ; 
who  consider  even  brides  but  as  new  wmmen, 
and  consequently  neglect  them  when  they  cease 
to  be  such.  All  the  merit  of  Elmira  could  not 
prevent  her  becoming  a mere  wife  within  few 
months  after  her  nuptials ; and  Osmyn  had  so 
little  relish  for  her  conversation,  that  he  com- 
plained  of  the  advantages  of  it.  ‘ My  spouse,’ 
said  he  to  one  of  his  companions,  ‘ is  so  very 
discreet,  so  good,  so  virtuous,  and  I know  not 
what,  that  I think  her  person  is  rather  the  ob- 
ject of  esteem  than  of  love ; and  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a merit  which  causes  rather  distance 
than  passion.’  But  there  being  no  medium  in 
the  state  of  matrimony,  their  life  began  to  take 
the  usual  gradations  to  become  the  most  irksome 
of  all  beings.  They  grew  in  the  first  place  very 


THE  TATLER. 


119 


No.  53.] 

complaisant;  and  having  at  heart  a certain 
! knowledge  that  they  were  indifferent  to  each 
other,  apologies  were  made  for  every  little  cir- 
cumstance which  they  thought  betrayed  their 
mutual  coldness.  This  lasted  but  few  months, 
when  they  showed  a difference  of  opinion  in 
every  trifle ; and,  as  a sign  of  certain  decay  of 
affection,  the  word  ‘ perhaps,’  was  introduced 
in  all  their  discourse.  ‘ I have  a mind  to  go  to 
the  park,’  says  she  ; ‘ but  perhaps,  my  dear,  you 
will  want  the  coach  on  some  other  occasion.’ 
He  ‘ would  very  willingly  carry  her  to  the  play  ; 
but  perhaps  she  had  rather  go  to  lady  Centaur’s 
and  play  at  Ombre.’  They  were  both  persons 
i of  good  discerning,  and  soon  found  that  they 
mortally  hated  each  other  by  their  manner  of 
hiding  it.  Certain  it  is,  that  there  are  some 
genios  which  are  not  capable  of  pure  affection, 
and  a man  is  born  with  talents  for  it  as  much 
as  for  poetry  or  any  other  science. 

Osmyn  began  too  late  to  find  the  imperfection 
of  his  own  heart,  and  used  all  the  methods  in 
the  world  to  correct  it,  and  argue  himself  into 
return  of  desire  and  passion  for  his  wife,  by  the 
contemplation  of  her  excellent  qualities,  his 
great  obligations  to  her,  and  the  high  value  he 
saw  all  the  world  except  himself  did  put  upon 
her.  But  such  is  man’s  unhappy  condition, 
that  though  the  weakness  of  the  heart  has  a 

I prevailing  power  over  the  strength  of  the  head, 
yet  the  strength  of  the  head  has  but  small  force 
against  the  weakness  of  the  heart.  Osmyn, 

. therefore,  struggled  in  vain  to  revive  departed 
I desire ; and  for  that  reason  resolved  to  retire  to 

I one  of  his  estates  in  the  country,  and  pass  away 
his  hours  of  wedlock  in  the  noble  diversions  of 
the  field  ; and  in  the  fury  of  a disappointed  lover, 
made  an  oath  to  leave  neither  stag,  fox,  or  hare 
living,  during  the  days  of  his  wife.  Besides 
i that  country-sports  would  be  an  amusement,  he 
hoped  also  that  his  spouse  would  be  half  killed 
' by  the  very  sense  of  seeing  this  town  no  more, 
and  would  think  her  life  ended  as  soon  as  she 
^ left  it.  He  communicated  his  design  to  Elmira, 

, who  received  it,  as  now  she  did  all  things,  like 
I a person  too  unhappy  to  be  relieved  or  afflicted 
' ‘ by  the  circumstance  of  place.  This  unexpected 
1 resignation  made  Osmyn  resolve  to  be  as  oblig- 
I ing  to  her  as  possible  ; and  if  he  could  not  prevail 
^ ' upon  himself  to  be  kind,  he  took  a resolution  at 
least  to  act  sincerely,  and  communicate  frankly 
s ' to  her  the  weakness  of  his  temper,  to  excuse  the 
4 indifference  of  his  behaviour.  He  disposed  his 
1 [ household  in  the  way  to  Rutland,  so  as  he  and 
4 his  lady  travelled  only  in  the  coach  for  the  con- 
f i venience  of  discourse.  They  had  not  gone  many 
o'  1^  miles  out  of  town,  when  Osmyn  spoke  to  this 
4 purpose: 

00 ! ‘My  dear,  I believe  I look  quite  as  silly  now 
H I am  going  to  tell  you  I do  not  love  you,  as 
when  I first  told  you  I did.  We  are  now  going 
rjl  into  the  country  together,  with  only  one  hope 
lol;  for  making  this  life  agreeable,  survivorship : 
M desire  is  not  in  our  power ; mine  is  all  gone  for 
U,  you.  What  shall  we  do  to  carry  it  with  de- 
cency to  the  world,  and  hate  one  another  with 
ill  discretion  ?’ 

The  lady  answered,  without  the  least  obser- 
vation on  the  extravagance  of  his  speech : 

‘ My  dear,  you  have  lived  most  of  your  days 


in  a court,  and  I have  not  been  wholly  unac- 
quainted with  that  sort  of  life.  In  courts,  you 
see  good-will  is  spoken  with  great  warmth, 
ill-will  covered  with  great  civility.  Men  ar 
long  in  civilities  to  those  they  hate,  and  short 
in  expressions  of  kindness  to  those  they  love, 
Therefore,  my  dear,  let  us  be  well-bred  still 
and  it  is  no  matter,  as  to  all  who  see  us,  whether 
we  love  or  hate : and  to  let  you  see  how  much 
you  are  beholden  to  me  for  my  conduct,  I have 
both  hated  and  despised  you,  my  dear,  this 
half-year ; and  yet  neither  in  language  or  be- 
haviour has  it  been  visible  but  that  I loved  you 
tenderly.  Therefore,  as  I know  you  go  out  of 
town  to  divert  life  in  pursuit  of  beasts,  and  con- 
versation with  men  just  above  them  ; so,  my 
life,  from  this  moment,  I shall  read  all  the 
learned  cooks  who  have  ever  writ;  study  broths, 
plasters,  and  conserves,  until,  from  a fine  lady, 
I become  a notable  woman.  We  must  take  our 
minds  a note  or  two  lower,  or  we  shall  be 
tortured  by  jealousy  or  anger.  Thus,  I am  re- 
solved to  kill  all  keen  passions,  by  employing 
my  mind  on  little  subjects,  and  lessening  the 
easiness  of  my  spirit;  while  you,  my  dear,  with 
much  ale,  exercise,  and  ill  company,  are  so  good 
as  to  endeavour  to  be  as  contemptible  as  it  is 
necessary  for  my  quiet  I should  think  you.’ 

At  Rutland  they  arrived,  and  lived  with 
great  but  secret  impatience  for  many  successive 
years,  until  Osmyn  thought  of  a happy  expedi- 
ent to  give  their  affairs  a new  turn.  One  day 
he  took  Elmira  aside,  and  spoke  as  follows  : 

‘My  dear,  you  see  here  the  air  is  so  temper- 
ate and  serene;  the  rivulets,  the  groves,  and 
soil,  so  extremely  kind  to  nature,  that  we  are 
stronger  and  firmer  in  our  health  since  we  left 
the  town ; so  that  there  is  no  hope  of  a release 
in  this  place  ; but,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  go 
with  me  to  my  estate  in  the  hundreds  of  Essex, 
it  is  possible  some  kind  damp  may  one  day  or 
other  relieve  us.  If  you  will  condescend  to  ac- 
cept of  this  offer,  I will  add  that  whole  estate 
to  your  jointure  in  this  country.’ 

Elmira,  who  was  all  goodness,  accepted  the 
offer,  removed  accordingly,  and  has  left  her 
spouse  in  that  place  to  rest  with  his  fathers. 

This  is  the  real  figure  in  which  Elmira  ought 
to  be  beheld  in  this  town ; and  not  thought 
guilty  of  an  indecorum,  in  not  professing  the 
sense,  or  bearing  the  habit  of  sorrow,  for  one 
who  robbed  her  of  all  the  endearments  of  life, 
and  gave  her  only  common  civility,  instead  of 
complacency  of  manners,  dignity  of  passion,  and 
that  constant  assemblage  of  soft  desires  and  af- 
fections which  all  feel  who  love,  but  none  can 
express. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  August  10. 

Mr.  Truman,  who  is  a mighty  admirer  of 
dramatic  poetry,  and  knows  I am  about  a tra- 
gedy, never  meets  me,  but  he  is  giving  admo- 
nitions and  hints  for  my  conduct.  ‘ Mr.  Bicker- 
staff,’  said  he,  ‘ I was  reading  last  night  your 
second  act  you  were  so  kind  to  lend  me  : but  I 
find  you  depend  mightily  upon  the  retinue  of 
your  hero  to  make  him  magnificent.  You 
make  guards,  and  ushers,  and  courtiers,  and 
commons,  and  nobles,  march  before ; and  then 


120 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  54. 


enters  your  prince,  and  says,  they  cannot  de- 
fend him  from  his  love.  Why,  pr’ythee,  Isaac, 
who  ever  thought  they  could  ? Place  me  your 
loving  monarch  in  a solitude  ; let  him  have  no 
sense  at  all  of  his  grandeur,  but  let  it  be  eaten 
up  with  his  passion.  He  must  value  himself 
as  the  greatest  of  lovers,  not  as  the  first  of 
princes : and  then  let  him  say  a more  tender 
thing  than  ever  man  said  before — for  h\s  feather 
and  eagle's  beak  are  nothing  at  all.  The  man 
is  to  be  expressed  by  his  sentiments  and  affec- 
tions, and  not  by  his  fortune  or  equipage.  You 
are  also  to  take  care,  that  at  his  first  entrance 
be  says  something,  which  may  give  us  an  idea 
of  what  we  are  to  expect  in  a person  of  his  way 
of  thinking.  Shakspeare  is  your  pattern.  In 
the  tragedy  of  Caesar  he  introduces  his  hero  in 
his  night-gown.  He  had  at  that  time  all  the 
power  of  Rome  : deposed  consuls,  subordinate 
generals,  and  captive  princes  might  have  pre- 
ceded him ; but  his  genius  was  above  such  me- 
chanic methods  of  showing  greatness.  There- 
fore, he  rather  presents  that  great  soul  debating 
upon  the  subject  of  life  and  death  with  his  inti- 
mate friends,  without  endeavouring  to  prepossess 
his  audience  with  empty  show  and  pomp.  When 
those  who  attend  him  talk  of  the  many  omens 
which  had  appeared  that  day,  he  answers  : 

“ Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths; 

The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 

Of  all  the  wonders  that  I yet  liave  heard, 

It  seems  to  me  most  strange  tliat  men  should  fear  ; 

Seeing  that  death,  a necessary  end. 

Will  come,  when  it  will  come. 

‘ When  the  hero  has  spoken  this  sentiment, 
tliere  is  nothing  that  is  great  which  cannot  be 
expected  from  one,  whose  first  position  is  the 
contempt  of  death  to  so  high  a degree,  as  to 
make  his  exit  a thing  wholly  indifferent,  and 
not  a part  of  his  care,  but  that  of  heaven  and  fate.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  August  10. 

Letters  from  Brussels  of  the  fifteenth  instant, 
N.  S.  say,  that  major-general  Ravignan  returned 
on  the  eighth,  with  the  French  king’s  answer 
to  the  intended  capitulation  for  the  citadel  of 
Tournay,  which  is,  that  he  does  not  think  fit  to 
sign  that  capitulation,  except  the  allies  will  grant 
a cessation  of  arms  in  general,  during  the  time 
in  which  all  acts  of  hostility  were  to  have  ceased 
between  the  citadel  and  the  besiegers.  Soon 
after  the  receipt  of  this  news,  the  cannon  on 
each  side  began  to  play.  There  are  two  attacks 
against  the  citadel,  commanded  by  general 
Lottuin  and  general  Schuylemberg,  which  are 
both  carried  on  with  great  success ; and  it  is 
not  doubted  but  the  citadel  will  be  in  the  hands 
of  the  allies  before  the  last  day  of  this  month. 
Letters  from  Ipres  say,  that  on  the  ninth  instant 
part  nf  the  garrison  of  that  place  had.  mutinied 
in  two  bodies,  each  consisting  of  two  hundred ; 
who  being  dispersed  the  same  day,  a body  of 
dght  hundred  appeared  in  the  market-place  at 
nine  the  night  following,  and  seized  all  manner 
of  provisions,  but  were  with  much  difficulty 
quieted.  The  governor  has  not  punished  any  of 
the  offenders,  the  dissatisfaction  being  universal 
in  that  place ; and  it  is  thought  the  officers 
foment  those  disorders,  that  the  ministry  may 


be  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  paying  those 
troops,  and  supplying  them  with  provisions. 
These  advices  add,  that  on  the  fourteenth  the 
marquis  d’Este  passed  express  through  Brussels 
from  the  duke  of  Savoy,  with  advice  that  the 
army  of  his  royal  highness  ha,d  forced  the  re- 
trenchments of  the  enemy  in  Savoy,  and  de- 
feated that  body  of  men  which  guarded  those 
passes  under  the  command  of  the  marquis  de 
Thouy. 


No.  54.]  Saturday,  August  13,  1709. 

Cluicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  12. 

OF  THE  GOVERNMENT  OF  AFFECTION. 

When  labour  was  pronounced  to  be  the  por- 
tion of  man,  that  doom  reached  the  affections 
of  his  mind,  as  well  as  his  person,  the  matter  on 
which  he  was  to  feed,  and  all  the  animal  and 
vegetable  world  about  him.  There  is,  there- 
fore, an  assiduous  care  and  cultivation  to  be  be- 
stowed upon  our  passions  and  affections ; for 
they,  as  they  are  the  excrescences  of  our  souls 
like  our  hair  and  beards,  looks  horrid  or  becom- 
ing, as  we  cut  or  let  them  grow.  All  this  grave 
preface  is  meant  to  assign  a reason  in  nature  for 
the  unaccountable  behaviour  of  Duumvir,  the 
husband  and  keeper.  Ten  thousand  follies  had 
this  unhappy  man  escaped,  had  he  made  a com- 
pact with  himself  to  be  upon  his  guard,  and  not 
permitted  his  vagrant  eye  to  let  in  so  many  dif- 
ferent  inclinations  upon  him,  as  all  his  days  he 
has  been  perplexed  with.  But,  indeed,  at  pre- 
sent, he  has  brought  himself  to  be  confined  only 
to  one  prevailing  mistress  ; between  whom  and 
his  wife.  Duumvir  passes  his  hours  in  all  the 
vicissitudes  which  attend  passion  and  affection, 
without  the  intervention  of  reason.  Laura  his 
wife,  and  Phillis  his  mistress,  are  all  with  whom 
he  has  had,  for  some  months,  the  least  amorous 
commerce.  Duumvir  has  passed  the  noon  of 
life  ; but  cannot  withdraw  from  those  entertain- 
ments which  are  pardonable  only  before  that 
stage  of  oar  being,  and  which,  after  that  season, 
are  rather  punishments  than  satisfactions  ; for 
palled  appetite  is  humorous,  and  must  be  grati- 
fied with  sauces  rather  than  food.  For  which 
end  Duumvir  is  provided  with  a haughty,  impe- 
rious, expensive,  and  fantastic  mistress,  to  whom 
he  retires  from  the  conversation  of  an  affable, 
humble,  discreet,  and  affectionate  wife.  Laura 
receives  him  after  absence,  with  an  easy  and 
unaffected  complacency  ; but  that  he  calls  insi- 
pid : Phillis  rates  him  for  his  absence,  and  bids 
him  return  from  whence  he  came  ; this  he  calls 
spirit  and  fire  ; Laura’s  gentleness  is  thought 
mean ; Phillis’s  insolence,  sprightly.  Were  you  to 
see  him  at  his  own  home,  and  his  mistress’s  lodg- 
ings ; to  Phillis  he  appears  an  obsequious  lover, 
to  Laura  an  imperious  master.  Nay,  so  unjust 
is  the  taste  of  Duumvir,  that  he  owns  Laura  has 
no  ill  quality,  but  that  she  is  his  wife ; Phillis 
no  good  one,  but  that  she  is  his  mistress.  And 


THE  TATLER. 


121 


No.  54.] 

he  has  himself  often  said,  were  he  married  to 
any  one  else,  he  would  rather  keep  Laura  than 
any  woman  living  ; yet  allows,  at  the  same  time, 
that  Pliillis,  were  she  a woman  of  honour, 
would  have  been  the  most  insipid  animal  breath- 
ing. The  other  day  Laura,  who  has  a voice  like 
an  angel,  began  to  sing  to  him.  ‘ Fie,  madam,’ 
he  cried,  ‘ we  must  be  past  all  these  gayeties.’ 
Phillis  has  a note  as  rude  and  as  loud  as  that 
of  a milk-maid  : when  she  begins  to  warble, 
* Well,’  says  he,  ‘ there  is  such  a pleasing  sim- 
plicity in  all  that  wench  does.’  In  a word,  the 
affectionate  part  of  his  heart  being  corrupted, 
and  his  true  taste  that  way  wholly  lost,  he  has 
contracted  a prejudice  to  all  the  behaviour  of 
Laura,  and  a general  partiality  in  favour  of 
Phillis.  It  is  not  in  the  power  of  the  wife  to  do 
a pleasing  thing,  nor  in  the  mistress  to  commit 
one  that  is  disagreeable.  There  is  something 
too  melaricholy  in  the  reflection  on  this  circum- 
stance, to  be  the  subject  of  raillery.  lie  said  a 
sour  thing  to  Laura  at  dinner  the  other  day  ; 
upon  which  she  burst  into  tears.  ‘ What  the 
devil,  madam,’  says  he,  ‘ cannot  I speak  in  my 
own  house  ?’  He  answered  Phillis  a little  ab- 
ruptly at  supper  the  same  evening,  upon  which 
she  threw  his  periwig  into  the  fire.  ‘ Well,’ 
said  he,  ‘ thou  art  a brave  termagant  jade  : do 
you  know,  hussy,  that  fair  wig  cost  forty  gui- 
neas ?’  Oh  Laura  ! is  it  for  this  that  the  faithful 
Cromius  sighed  for  you  in  vain  ? How  is  thy 
condition  altered,  since  crowds  of  youth  hung 
on  thy  eye,  and  watched  its  glances  ? It  i?  not 
many  months  since  Laura  was  the  wonder  and 
pride  of  her  own  sex,  as  well  as  the  desire  and 
passion  of  ours.  At  plays  and  at  balls,  the  just 
turn  of  her  behaviour,  the  decency  of  her  virgin 
charms,  chastised,  yet  added  to  diversion.  At 
public  devotions,  her  winning  modesty,  her  re- 
signed carriage,  made  virtue  and  religion  appear 
with  new  ornaments,  and  in  the  natural  apparel 
of  simplicity  and  beauty.  In  ordinary  conver- 
sations, a sweet  conformity  of  manners,  and  a 
humility  which  heightened  all  the  complacencies 
of  good-breeding  and  education,  gave  her  more 
slaves  than  all  the  pride  of  her  sex  ever  made 
women  wish  for.  Laura’s  hours  are  now  spent 
in  the  sad  reflection  on  her  choice,  and  that  de- 
ceitful vanity,  almost  inseparable  from  the  sex, 
of  believing  she  could  reclaim  one  that  had  so 
often  ensnared  others  ; as  it  now  is,  it  is  not  even 
in  the  power  of  Duumvir  himself  to  do  her  jus- 
tice : for  though  beauty  and  merit  are  things 
real,  and  independent  on  taste  and  opinion,  yet 
agreeableness  is  arbitrary,  and  the  mistress  has 
much  the  advantage  of  the  wife.  But  whenever 
fate  is  so  kind  to  her  and  her  spouse  as  to  end 
her  days,  with  all  this  passion  for  Phillis  and  in- 
difference for  Laura,  he  has  a second  wife  in 
view,  who  may  avenge  the  injuries  done  to  her 
predecessor.  Aglaura  is  the  destined  lady,  who 
has  lived  in  assemblies,  has  ambition  and  play 
for  her  entertainment,  and  thinks  of  a man,  not 
as  the  object  of  love,  but  the  tool  of  her  interest 
or  pride.  If  ever  Aglaura  comes  to  the  empire 
of  this  ineonstant,  she  will  endear  the  memory 
of  her  predecessor.  But,  in  the  mean  time,  it  is 
melancholy  to  consider  that  the  virtue  of  a wife 
is  like  the  merit  of  a poet,  never  justly  valued 
until  after  death. 


From  my  own  Apartment,  August  11. 

As  wo  have  professed  that  all  the  actions  of 
men  arc  our  subject,  the  most  solemn  arc  not  to 
bo  omitted,  if  there  happens  to  creep  into  their 
behaviour  any  thing  improi)er  for  such  occasions. 
Therefore,  the  offence  mentioned  in  the  following 
epistles,  though  it  may  seem  to  be  committed  in 
a place  sacred  from  observation,  is  such,  that  it 
is  our  duty  to  remark  uj)on  it;  ibr  though  he 
who  does  it  is  himself  only  guilty  of  an  inde- 
corum, he  occasions  a criminal  levity  in  all 
others  who  are  present  at  it. 

St.  Paul's  Church-Yard,  August  11. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — It  being  mine  as  well 
as  the  opinion  of  many  others  that  your  papers 
are  extremely  well  fitted  to  reform  any  irregular 
or  indecent  practice,  I present  the  following  as 
one  which  requires  your  correction.  Myself, 
and  a great  many  good  people  who  frequent  the 
divine  service  at  St,  Paul’.s,  have  been  a long 
lime  scandalized  by  the  imprudent  conduct  of 
Stentor*  in  that  cathedral.  'Phis  gentleman, 
you  must  know,  is  always  very  exact  and  zeal- 
ous in  his  devotion,  which  I believe  nobody 
blames ; but  then  he  is  accustomed  to  roar  and 
bellow  so  terribly  loud  in  the  responses,  that  he 
frightens  even  us  of  the  congregation  who  are 
daily  used  to  him  ; and  one  of  our  petty  canons, 
a punning  Cambridge  scholar,  calls  his  way  of 
worship  a Bull-offering.  His  harsh  untuneable 
pipe  is  no  more  fit  than  a raven’s  to  join  with 
the  music  of  a choir  ; yet,  nobody  having  been 
enough  his  friend,  I suppose,  to  inform  him  of 
it,  he  never  fails,  when  present,  to  drown  the 
harmony  of  every  hymn  and  anthem,  by  an  in- 
undation of  sound  beyond  that  of  the  bridge  at 
the  ebb  of  the  tide,  or  the  neighbouring  lions  in 
the  anguish  of  their  hunger.  This  is  a griev- 
ance, which,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  several 
worthy  people  desire  to  see  redressed  ; and  if, 
by  inserting  this  epistle  in  your  paper,  or  by  re- 
presenting the  matter  your  own  way,  you  can 
convince  Stentor,  that  discord  in  a choir  is  the 
same  sin  that  schism  is  in  the  church  in  general, 
you  would  lay  a great  obligation  upon  us;  and 
make  some  atonement  for  certain  of  your  para- 
graphs which  have  not  been  highly  approved 
by  us. — I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘ JEOFFRY  CHANTICLEER.’ 

It  is  wonderful  that  there  should  be  such  a 
general  lamentation,  and  the  grievances  so  fre- 
quent, and  yet  the  offender  never  knew  any 
thing  of  it.  I have  received  the  following  letter 
from  my  kinsman  at  the  Heralds-office,  near 
the  same  place. 

‘Dear  Cousin, — This  office,  which  has  had 
its  share  in  the  impartial  justice  of  your  cen- 
sures, demands  at  present  your  vindication  of 
their  rights  and  privileges.  There  are  certain 
hours  when  our  young  heralds  are  exercised  in 
the  faculties  of  making  proclamation,  and  other 
vociferations,  which  of  right  belong  to  us  only 
to  utter : but,  at  the  same  hours,  Stentor,  in  St. 
Paul’s  Church,  in  spite  of  the  coaches,  carts, 
London  cries,  and  all  other  sounds  between  us. 


Q 


Dr.  tVilliam  StanDy,  dean  of  St.  Paul’s. 


122 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  55. 


exalts  his  throat  to  so  high  a key,  that  the  most 
noisy  of  our  order  is  utterly  unheard.  If  you 
please  to  observe  upon  this,  you  will  ever 
oblige,  &c.’ 

There  have  been  communicated  to  me  some 
other  ill  consequenees  from  the  same  cause ; 
as,  the  overturning  of  coaches  by  sudden  starts 
of  the  horses  as  they  passed  that  way,  women 
pregnant  frightened,  and  heirs  to  families  lost ; 
which  arc  public  disasters,  though  arising  from 
a good  intention  : but  it  is  hoped,  after  this 
admonition,  that  Stentor  will  avoid  an  act  of 
so  great  supererogation,  as  singing  without  a 
voice. 

But  I am  diverted  from  prosecuting  Stentor’s 
reformation,  by  an  account,  that  the  two  faithful 
lovers,  Lisander  and  Coriana,  are  dead ; for,  no 
longer  ago  than  the  first  day  of  the  last  month, 
they  swore  eternal  fidelity  to  each  other,  and  to 
love  until  death.  Ever  since  that  time  Lisander 
has  been  twice  a day  at  the  chocolate-house, 
visits  in  every  circle,  is  missing  four  hours  in 
four-and-twenty,  and  will  give  no  account  of 
, himself.  These  are  undoubted  proofs  of  the  de- 
parture of  a lover  ; and  consequently  Coriana 
is  also  dead  as  a mistress.  I have  written  to 
Stentor,  to  give  this  couple  three  calls  at  the 
church-door,  wliich  they  must  hear  if  they  are 
living  within  the  bills  of  mortality;  and  if  they 
do  not  answer  at  that  time,  they  are  fronr  that 
moment  added  to  the  number  of  my  defunct. 


No.  55.]  Tuesday^  August  16,  1709. 

Paulo  majora  canamus.  Virg.  Eel.  iv.  1. 

Begin  a loftier  strain. 

White's  Chocolate-house,,  August  15. 

While  others  are  busied  in  relations  which 
concern  the  interest  of  princes,  the  peace  of 
nations,  and  revolutions  of  empire  ;*  I think, 
though  these  are  very  great  subjects,  my  theme 
of  discourse  is  sometimes  to  be  of  matters  of  a 
yet  higher  consideration.  The  slow  steps  of 
providence  and  nature,  and  strange  events  which 
are  brought  about  in  an  instant,  are  what,  as 
they  come  within  our  view  and  observation, 
shall  be  given  to  the  public.  Such  things  are 
not  accompanied  with  show  and  noise,  and  there- 
fore seldom  draw  the  eyes  of  the  unattentive 
part  of  mankind ; but  are  very  proper  at  once 
to  exercise  our  humanity,  please  our  imagina- 
tions, and  improve  our  judgments.  It  may  not 
therefore,  be  unuseful  to  relate  many  circum- 
stances, which  were  observable  upon  a late  cure 
done  upon  a young  gentleman  who  was  born 
blind,  and  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  June  last  re- 
ceived his  sight,  at  the  age  of  twenty  years,  by 
the  operation  of  an  oculist.  This  happened  no 
farther  off  than  Newington,  and  the  work  was 
prepared  for  in  the  following  manner. 

The  operator,  Mr.  Grant,  having  observed 
the  eyes  of  his  patient,  and  convinced  his 


* The  name  of  the  young  man,  who  is  the  principal 
subject  of  this  paper,  w'as  William  Jones  of  Newington 
Butts,  who,  it  is  said,  was  born  blind,  and  brought  to 
hifl  sight  at  the  ag»  sf  twenty. 


friends  and  re'ations,  among  others  the  reverend 
Mr.  Caswell,  minister  of  the  place,  that  it  was 
highly  probable  that  he  should  remove  the  ob- 
stacle which  prevented  the  use  of  his  sight ; 
all  his  acquaintance,  who  had  any  regard  for 
the  young  man,  or  curiosity  to  be  present  when 
one  of  full  age  and  understanding  received  a 
new  sense,  assembled  themselves  on  this  occa- 
sion. Mr.  Caswell,  being  a gentleman  parti- 
cularly curious,  desired  the  whole  company,  in 
case  the  blindness  should  be  cured,  to  keep  si- 
lence ; and  let  the  patient  make  his  own  obser- 
vations, without  the  direction  of  any  thing  he 
had  received  by  his  other  senses,  or  the  advan- 
tage of  discovering  his  friends  by  their  voices. 
Among  several  others,  the  mother,  brethren, 
sisters,  and  a young  gentlewoman,  for  whom  he 
had  a passion,  were  present.  The  work  was 
performed  with  great  skill  and  dexterity.  When 
tlie  patient  first  received  the  dawn  of  light,  there 
appeared  such  an  ecstasy  in  his  action,  that  he 
seemed  ready  to  swoon  away  in  the  surprise  of 
joy  and  wonder.  The  surgeon  stood  before 
him  with  his  instruments  in  his  hands.  The 
young  man  observed  him  from  head  to  foot  ; 
after  which  he  surveyed  himself  as  carefully, 
and  seemed  to  compare  him  to  himself ; and, 
observing  both  their  hands,  seemed  to  think 
they  were  exactly  alike,  except  the  instruments, 
which  he  took  for  parts  of  his  hands.  When 
he  had  continued  in  tliis  amazement  some  titne, 
his  mother  could  not  longer  bear  the  agitations 
of  so  many  passions,  as  thronged  upon  her;  but 
fell  upon  his  neck,  crying  out,  ‘ My  son  ! my 
son  1’  The  youtii  knew  her  voice,  and  could 
speak  no  more  than  ‘ Oh  rne  ! are  you  my  mo- 
ther V and  fainted.  The  whole  room,  you  will 
easily  conceive,  wore  very  affectionately  em- 
ployed in  recovering  him  ; but,  above  all,  the 
young  gentlewoman  who  loved  him,  and  whom 
he  loved,  shrieked  in  the  loudest  manner.  That 
voice  seemed  to  have  a sudden  eftect  upon  him 
as  he  recovered,  and  he  showed  a double  curi- 
osity in  observing  her  as  she  spoke  and  called 
to  him,  until  at  last  he  broke  out,  ‘ What  has 
been  done  to  me  ? Whither  am  I carried  ? Is 
all  this  about  me  the  thing  I have  heard  so 
often  of?  Is  this  the  light?  Is  this  seeing? 
Were  you  always  thus  happy,  when  you  said 
you  were  glad  to  see  each  other  ? Where  is  Tom, 
who  used  to  lead  me  ? But  I could  now,  me- 
thinks,  go  any  where  without  him.’  He  oftered 
to  move,  but  seemed  afraid  of  every  thing 
around  him.  When  they  saw  his  difficulty,  they 
told  him,  until  he  became  better  acquainted  with 
his  new  being,  he  must  let  the  servant  still  lead 
him.  The  boy  was  called  for,  and  presented 
to  him.  Mr.  Caswell  asked  him,  ‘ what  sort  of 
thing  he  took  Tom  to  be  before  he  had  seen 
him  V He  answered,  ‘ he  believed  there  was 
not  so  much  of  him  as  of  himself;  but  he  fancied 
him  the  same  sort  of  creature.’  The  noise  of 
this  sudden  change  made  all  the  neighbourhood 
throng  to  the  place  where  he  was.  As  he  saw 
the  crowd  thickening  he  desired  Mr.  Caswell  to 
tell  him  how  many  there  were  in  all  to  be  seen. 
The  gentleman,  smiling,  answered  him,  that  ‘ it 
would  be  very  proper  for  him  to  return  to  his 
late  condition,  and  suffer  his  eyes  to  be  covered, 
until  they  had  received  strength  : for  he  might 


No.  55.] 


THE  TATLER. 


123 


'ir 


remember  well  enoug’h,  that  by  degrees  he  had 
from  little  and  little  come  to  tlie  strength  he 
had  at  present  in  his  ability  of  walking  and 
moving ; and  that  it  was  the  same  thing  with 
his  eyes,  which,’  he  said,  ‘ would  lose  the  power 
of  continuing  to  him  that  wonderful  transport 
he  was  now  in,  except  lie  would  be  contented 
to  lay  aside  the  use  of  them,  until  they  were 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  light  without  so  much 
feeling  as  he  knew  he  underwent  at  present.’ 
With  much  reluctance  he  was  prevailed  upon 
to  have  his  eyes  bound  ; in  which  condition  they 
kept  him  in  a dark  room,  until  it  was  proper  to 
let  the  organ  receive  its  objects  without  further 
precaution.  During  the  time  of  this  darkness, 
he  bewailed  himself  in  the  most  distressed  man- 
ner ; and  accused  all  his  friends,  complaining 
that  ‘ some  incantation  had  been  wrought  upon 
him,  and  some  strange  magic  used  to  deceive 
him  into  an  opinion  that  he  had  enjoyed  what 
they  called  sight.’  He  added,  ‘ that  the  im- 
pressions then  let  in  upon  his  soul  would  cer- 
tainly distract  him,  if  lie  were  not  so  at  that 
present.  At  another  time,  he  would  strive  to 
name  the  persons  he  had  seen  among  the  crowd 
after  he  was  couched,  and  would  pretend  to 
speak,  in  perplexed  terms  of  his  own  making, 
of  what  he  in  that  sliort  time  observed.  But, 
on  the  sixth  instant,  it  was  thought  fit  to  un- 
bind his  head,  and  the  young  woman  whom  he 
loved  was  instructed  to  open  his  eyes  accord- 
ingly : as  well  to  endear  herself  to  him  by  such 
a circumstance,  as  to  moderate  his  ecstasies 
by  the  persuasion  of  a voice  which  had  so  much 
power  over  him  as  hers  ever  had.  When  this 
beloved  young  woman  began  to  take  off  the 
binding  of  his  eyes,  she  talked  to  him  as  fol- 
lows. 

‘ Mr.  William,  I am  now  taking  the  binding 
off,  though,  when  I consider  what  I am  doing, 

I tremble  with  the  apprehension,  that  though  I 
have  from  my  very  childhood  loved  you,  dark 
as  you  were,  and  thougli  you  had  conceived  so 
strong  a love  for  me,  you  will  find  there  is  such 
a thing  as  beauty,  wdiich  may  ensnare  you  into 
a thousand  passions  of  whicli  you  are  now  in- 
nocent, and  take  you  from  me  for  ever.  But, 
before  I put  myself  to  the  hazard,  tell  me  in 
what  manner  that  love,  you  always  professed 
to  me,  entered  into  your  heart;  for  its  usual 
admission  is  at  tlie  eyes.’ 

The  young  man  answered,  ‘Dear  Lidia,  it 
I am  to  lose  by  sight  the  soft  pantings  which 
I have  always  felt  when  I heard  your  voice ; if 
I am  no  more  to  distinguish  the  step  of  her  I 
love  when  she  approaches  me,  but  to  change 
that  sweet  and  frequent  pleasure  for  such  an 
amazement  as  I knew  the  little  time  I lately 
savv;  or  if  I am  to  have  any  thing  besides, 
which  may  take  from  me  the  sense  I have  of 
what  appeared  most  pleasing  to  me  at  that  time, 
which  apparition  it  seems  was  you  ; pull  out 
these  eyes,  before  they  lead  me  to  be  ungrate- 
ful to  you,  or  undo  myself.  I wished  for  them 
but  to  see  you;  pull  them  out,  if  they  are  to 
make  me  forget  you.’ 

Lidia  was  extremely  satisfied  with  these  as- 
l|  surances ; and  pleased  herself  with  playing  with 
his  perplexities.  In  all  his  talk  to  her,  he 
showed  but  very  faint  ideas  of  any  thing  which 


had  not  been  received  at  the  ears ; and  closed 
his  protestation  to  her,  by  saying,  that  if  hj? 
were  to  see  Valentia  and  Barcelona,  whom  he 
supposed  the  most  esteemed  of  all  women,  by 
the  quarrel  there  was  about  them,  he  would 
never  like  any  but  Lidia. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  August  15. 

We  have  repeated  advices  of  the  entire  de- 
feat of  the  Swedish  army  near  Pultowa,  on  the 
twenty -seventh  of  June,  O.  S. ; and  letters  from 
Berlin  give  the  following  account  of  the  remains 
of  tile  Swedish  army  since  the  battle : Prince 
Menzikoff,  being  ordered  to  pursue  the  victory, 
came  up  with  the  Swedish  army,  which  was 
left  to  the  command  of  general  Lewenhaupt,  on 
the  thirteenth  of  June,  O.  S.  on  the  banks  of  the 
Boristhenes  ; whereupon  he  sent  general  Lew- 
enhaupt a summons  to  submit  himself  to  his 
present  fortune  : Lewenhaupt  immediately  de- 
spatched tliree  general  officers  to  that  prince,  to 
treat  about  a capitulation ; but  the  Swedes, 
though  they  consisted  of  fifteen  thousand  men, 
were  in  so  great  want  of  provision  and  ammu- 
nition, tliat  they  were  obliged  to  surrender 
themselves  at  discretion.  His  czarish  majesty 
despatched  an  express  to  general  Goltz,  with 
an  account  of  these  particulars,  and  also  with 
instructions  to  send  out  detachments  of  his 
cavalry,  to  prevent  the  king  of  Sweden’s  join- 
ing his  army  in  Poland.  That  prince  made  his 
escape  witii  a small  party  by  swimming  over 
the  Boristhenes ; and  it  was  tliought  he  de- 
signed to  retire  into  Poland  by  the  way  of 
Voiliinia.  Advices  from  Bern  of  the  eleventh 
instant  say,  that  the  general  diet  of  the  Hel- 
vetic body  lield  at  Baden,  concluded  on  the 
sixth  ; but  the  deputies  of  the  six  cantons,  who 
are  deputed  to  determine  the  affair  of  Tocken- 
burg,  continue  their  application  to  that  business, 
notwithstanding  some  new  difficulties  started 
by  the  abbot  of  St.  Gall.  Letters  Ifom  Geneva 
of  the  ninth,  say,  that  the  duke  of  Savoy’s 
cavalry  had  joined  count  Thaun,  as  had  also 
two  imperial  regiments  of  hussars ; and  that  his 
royal  highness’s  army  was  disposed  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner  : the  troops  under  the  command 
of  count  Thaun  are  extended  from  Constans  to 
St.  Peter  D’Albigni.  Small  parties  are  left  in 
several  posts  from  thence  to  Little  St.  Bernard, 
to  preserve  the  communication  with  Piedmont 
by  the  valley  of  Aosta.  Some  forces  are  also 
pooted  at  Taloir,  and  in  the  castle  of  Doin,  on 
each  side  of  the  lake  of  Anneci.  General  Rhe- 
binder  is  encamped  in  the  valley  of  Oulx  with 
ten  thousand  foot,  and  some  detachments  of 
horse ; his  troops  are  extended  from  Exilles  to 
Mount  Genevre,  so  that  he  may  easily  penetrate 
into  Dauphine  on  the  least  motion  of  the  enemy  ; 
but  the  duke  of  Berwick  takes  all  necessary 
precautions  to  prevent  such  an  enterprise.  That 
general’s  head  quarters  are  at  Francin ; and  he 
hath  disposed  his  army  in  several  parties,  to 
preserve  a communication  with  the  Maurienne 
and  Briancon.  He  hath  no  provisions  for  his 
army  but  from  Savoy ; Provence  and  Dau- 
phind  being  unable  to  supply  him  with  neces- 
saries. He  left  two  regiments  of  dragoons  at 
Annen,  who  suffered  very  much  in  the  late 


124 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  56. 


action  at  Tessons,  where  they  lost  fifteen  hun- 
dred who  were  killed  on  the  spot,  four  standards, 
and  three  hundred  prisoners,  among  whom  were 
forty  officers.  The  last  letters  from  the  duke 
of  Marlborough’s  camp  at  Orchies  of  the  nine- 
teenth instant,  advise,  that  monsieur  Ravignon 
being  returned  from  the  Freneh  court  with  an 
account  that  the  king  of  France  had  refused  to 
ratify  the  capitulation  for  the  surrender  of  the 
citadel  of  Tournay,  the  approaches  have  been 
carried  on  witli  great  vigour  and  success : our 
miners  have  discovered  several  of  the  enemy’s 
mines,  who  have  sprung  divers  others,  which 
did  little  execution ; but  for  the  better  security 
of  the  troops,  both  assaults  are  carried  on  by  the 
cautious  way  of  sapping.  On  the  eighteenth, 
the  confederate  army  made  a general  forage 
without  any  loss.  Marshal  Villars  continues  in 
his  former  camp,  and  applies  himself  with  great 
diligence  in  casting  up  new  lines  behind  the 
old  on  the  Scarp.  The  duke  of  Marlborough 
and  prince  Eugene  designed  to  begin  a general 
review  of  the  army  on  the  twentieth. 


No.  56.]  Thursday^  August  18,  1709. 

Quicquid  ajunt  homines 

nosfri  est  farrago  libclli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  65,66. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill.* 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  17. 

There  is  a young  foreigner  committed  to  my 
care,  who  puzzles  me  extremely  in  the  questions 
he  asks  about  the  persons  of  figure  we  meet  in 
public  places.  He  has  but  very  little  of  our 
language,  and  therefore  I am  mightily  at  a loss 
to  express  to  him  things  for  which  they  have  no 
word  in  that  tongue  to  which  he  was  born.  It 
has  been  often  my  answer,  upon  his  asking  who 
such  a fine  gentlemen  is  ? That  he  is  what  we 
call  a sharper ; and  he  wants  my  explication. 
I thought  it  would  be  very  unjust  to  tell  him, 
he  is  the  same  the  French  call  Coquin;  the 
Latins,  Nebulo;  or  the  Greeks,  for,  as 

custom  is  the  most  powerful  of  all  laws,  and 
that  the  order  of  men  we  call  sharpers  are  re- 
ceived amongst  us,  not  only  with  permission, 
but  favour,  I thought  it  unjust  to  use  them  like 
persons  upon  no  establishment ; besides  that  it 
would  be  an  unpardonable  dishonour  to  our 
country  to  let  him  leave  us  with  an  opinion, 
that  our  nobility  and  gentry  keep  company  with 
common  thieves  and  cheats : I told  him,  ‘ they 
were  a sort  of  tame  hussars,  that  were  allowed 
in  our  cities,  like  the  wild  ones  in  our  camp  ; 
who  had  all  the  privileges  belonging  to  us,  but 
at  the  same  time,  were  not  tied  to  our  discipline 
or  laws.’  Aletheus,  who  is  a gentleman  of  too 
much  virtue  for  the  age  he  lives  in,  would  not 
let  this  matter  be  thus  palliated  ; but  told  my 
pupil,  ‘ that  he  was  to  understand  that  distinc- 


*  This  is  the  first  of  some  patriotic  and  excellent  pa' 
pers,  in  which  Steele  laudably  employed  his  wit,  in  ex- 
posing the  gamesters,  sharpers,  and  swindlers,  of  his 
time,  with  a view  to  guard  his  unwary  countrymen  from 
their  snares ; and,  ‘ to  banish  fraud  and  cozenage  from 
the  presence  and  conversation  of  gentlemen.’ 
t Th#  word  ‘ rascal,'  printed  in  Greek  characters. 


tion,  quality,  merit,  and  industry,  were  laid 
aside  among  us  by  the  incursions  of  these 
civil  hussars;  who  had  got  so  much  counte- 
nance,  that  the  breeding  and  fashion  of  the  age 
turned  their  way  to  the  ruin  of  order  and 
economy  in  all  places  where  they  are  admitted.’ 
But  Sophronius,  who  never  falls  into  heat  upon 
any  subject,  but  applies  proper  language,  tem- 
per, and  skill,  with  which  the  thing  in  debate 
is  to  be  treated,  told  the  youth,  ‘ that  gentleman 
had  spoken  nothing  but  what  was  literally  true  , 
but  fell  upon  it  with  too  much  earnestness  to 
give  a true  idea  of  that  sort  of  people  he  was  de- 
claiming against,  or  to  remedy  the  evil  which  he 
bewailed  : lor  the  acceptance  of  these  men  being 
an  ill  which  had  crept  into  the  conversation-part 
of  our  lives,  and  not  into  our  constitution  itself, 
it  must  be  corrected  where  it  began;  and,  con- 
sequently, is  to  be  amended  only  by  bringing 
raillery  and  derision  upon  the  persons  who  are 
guilty,  or  those  who  converse  with  them.  For 
the  sharpers,’  continued  he,  ‘ at  present,  are  not 
as  formerly,  under  the  acceptation  of  pick 
pockets : but  are  by  custom  erected  into  a real 
and  venerable  body  of  men,  and  have  subdued 
us  to  so  very  particular  a deference  to  them, 
that  though  they  were  known  to  be  men  with 
out  honour  or  conscience,  no  demand  is  called 
a debt  of  honour  so  indisputably  as  theirs.  You 
may  lose  your  honour  to  them,  but  they  lay 
none  against  you : as  the  priesthood  in  Roman 
Catholic  countries  can  purchase  what  they  please 
for  the  church ; hut  they  can  alienate  nothing  from 
it.  It  is  from  this  toleration,  that  sharpers  are 
to  be  found  among  all  sorts  of  assemblies  and 
companies  ; and  every  talent  among  men  is 
made  use  of  by  some  one  or  other  of  the  society, 
for  the  good  of  their  common  cause : so  that  an 
unexperienced  young  gentleman  is  as  often  en- 
snared by  his  understanding  as  his  folly ; for 
who  could  be  unmoved,  to  hear  the  eloquent 
Dromio  explain  the  constitution,  talk  in  the  key 
of  Cato,  with  the  severity  of  one  of  the  ancient 
sages,  and  debate  the  greatest  question  of  state 
in  a common  chocolate  or  coffee-house  ? who 
could,  I say,  hear  this  generous  declamator, 
without  being  fired  at  his  noble  zeal,  and  be- 
coming his  professed  follower,  if  he  might  be 
admitted  ? Monoculus’s  gravity  would  be  no 
less  inviting  to  a beginner  in  conversation ; and 
the  snare  of  his  eloquence  would  equally  catch 
one  who  had  never  seen  an  old  gentleman  so 
very  wise,  and  yet  so  little  severe.  Many  other 
instances  of  extraordinary  men  among  the  bro- 
therhood  might  be  produced  ; but  every  man, 
who  knows  the  town,  can  supply  himself  with 
such  examples  without  their  being  named.  Will 
Vafer,  who  is  skilful  at  finding  out  the  ridiculous 
side  of  a thing,  and  placing  it  in  a new  and  pro- 
per light,  though  he  very  seldom  talks,  thought 
fit  to  enter  into  this  subject.  He  has  lately  lost 
certain  loose  sums,  which  half  the  income  of 
his  estate  will  bring  in  within  seven  years  : be- 
sides which,  he  proposes  to  marry,  to  set  all 
right.  He  was,  therefore,  indolent  enough  to 
speak  of  this  matter  with  great  impartiality. 

‘ When  I look  around  me,’  said  this  easy  gentle- 
man, ‘ and  consider  in  a just  balance  us  bub- 
bles, elder  brothers  whose  support  our  dull  fa- 
thers contrived  to  depend  upon  certain  acres. 


THE  TATLER. 


125 


No.  56.] 

with  the  rooks,  whose  ancestors  left  tliern  tiie 
wide  world ; I cannot  but  admire  tlieir  fraternity, 
and  contemn  my  own.  Is  not  Jack  Heyday 
much  to  be  preferred  to  the  knight  he  has  bub- 
bled ? Jack  has  his  equipage,  his  wenches,  and 
his  followers  : the  knight,  so  far  from  a retinue, 
that  he  is  almost  one  of  Jack’s.  However,  he 
is  gay,  you  see,  still ; a florid  outside — His 
habit  speaks  the  man — And  since  he  must  un- 
button, he  would  not  be  reduced  outwardly,  but 
is  stripped  to  his  upper  coat.  But  though  I 
have  great  temptation  to  it,  I will  not  at  this 
time  give  the  history  of  the  losing  side;  but 
speak  the  effects  of  my  thoughts,  since  the  loss 
of  my  money,  upon  the  gaining  people.  This 
ill  fortune  makes  most  men  contemplative  and 
given  to  reading  ; at  least  it  has  happened  so  to 
me;  and  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  family  of  Sharp- 
ers in  all  ages  has  been  my  contemplation.’ 

I find,  all  times  have  had  of  this  people : Ho- 
mer, in  his  excellent  heroic  poem,  calls  them 
Myrmidons,  who  were  a body  that  kept  among 
themselves,  and  had  nothing  to  lose ; therefore 
never  spared  either  Greek  or  Trojan,  when  they 
fell  in  their  way,  upon  a party.  But  there  is  a 
memorable  verse,  Vv'hich  gives  us  an  account  of 
what  broke  that  whole  body,  and  made  both 
Greeks  and  Trojans  masters  of  the  secret  of 
their  warfare  and  plunder.  There  is  nothing 
so  pedantic  as  many  quotations ; therefore,  I 
shall  inform  you  only,  that  in  this  battalion 
there  were  two  officers  called  Thersites  and 
Pandarus  : they  were  both  less  renowned  for 
their  beauty  than  their  wit ; but  each  had  this 
particular  happiness,  that  they  were  plunged 
over  head  and  ears  in  the  same  water  which 
made  Achilles  invulnerable  ; and  had  ever  after, 
certain  gifts  which  the  rest  of  the  world  were 
never  to  enjoy.  Among  others,  they  were  never 
to  know  they  were  the  most  dreadful  to  the  sight 
of  all  mortals,  never  to  be  diffident  of  their  own 
abilities,  never  to  blush,  or  ever  to  be  wounded 
but  by  each  other.  Though  some  historians  say, 
gaming  began  among  the  Lydians  to  divert 
hunger,  I could  cite  many  authorities  to  prove 
it  had  its  rise  at  the  siege  of  Troy  ; and  that 
Ulysses  won  the  sevenfold  shield  at  hazard. 
But  be  that  as  it  may,  the  ruin  of  the  corps  of 
Myrmidons  proceeded  from  a breach  between 
Thersites  and  Pandarus.  The  first  of  these  was 
leader  of  a squadron,  wherein  the  latter  was  but 
a private  man  ; but  having  all  the  good  qualities 
necesary  for  a partisan,  he  was  the  favourite  of 
his  officer.  But  the  whole  history  of  the  several 
changes  in  the  order  of  Sharpers,  from  those 
Myrmidons  to  our  modern  men  of  address  and 
plunder,  will  require  that  we  consult  some  an- 
cient manuscripts.  As  we  make  these  inquiries, 
we  shall  diurnally  communicate  them  to  the 
public,  that  the  Knights  of  the  Industry  may  be 
better  understood  by  the  good  people  of  England. 
These  sort  of  men,  in  some  ages,  were  syco- 
phants and  flatterers  only,  and  were  endued 
with  arts  of  life  to  capacitate  them  for  the  con- 
versation of  the  rich  and  great ; but  now  the 
bubble  courts  the  impostor,  and  pretends  at  the 
utmost  to  be  but  his  equal.  To  clear  up  the 
reasons  and  causes  in  such  revolutions,  and  the 
different  conduct  between  fools  and  cheats,  shall 
be  one  of  our  labours  for  the  good  of  this  king- 


dom. How,  therefore,  pimps,  footmen,  fiddlers, 
and  lackeys,  are  elevated  into  companions  in 
this  present  age,  shall  be  accounted  for  from  the 
influence  of  the  planet  Mercury  on  this  island  ; 
the  ascendency  of  which  Sharper  over  Sol,  who 
is  a patron  of  the  muses  and  all  honest  profes- 
sions, had  been  noted  by  the  learned  Job  Gad- 
bury,*  to  be  the  cause,  that  ‘ cunning  and  trick 
are  more  esteemed  than  art  and  science.’  It 
must  be  allowed  also,  to  the  memory  of  Mr. 
Partridge,  late  of  Cecil-street  in  the  Strand,  that 
in  his  answer  to  an  horary  question,  at  what 
hour  of  the  night  to  set  a fox-trap  in  June  1705  ? 
he  has  largly  discussed,  under  the  character  of 
Reynard,  the  manner  of  surprising  all  Sharpers 
as  well  as  him.  But  of  these  great  points,  after 
more  mature  deliberation. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house^  August  17. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire. 

‘ Sir, — We  have  nothing  at  present  new,  but 
that  we  understand  by  some  Owlers,t  old  people 
die  in  France.  Letters  from  Paris  of  the  tenth 
instant,  N.  S.  say,  that  monsieur  d’ Andre, 
marquis  d’Oraison,  died  at  eighty-five : mon- 
sieur  Brumars,  at  one  hundred  and  two  years, 
died  for  love  of  his  wife,  who  was  ninety-two 
at  her  death,  after  seventy  years  cohabitation. 
Nicholas  de  Boutheiller,  parish-preacher  at 
Sasseville,  being  a bachelor,  held  out  to  one 
hundred  and  sixteen.  Dame  Claude  de  Massy, 
relict  of  monsieur  Peter  de  Monceaux,  grand 
audiencer  of  France,  died  on  the  seventeenth, 
aged  one  hundred  and  seven.  Letters  of  the 
seventeenth  say,  monsieur  Chrestien  de  La- 
moignon  died  on  the  seventh  instant,  a per- 
son  of  great  piety  and  virtue ; but  having  died 
young,  his  age  is  concealed  for  reasons  of  state. 
On  the  fifteenth,  his  most  Christian  majesty, 
attended  by  the  dauphin,  the  duke  of  Burgundy, 
the  duke  and  dutchess  of  Berry,  assisted  at  the 
procession  which  he  yearly  performs  in  memory 
of  a vow  made  by  Lewis  the  Thirteenth,  in  1638. 
For  which  act  of  piety,  his  majesty  reeeived 
absolution  of  his  confessor,  for  the  breach  of  all 
inconvenient  vows  made  by  himself.  1 am,  sir, 
your  most  humble  servant. 

‘HUMPHREY  KIDNEY.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  17. 

I am  to  aeknowledge  several  letters  which  I 
have  lately  received  ; among  others,  one  sub- 
scribed  Philanthropos,  another  Emilia,  both 
which  shall  be  honoured.  I have  a third  from 
an  officer  in  the  army,  wherein  he  desires  I 
would  do  justice  to  the  many  gallant  actions 
which  have  been  done  by  men  of  private  cha- 
racters, or  officers  of  lower  stations,  during  this 
long  war;  that  their  families  may  have  the  plea- 
sure of  seeing  we  lived  in  an  age,  wherein  men 
of  all  orders  had  their  proper  share  in  fame  and 
glory.  There  is  nothing  I should  undertake 


* Gadbury  was  an  almanack-maker  and  astrologer, 
t Owler  signifies  one  who  carries  contraband  goods  ; 
the  word  is  perhaps  derived  from  the  necessity  of  car- 
rying on  an  illicit  trade  by  night. 


126 


THE  TATLER. 


with  greater  pleasure  than  matters  of  this  kind; 
if,  therefore,  they  who  are  acquainted  with  such 
facts  would  please  to  communicate  them  by  let- 
ters, directed  to  me  at  Mr.  Morphew’s,  no  pains 
should  be  spared  to  put  them  in  a proper  and 
distinguishing'  ligiit. 

This  is  to  admonish  Stentor,  that  it  was  not 
admiration  of  his  voice,  but -my  publication  of 
it,  which  has  lately  increased  the  number  of  his 
hearers. 


"^o.  57.]  Saturday,  August  6, 1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  August  19. 

I WAS  this  evening  representing  a complaint 
sent  me  out  of  the  country  from  Emilia.  She 
says,  her  neighbours  there  have  so  little  sense 
of  what  a refined  lady  of  the  town  is,  tliat  she, 
who  was  a celebrated  wit  in  London,  is  in  that 
dull  part  of  the  world  in  so  little  esteem,  that 
they  call  her  in  their  base  style  a Tongue-Pad. 
Old  True  Penny  bid  me  advise  her  to  keep  her 
wit  until  she  comes  to  town  again,  and  admonish 
her,  that  both  wit  and  breeding  are  local;  for  a 
fine  court-lady  is  as  aw’kward  among  country 
housewives,  as  one  of  them  would  appear  in  a 
drawing-room.  It  is  therefore  the  most  useful 
knowledge  one  can  attain  at,  to  understand 
among  what  sort  of  men  we  make  the  best 
figure ; for  if  there  be  a place  where  the  beau- 
teous and  accomplished  Emilia  is  unacceptable, 
it  is  certainly  a vain  endeavour  to  attempt  pleas- 
ing in  all  conversations.  Here  is  Will  Ubi,  who 
is  so  thirsty  after  the  reputation  of  a companion, 
that  his  company  is  for  any  body  that  will  ac- 
cept of  it ; and  for  want  of  knowing  whom  to 
choose  for  himself,  is  never  chosen  by  others. 
There  is  a certain  chastity  of  behaviour  which 
makes  a man  desirable;  and  which  if  he  trans- 
gresses, his  wit  will  have  the  same  fate  with 
Delia’s  beauty,  which  no  one  regards,  because 
all  know  it  is  within^  their  power.  The  best 
course  Emilia  can  take  is,  to  have  less  humility; 
for  if  she  could  have  as  good  an  opinion  of  her- 
self for  having  every  quality,  as  some  of  her 
neighbours  have  of  themselves  with  one,  she 
would  inspire  even  them  with  a sense  of  her 
merit,  and  make  that  carriage,  which  is  now 
the  subject  of  their  derision,  the  sole  object  of 
their  imitation.  Until  she  has  arrived  at  this 
value  of  herself,  she  must  be  contented  with  the 
fate  of  that  uncommon  creature,  a woman  too 
humble. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  19. 

Since  my  last,  I have  received  a letter  from 
Tom  Trump,  to  desire  that  I would  do  the  fra- 
ternity of  gamesters  the  justice  to  own,  that 
there  are  notorious  Sharpers,  wlio  are  not  of 
their  class.  Among  others,  he  presented  me 
with  the  picture  of  Harry  Coppersmith,  in  little, 
who,  he  says,  is  at  this  day  worth  half  a plumb,* 

* A Plumb  is  a term  in  the  city  for  jCIOO.OOO, 


[No.  57. 

by  means  much  more  indirect  than  by  false  dice. 
I must  confess  there  appeared  some  reason  in 
what  he  asserted;  and  he  met  me  since,  and  ac- 
costed me  in  the  follotving  manner:  ‘ It  is  won- 
derful to  me,  Mr.  Bicker  staff,  that  you  can  pre- 
tend to  be  a man  of  penetration,  and  fall  upon 
us  Knights  of  the  Industry  as  the  wickedest  .of 
mortals,  when  there  are  so  many  who  live  in  the 
constant  practice  of  baser  methods,  unobserved. 
You  cannot,  though  you  know  the  story  of  my- 
self and  the  North  Briton,  but  allow  I am  an 
honester  man  than  Will  Coppersmith,  for  all  his 
great  credit  among  the  Lombards.  I get  my 
money  by  men’s  follies,  and  he  gets  his  by  their 
distresses.  The  declining  merchant  communi- 
cates liis  griefs  to  him,  and  he  augments  them 
by  extortion.  If,  therefore,  regard  is  to  be  had 
to  the  merit  of  the  persons  we  injure,  who  is  the 
more  blameable,  he  that  oppresses  an  unhappy 
man,  or  he  that  cheats  a foolish  one  ? All  man- 
kind are  indifferently  liable  to  adverse  strokes 
of  fortune  ; and  he  who  adds  to  them,  when  he 
might  relieve  them,  is  certainly  a worse  subject, 
than  he  who  unburdens  a man  w'hose  prosperity 
is  unw’ieldy  to  him.  Besides  all  which,  he  that 
borrows  of  Coppersmith  does  it  out  of  necessity ; 
he  that  plays  with  me  does  it  out  of  choice.’ 

I allowed  Trump  there  are  men  as  bad  as  him- 
self, which  is  the  Jieightofhis  pretensions;  and 
must  confess,  that  Coppersmith  is  the  most 
wucked  and  impudent  of  all  Sharpers ; a crea- 
ture that  cheats  with  credit,  and  is  a robber  in 
the  habit  of  a friend.  The  contemplation  of  this 
worthy  person  made  me  reflect  on  the  wonder- 
full  successes  I have  observed  men  of  the  mean- 
est capacities  meet  with  in  the  world,  and  recol- 
lect an  observation  I once  heard  a sage  man 
make ; which  was,  ‘ That  he  had  observed,  that 
in  some  professions,  the  lower  the  understand- 
ing, the  greater  the  capacity.’  I remember,  he 
instanced  that  of  a banker,  and  said,  that  ‘ the 
fewer  appetites,  passions,  and  ideas  a man  had, 
he  was  the  better  for  his  business.’ 

There  is  little  sir  Tristram,  without  connex- 
ion in  his  speech,  or  so  much  as  common  sense, 
has  arrived  by  his  own  natural  parts  at  one  of 
the  greatest  estates  amongst  us.  But  honest  sir 
Tristram  know’s  himself  to  be  but  a repository 
for  cash:  he  is  just  such  a utensil  as  his  iron 
chest,  and  may  rather  be  said  to  hold  money, 
than  possess  it.  There  is  nothing  so  pleasant 
as  to  be  in  the  conversation  of  these  w’ealthy 
proficients.  I had  lately  the  honour  to  drink 
half-a-pint  wuth  sir  Tristram,  Harry  Copper- 
smith, and  Giles  Twoshoes.  These  wags  gave 
one  another  credit  in  discourse,  according  to 
their  purses  ; they  jest  by  the  pound,  and  make 
answers  as  they  honour  bills.  Without  vanity, 

I thought  myself  the  prettiest  fellow  of  the  com- 
pany ; but  I had  no  manner  of  powder  over  one 
muscle  in  their  faces,  though  they  smirked  at 
every  word  spoken  by  each  other.  Sir  Tristram 
called  for  a pipe  of  tobacco ; and  telling  us  ‘ to- 
bacco was  a pot-herb,’  bid  the  drawer  bring  him 
the  other  half-pint.  Twmshoes  laughed  at  the 
knight’s  wit  without  moderation ; I took  the 
liberty  to  say  ‘ it  was  but  a pun.’  ‘ A pun  I’ 
said  Coppersmith  ; ‘ you  would  be  a better  man 
by  ten  thousand  pounds  if  you  could  pun  like  sir 
I 'Ih'istram.’  Witli  that  they  all  burst  out  to- 


THE  TATLER. 


127 


No.  58.] 


gether.  The  queer  curs  maintained  this  style 
of  dialogue  until  we  had  drunk  our  quart  a-piece, 
by  half-pints.  All  I could  bring  away  with  me 
is,  that  Tvvoshoes  is  not  worth  twenty  thousand 
pounds  : for  his  mirth,  though  he  was  as  in- 
sipid as  either  of  the  others,  had  no  more  ef- 
fect upon  the  company  than  if  he  had  been  a 
bankrupt. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  19. 

I have  heard  it  has  been  advised  by  a diocesan 
to  his  inferior  clergy,  that  instead  of  broaching 
opinions  of  their  own,  and  uttering  doctrines 
which  may  lead  themselves  and  hearers  into 
error,  they  would  read  some  of  the  most  cele- 
brated sermons,  printed  by  others  for  the  in- 
struction of  their  congregations.  In  imitation 
of  such  preachers  at  second-hand,  I shall  tran- 
scribe from  Bruyere  one  of  the  most  elegant 
pieces  of  raillery  and  satire  which  I have  ever 
read.  He  describes  the  French  as  if  speaking 
of  a people  not  yet  discovered,  in  the  air  and 
style  of  a traveller. 

‘ I have  heard  talk  of  a country,  where  the 
old  men  are  gallant,  polite,  and  civil : the  young 
men,  on  the  contrary,  stubborn,  wild,  without 
either  manners  or  civility.  They  are  free  from 
passion  for  women,  at  the  age  when  in  other 
countries  they  begin  to  feel  it;  and  prefer  beasts, 
victuals,  and  ridiculous  amours  before  them. 
Amongst  these  people,  he  is  sober  who  is  never 
drunk  with  any  thing  but  wine ; the  too  fre- 
quent use  of  it  having  rendered  it  flat  and  in- 
sipid to  them.  They  endeavoured  by  brandy, 
and  other  strong  liquors,  to  quicken  their  taste, 
already  extinguished,  and  want  nothing  to  com- 
plete their  debauches,  but  to  drink  aquafortis. 
The  women  of  that  country  hasten  the  decay  of 
their  beauty,  by  their  artifices  to  preserve  it : 
they  paint  their  cheeks,  eye-brows,  and  shoul- 
ders, which  they  lay  open,  together  with  their 
breasts,  arms,  and  ears,  as  if  they  were  afraid 
to  hide  those  places  which  they  think  will  please, 
and  never  think  they  show  enough  of  them. 
The  physiognomies  of  the  people  of  that  coun- 
try are  not  at  all  neat,  but  confused  and  embar- 
rassed witli  a bundle  of  strange  hair,  which 
they  prefer  before  their  natural : with  this  they 
weave  something  to  cover  their  heads,  which  de- 
scends down  half  way  their  bodies,  hides  their 
features,  and  hinders  you  from  knowing  men 
by  their  faces.  This  nation  has,  besides  this, 
their  God  and  their  king.  The  grandees  go 
every  day  at  a certain  hour,  to  a temple  they 
call  a church  : at  the  upper  end  of  that  temple 
there  stands  an  altar  consecrated  to  their  God, 
where  the  priest  celebrates  some  mysteries 
which  they  call  lioly,  sacred,  and  tremendous. 
The  great  men  make  a vast  circle  at  the  foot  of 
the  altar,  standing  with  their  backs  to  the  priest 
and  the  holy  mysteries,  and  their  faces  erected 
towards  their  king,  who  is  seen  on  his  knees 
upon  a throne,  and  to  whom  they  seem  to  direct 
the  desires  of  their  hearts,  and  all  their  devotion. 
However,  in  this  custom,  there  is  to  be  remarked 
a sort  of  subordination ; for  the  people  appear 
adoring  their  prince,  and  their  prince  adoring 

God.  The  inhabitants  of  this  region  call  it . 

It  is  from  forty-eight  degrees  of  latitude,  and 


more  than  eleven  hundred  leagues  by  sea,  from 
the  Iroquois  and  Ilurons.’ 

Letters  from  Hampstead  say,  there  is  a cox- 
comb arrived  there,  of  a kind  whieh  is  utterly 
new.  The  fellow  has  courage,  which  he  takes 
himself  to  be  obliged  to  give  proofs  of  every 
hour  he  lives.  He  is  ever  fighting  with  the 
men,  and  contradicting  the  women.  A lady, 
who  sent  to  me,  superseribed  him  with  this  de- 
scription out  of  Suckling  : 

‘ I am  a man  of  war  and  mi^lit, 

And  know  thus  mucli  that  I can  fight 
Whether  I am  i’th’  wrong  or  right, 

Devoutly. 

No  woman  under  lieaven  I fear, 

New  oaths  I can  exactly  swear  : 

And  forty  healths  my  brain  will  bear, 

Most-stoutly. 


No.  58.]  Tuesday,  August  23,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme,  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  22. 

Poor  Cynthio,  who  does  me  the  honour  to 
talk  to  me  now  and  then  very  freely  ofhis  most 
secret  thoughts,  and  tells  me  his  most  private 
frailties,  owned  to  me,  that  though  he  is  in  his 
very  prime  of  life,  love  had  killed  all  his  desires, 
and  he  was  now  as  much  to  be  trusted  with  a 
fine  lady  as  if  he  were  eighty.  ‘ That  one  pas- 
sion for  Clarissa  has  taken  up,’  said  he,  ‘my 
whole  soul ; and  all  my  idle  flames  are  extin- 
guished, as  you  may  observe  ordinary  fires  are 
often  put  out  by  the  sunshine.’ 

This  was  a declaration  not  to  be  made  but 
upon  the  highest  opinion  of  a man’s  sincerity  ; 
yet  as  mueh  a subject  of  raillery  as  such  a 
speech  would  be,  it  is  certain,  that  chastity  is  a 
nobler  quality,  and  as  much  to  be  valued  in  men 
as  in  women.  The  mighty  Scipio,  ‘ who,’  as 
Blufte  says  in  the  comedy,  ‘ was  a pretty  fellow 
in  his  time,’  was  of  this  mind,  and  is  celebrated 
for  it  by  an  author  of  good  sense.  When  he 
lived,  wit,  and  humour,  and  raillery,  and  public 
success,  were  at  as  high  a pitch  at  Rome,  as  at 
present  in  England  ; yet,  I believe,  there  was 
no  man  in  those  days  thought  that  general  at 
all  ridiculous  in  his  behaviour  in  the  following 
account  of  him. 

Scipio,  at  four-and-twenty  years  of  age,  had 
obtained  a great  victory  ; and  a multitude  of 
prisoners,  of  each  sex  and  all  conditions,  fell  into 
his  possession : among  others,  an  agreeable 
virgin  in  her  early  bloom  and  beauty.  He  had 
too  sensible  a spirit  to  see  the  most  lovely  of  all 
objects  without  being  moved  with  passion  : be- 
sides which,  there  was  no  obligation  of  honour 
or  virtue  to  restrain  his  desires  towards  one  who 
was  his  by  the  fortune  of  war.  But  a noble  in- 
dignation, and  a sudden  sorrow  which  appeared 
in  her  countenance,  when  the  conqueror  cast 
his  eyes  upon  her,  raised  his  curiosity  to  know 
her  story.  He  was  informed,  that  she  was  a 
lady  of  the  highest  condition  in  that  country, 
and  contracted  to  Indibilis,  a man  of  merit  and 


128 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  58. 


quality.  The  generous  Roman  soon  placed  him- 
self in  the  condition  of  that  unhappy  man,  who 
was  to  lose  so  charming  a bride  ; and,  though 
a youth,  a bachelor,  a lover,  and  a conqueror, 
immediately  resolved  to  resign  all  the  invita- 
tions of  his  passion,  and  the  rights  of  his  power, 
to  restore  her  to  her  destined  husband.  With 
this  purpose  he  commanded  her  parents  and 
relations,  as  well  as  her  husband,  to  attend  him 
at  an  appointed  time.  When  they  met,  and 
were  waiting  for  the  general,  my  author  frames 
to  himself  the  different  concern  of  an  unhappy 
father,  a despairing  lover,  and  a tender  mother, 
in  the  several  persons  who  were  so  related  to 
the  captive.  But,  for  fear  of  injuring  the  deli- 
cate circumstances  with  an  old  translation,  I 
shall  proceed  to  tell  you,  that  Scipio  appears  to 
them,  and  leads  in  his  prisoner  into  their  pre- 
sence. The  Romans,  as  noble  as  they  were, 
seemed  to  allow  themselves  a little  too  much 
triumph  over  the  conquered ; therefore,  as 
Scipio  approached,  they  all  threw  themselves  on 
their  knees,  except  the  lover  of  the  lady : but 
Scipio  observing  in  him  a manly  sullenness,  was 
the  more  inclined  to  favour  him,  and  spoke  to 
him  in  these  words  : 

‘ It  is  not  the  manner  of  the  Romans  to  use 
all  the  power  they  justly  may  : we  fight  not  to 
ravage  countries,  or  break  through  the  ties  of 
humanity.  I am  acquainted  with  your  worth, 
and  your  interest  in  this  lady  : fortune  has 
made  me  your  master ; but  I desire  to  be  your 
friend.  This  is  your  wife ; take  her,  and  may 
the  gods  bless  you  with  her  ! But  far  be  it  from 
Scipio  to  purchase  a loose  and  momentary 
pleasure  at  the  rate  of  making  an  honest  man 
unhappy.’ 

Indibilis’s  heart  was  too  full  to  make  him 
any  answer ; but  he  threw  himself  at  the  feet 
of  the  general,  and  wept  aloud.  The  captive 
lady  fell  into  the  same  posture,  and  they  both 
remained  so,  until  the  father  burst  into  the  fol- 
lowing words  : ‘ O divine  Scipio  ! the  gods  have 
given  you  more  than  human  virtue.  O glorious 
leader!  O wondrous  youth!  does  not  that 
obliged  virgin  give  you,  while  she  prays  to  the 
gods  for  your  prosperity,  and  thinks  you  sent 
down  from  them,  raptures,  above  all  the  trans- 
ports which  you  could  have  reaped  from  the 
possession  of  her  injured  person  ?’  The  tem- 
perate Scipio  answered  him  without  much  emo- 
tion, and  saying,  ‘ Father,  be  a friend  to  Rome,’ 
retired.  An  immense  sum  was  offered  as  her 
ransom ; but  he  sent  it  to  her  husband,  and, 
smiling,  said,  ‘ This  is  a trifle  after  what  I have 
given  him  already  ; but  let  Indibilis  know,  that 
chastity  at  my  age  is  a much  more  difficult  virtue 
to  practise  than  generosity.’ 

I observed  Cynthio  was  very  much  taken  with 
my  narrative  ; but  told  me,  ‘ this  was  a virtue 
that  would  bear  but  a very^  inconsiderable  figure 
in  our  days.’  However  I took  the  liberty  to 
say,  that  ‘ we  ought  not  to  lose  our  ideas  of 
things,  though  we  had  debauched  our  true 
relish  in  our  practice ; for,  after  we  have  done 
laughing,  solid  virtue  will  keep  its  place  in 
men’s  opinions ; and  though  custom  made  it 
not  so  scandalous  as  it  ought  to  be,  to  ensnare 
innocent  women,  and  triumph  in  the  falsehood  ; 
such  actions,  as  we  have  here  related,  must  be 


accounted  true  gallantry,  and  rise  the  higher  in 
our  esteem,  the  farther  they  are  removed  from 
our  imitation. 


I 


WilVs  Coffee-house,  August  22. 


A man  would  be  apt  to  think,  in  this  laugh- 
j ing  town,  that  it  were  impossible  a thing  so 
j exploded  as  speaking  hard  words  should  be 
I practised  by  any  one  that  had  ever  seen  good 
j company ; but,  as  if  there  were  a standard  in 
our  minds  as  well  as  our  bodies,  you  see  very 
many  just  where  they  were  twenty  years  ago, 
and  more  they  cannot,  will  not  arrive  at.  Were 
it  not  thus,  the  noble  iMartius  would  not  be  the 
only  man  in  England  whom  nobody  can  un- 
derstand, though  he  talks  more  than  any  man 
else. 

Will  Dactyle  the  epigrammatist.  Jack  Comma 
the  grammarian,  Nick  Crosse-grain  who  writes 
anagrams,  and  myself,  made  a pretty  company 
at  a corner  of  this  room ; and  entered  very 
peaceably  upon  a subject  fit  enough  for  us, 
which  was,  the  examination  of  the  force  of  the 
particle  For,  when  Martins  joined  us.  He,  be- 
ing well  known  to  us  all,  asked  ‘ w’hat  we  were 
upon  ? for  he  had  a mind  to  consummate  the 
happiness  of  the  day,  w’hich  had  been  spent 
among  the  stars  of  the  first  magnitude  among 
the  men  of  letters ; and,  therefore,  to  put  a 
period  to  it  as  he  had  commenced  it,  he  should 
be  glad  to  be  allowed  to  participate  of  the  plea- 
sure of  our  society.’  I told  him  the  subject. 
‘ Faith,  gentlemen,’  said  Martius,  ‘ your  subject 
is  humble ; and  if  you  will  give  me  leave  to 
elevate  the  conversation,  I should  humbly  offer, 
that  you  would  enlarge  your  inquiries  to  the 
word  For-as-much;  for  though  I take  it,’  said 
he,  ‘to  be  but  one  word,  yet  the  particle  Much 
implying  quantity,  the  particle  As  similitude, 
it  will  be  greater,  and  more  like  ourselves,  to 
treat  of  For-as-much.’  Jack  Comma  is  always 
serious,  and  answered  : ‘ Martius,  I must  take 
the  liberty  to  say,  that  you  have  fallen  into  all 
this  error  and  profuse  manner  of  speech  by  a 
certain  hurry  in  your  imagination,  for  want  of 
being  more  exact  in  the  knowledge  of  the  parts 
of  speech ; and  it  is  so  with  all  men  who  have 
not  well  studied  the  particle  For.  You  have 
spoken  For  wuthout  making  inference,  which  is 
the  great  use  of  that  particle.  There  is  no  man- 
ner  of  force  in  your  observation  of  quantify  and 
similitude  in  the  syllables  As  and  xMuch.  But 
it  is  ever  the  fault  of  men  of  great  wit  to  be  in- 
correct ; which  evil  they  run  into  by  an  indis- 
creet use  of  the  wmrd  For.  Consider  all  the 
books  of  eontroversy  which  have  been  written, 
and  I will  engage  you  wull  observe,  that  all  the 
debate  lies  in  this  point.  Whether  they  brought 
in  For  in  a just  manner  ; or  forced  it  in  for 
their  own  use,  rather  than  as  understanding 
the  use  of  the  word  itself?  There  is  nothing 
like  familiar  instances : you  have  heard  the 
story  of  the  Irishman  who  reading.  Money  for 
live  hair,  took  a lodging,  and  expected  to  be 
paid  for  living  at  that  house.  If  this  man  had 
known.  For  was  in  that  place  of  a quite  differ- 
ent  signification  from  the  particle  To,  he  could 
not  have  fallen  into  the  mistake  of  taking  Live  for 
w’hat  the  Latins  call  Vivere,  or  rather  Habitare.'* 


No.  59.] 


THE  TATLER. 


129 


Martius  seemed  at  a loss  ; and,  admiring  his 
profound  learning,  wished  he  had  been  bred  a 
scholar,  for  he  did  not  take  the  scope  of  his  dis- 
course. This  wise  debate,  of  which  we  had 
much  more,  made  me  reflect  upon  the  difference 
of  their  capacities,  and  wonder  that  there  could 
be,  as  it  were,  a diversity  in  men’s  genius  for 
nonsense ; that  one  should  bluster,  while  another 
crept,  in  absurdities.  Martius  moves  like  a 
blind  man,  lifting  liis  legs  higher  than  the  or- 
dinary way  of  stepping  ; and  Comma,  like  one 
who  is  only  short-sighted,  picking  his  way  when 
ne  should  be  marching  on.  Want  of  learning 
makes  Martius  a brisk  entertaining  fool,  and 
gives  him  a full  scope ; but  that  which  Comma 
has  and  calls  learning,  makes  him  diffident,  and 
curbs  his  natural  misunderstanding,  to  the 
great  loss  of  the  men  of  raillery.  This  conver- 
sation confirmed  me  in  the  opinion,  that  learn- 
ing usually  does  but  improve  in  us  what  nature 
endowed  us  with.  He  that  wants  good  sense  is 
unhappy  in  having  learning,  for  he  has  thereby 
only  more  ways  of  exposing  himself;  and  he 
that  has  sense  knows  that  learning  is  not  know- 
ledge, but  ratlier  the  art  of  using  it. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house.,  August  22. 

We  have  undoubted  intelligence  of  the  defeat 
of  the  king  of  Sweden  ; and  that  prince,  who  for 
some  years  had  hovered  like  an  approaching 
tempest,  and  was  looked  up  at  by  all  the  nations 
of  Europe,  which  seemed  to  expect  their  fate 
according  to  the  course  he  should  take,  is  now, 
in  all  probability,  an  unhappy  exile,  without  the 
common  necessaries  of  life.  His  czarish  ma- 
jesty treats  his  prisoners  with  great  gallantry 
and  distinction.  Count  Rhensfeildt  has  had 
particular  marks  of  his  majesty’s  esteem,  for 
his  merit  and  service  to  his  master  ; but  count 
Piper,  whom  his  majesty  believes  author  of  the 
most  violent  counsels  into  which  his  prince  en- 
tered, is  disarmed,  and  entertained  accordingly. 
That  decisive  battle  was  ended  at  nine  in  the 
morning;  and  all  the  Swedish  generals  dined 
with  the  czar  that  very  day,  and  received  assu- 
rances, that  they  should  find  Muscovy  was  not 
unacquainted  with  the  laws  of  honour  and  hu- 
manity. 


No.  59.]  Thursday.,  August  ^5., 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house.,  August  24. 

.®sop  has  gained  to  himself  an  immortal  re- 
nown for  figuring  the  manners,  desires,  passions, 
and  interests  of  men,  by  fables  of  beasts  and 
birds.  I shall  in  my  future  accounts  of  our 
modern  heroes  and  wits,  vulgarly  called  Sharp- 
ers, imitate  the  method  of  that  delightful  moral- 
ist ; and  think  I cannot  represent  those  worthies 
more  naturally  than  under  the  shadow  of  a pack 
of  dogs  ; for  this  set  of  men  are  like  them,  made 
up  of  Finders,  Lurchers,  and  Setters.  Some 
R 


search  for  prey,  others  pursue,  others  take  it ; 
and  if  it  be  worth  it,  they  all  come  in  at  the 
death,  and  worry  the  carcass.  It  would  require 
a most  exact  knowledge  of  the  field  and  ^the 
harbours  where  the  deer  lie,  to  recount  all  the 
revolutions  in  the  chase. 

But  I am  diverted  from  the  train  of  my  dis- 
course of  the  fraternity  about  this  town,  by  let- 
ters from  Hampstead,  which  give  me  an  account, 
there  is  a late  institution  there,  under  the  name 
of  a Rafiling-shop  ; which  is,  it  seems,  secretly 
supported  by  a person  who  is  a deep  practi- 
tioner in  the  law,  and  out  of  tenderness  of  con- 
science has,  under  the  name  of  his  maid  Sisly, 
set  up  this  easier  way  of  conveyancing  and 
alienating  estates  from  one  family  to  another. 
He  is  so  far  from  having  an  intelligence  with 
the  rest  of  the  fraternity,  that  all  the  humbler 
cheats,  who  appear  there,  are  outfaced  by  the 
partners  in  the  bank,  and  driven  off  by  the  re- 
flection of  superior  brass.  This  notice  is  given 
to  all  the  silly  faces  that  pass  that  way,  that 
they  may  not  be  decoyed  in  by  the  soft  allure- 
ment of  a fine  lady,  who  is  the  sign  to  the 
pageantry.  At  the  same  time,  signior  Hawk- 
sly,  who  is  the  patron  of  the  household,  is  desir- 
ed to  leave  off  this  interloping  trade,  or  admit, 
as  he  ought  to  do,  the  Knights  of  the  Industry 
to  their  share  in  the  spoil.  But  this  little  mat- 
ter is  only  by  way  of  digression.  Therefore,  to 
return  to  our  worthies. 

The  present  race  of  terriers  and  hounds 
would  starve,  were  it  not  for  the  enchanted 
Actseon,  who  has  kept  the  whole  pack  for  many 
successions  of  hunting  seasons.  Actaeon  has 
long  tracts  of  rich  soil ; but  had  the  misfortune 
in  his  youth  to  fall  under  the  power  of  sorcery, 
and  has  been  ever  since,  some  part  of  the  year, 
a deer,  and  in  some  parts  a man.  While  he  is 
a man,  such  is  the  force  of  magic,  he  no  sooner 
grows  to  such  a bulk  and  fatness,  but  he  is 
again  turned  into  a deer,  and  hunted  until  he  is 
lean ; upon  which  he  returns  to  his  human 
shape.  Many  arts  have  been  tried,  and  many 
resolutions  taken  by  Actsson  himself,  to  follow 
such  methods  as  would  break  the  enchantment ; 
but  all  have  hitherto  proved  ineffectual.  I have 
therefore,  by  midnight  watchings,  and  much 
care,  found  out,  that  there  is  no  way  to  save 
him  from  the  jaws  of  his  hounds,  but  to  destroy 
the  pack,  which,  by  astrological  prescience,  I 
find  I am  destined  to  perform.  For  which  end, 
I have  sent  out  my  familiar,  to  bring  me  a list 
of  all  the  places  where  they  are  harboured,  that 
I may  know  where  to  sound  my  horn,  and 
bring  them  together,  and  take  an  account  of 
their  haunts  and  their  marks,  against  another 
opportunity. 

Will's  Coffee-house.,  August  24. 

The  author  of  the  ensuing  letter,  by  his 
name,  and  the  quotations  he  makes  from  the 
ancients,  seems  a sort  of  spy  from  the  old  world, 
whom  we  moderns  ought  to  be  careful  of  of- 
fending; therefore,  I must  be  free,  and  own  it 
a fair  hit  where  he  takes  me,  rather  than  dis- 
oblige him. 

‘ Sir. — Having  a peculiar  humour  of  desiring 
to  be  somewhat  the  better  or  wiser  for  what  I 


130 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  59. 


read,  I am  always  uneasy  when,  in  any  pro- 
found writer,  for  I read  no  others,  I happen  to 
meet  with  what  I cannot  understand.  When 
this  falls  out,  it  is  a great  grievance  to  me  that 
I am  not  able  to  consult  the  author  himself 
about  his  meaning,  for  commentators  are  a sect 
that  has  little  share  in  my  esteem  : your  elabo- 
rate writings  have,  among  many  others,  this 
advantage ; that  their  author  is  still  alive,  and 
ready,  as  his  extensive  charity  makes  us  expect, 
to  explain  whatever  may  be  found  in  them  too 
sublime  for  vulgar  understandings.  This,  sir, 
makes  me  presume  to  ask  you,  how  the  Hamp- 
stead hero’s  character  could  be  perfectly  new 
when  the  last  letters  came  away,  and  yet  sir 
John  Suckling  so  well  acquainted  with  it  sixty 
years  ago  ? I hope,  sir,  you  will  not  take  this 
amiss  : I can  assure  you,  I have  a profound 
respect  for  you,  which  makes  me  write  this 
with  the  same  disposition  with  which  Longinus 
bids  us  read  Homer  and  Plato.  When  in  read- 
ing, says  he,  any  of  those  celebrated  authors, 
we  meet  with  a passage  to  which  we  canriot 
well  reconcile  our  reasons,  we  ought  firmly  to 
believe,  that  were  those  great  wits  present  to 
answer  for  themselves,  we  should,  to  our  won- 
der, be  convinced,  that  we  only  are  guilty  of 
the  mistakes  that  we  before  attributed  to  them. 
If  you  think  fit  to  remove  the  scruple  that  now 
torments  me,  it  will  be  an  encouragement  to 
me  to  settle  a frequent  correspondence  wuth 
you ; several  things  falling  in  my  way,  which 
would  not,  perhaps,  be  altogether  foreign  to 
your  purpose,  and  whereon  your  thoughts  would 
be  very  acceptable  to  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘ OB  ADI  AH  GREENHAT.’ 

I own  this  is  clean,  and  Mr.  Greenhat  has 
convinced  me  that  I have  writ  nonsense,  yet  am 
I not  at  all  offended  at  him. 

Scimus,  et  hanc  veniam  petimusque  damusque 
vicissiin.  Hor.  Ars  Poet,  ver,  xi. 

I own  th’  indulgence — Such  I give  and  take. 

Francis. 

This  is  the  true  art  of  raillery,  w hen  a man 
turns  another  into  ridicule,  and  shows  at  the 
same  time  he  is  in  good  humour,  and  not  urged 
on  by  malice  against  the  person  he  rallies. 
Obadiah  Greenhat  has  hit  this  very  well : for, 
to  make  an  apology  to  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  an  un- 
known student  and  horary  historian,  as  w’ell  as 
astrologer,  and  with  a grave  face  to  say,  he 
speaks  of  him  by  the  same  rules  with  which  he 
would  treat  Horner  or  Plato,  is  to  place  him  in 
company  where  he  cannot  expect  to  make  a 
figure  ; and  make  him  flatter  himself,  that  it  is 
only  being  named  with  them  which  renders  him 
most  ridiculous. 

I have  not  knowm,  and  I am  now  past  my 
grand  climacteric,  being  sixty-four  years  of  age, 
according  to  my  way  of  life  ; or,  rather,  if  you 
will  allow  punning  in  an  old  gentleman,  ac- 
cording to  my  way  of  pastime  ; I say,  as  old  as 
I am,  I have  not  been  acquainted  with  many  of 
the  Greenhats.  There  is  indeed  one  Zedekiah 
Greenhat,  who  is  lucky  also  in  his  wav.  He 
has  a very  agreeable  manner ; for  wdien  he  has 
a mind  thoroughly  to  correct  a man,  he  never 
lakes  from  him  any  thing,  but  he  allows  him 
something  for  it;  or  els©  he  blames  him  for 


things  wherein  he  is  not  defective,  as  well  as  for  I 

matters  wherein  he  is.  This  makes  a weak  ^ 

man  believe  he  is  in  jest  in  the  whole.  The  | 

other  day  he  told  Beau  Prim,  who  is  thought  j 

impotent,  ‘that  his  mistress  had  declared  she  ( 

would  not  have  him,  because  he  was  a sloven,  j 

and  had  committed  a rape.’  The  beau  bit  at  | 

the  banter,  and  said  very  gravely,  ‘bethought  • 

to  be  clean  was  as  much  as  was  necessary ; and 
that  as  to  the  rape,  he  wondered  by  what  witch- 
craft that  should  come  to  her  ears  ; but  it  had 
indeed  cost  him  a hundred  pounds  to  hush  the 
affair.’ 

The  Greenhats  are  a family  w’ith  small  voices 
and  short  arms,  therefore  they  have  power  with 
none  but  their  friends  : they  never  call  after 
those  who  run  away  from  them,  or  pretend  to  ( 
take  hold  of  you  if  you  resist.  But  it  has  been  j 
remarkable,  that  all  who  have  shunned  their  | 
company,  or  not  listened  to  them,  have  fallen  | 

into  the  hands  of  such  as  have  knocked  out  } 

their  brains,  or  broken  their  bones.  I have 
looked  over  our  pedigree  upon  the  receipt  of 
this  epistle,  and  find  the  Greenhats  are  a-kin  to 
the  ’Staffs.  They  descend  from  Maudlin,  the 
left-handed  wife  of  Nehemiah  Bickerstalf,  in 
the  reign  of  Harry  the  second.  And  it  is  re- 
markable, that  they  are  all  left-handed,  and 
have  always  been  very  expert  at  single  rapier. 

A man  must  be  very  much  used  to  their  play  to 
know  how  to  defend  himself;  for  their  posture 
is  so  different  from  that  of  the  right-handed, 
that  you  run  upon  their  swords  if  you  push  for- 
ward : and  they  are  in  with  you,  if  you  offer  to 
fall  back  without  keeping  your  guard. 

There  have  been,  also,  letters  lately  sent  to 
me,  which  relate  to  other  people:  among  the 
rest,  some  whom  I have  heretofore  declared  to 
be  so,  are  deceased.  I must  not,  therefore, 
break  through  rules  so  far  as  to  speak  ill  of  the 
dead.  This  maxim  extends  to  alt  but  the  late 
Partridge,  who  still  denies  fais  death.  I am  in. 
formed,  indeed,  by  several,  that  he  walks  ; but  I 
shall  with  all  convenient  speed  lay  him. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  August  24. 

We  hear  from  Tournay,  that  on  the  night  be- 
tween the  twenty-second  and  twenty-third,  they 
went  on  with  their  works  in  the  enemy’s  mines, 
and  levelled  the  earth  which  was  taken  out  of 
them.  The  next  day,  at  eight  in  the  morning, 
when  the  French  observed  we  w’ere  relieving 
our  trenches,  they  sprung  a larger  mine  than 
any  they  had  fired  during  the  siege,  which 
killed  only  four  private  centinels.  The  ensuing 
night,  we  had  three  men  and  two  officers  killed, 
as  also,  seven  men  wounded.  Between  the  5 
twenty-fourth  and  twenty-fifth,  we  repaired 
some  works  which  the  enemy  had  ruined.  On 
the  next  day,  some  of  the  enemy’s  magazines 
blew  up ; and  it  is  thought  they  were  destroyed 
on  purpose  by  some  of  their  men,  who  are  im-  ' 
patient  of  the  hardships  of  the  present  service. 

There  happened  nothing  remarkable  for  two  or 
three  days  following.  A deserter  who  came 
out  of  the  citadel  on  the  twenty-seventh,  says 
the  garrison  is  brought  to  the  utmost  necessity  ; 
that  their  bread  and  water  are  both  very  bad  : 
and  that  they  were  reduced  to  eat  horse-flesh. 


No.  60.] 


THE  TATLER. 


131 


The  manner  of  fighting  in  this  siege  has  dis- 
covered  a gallantry  in  our  men  unknown  to 
former  ages ; their  meeting  with  adverse  par- 
ties under  ground,  where  every  step  is  taken 
with  apprehensions  of  being  blown  up  with 
mines  below  them,  or  crushed  by  the  fall  of  the 
earth  above  them,  and  all  this  acted  in  dark- 
ness, has  something  in  it  more  terrible  than 
ever  is  met  with  in  any  other  part  of  a soldier’s 
duty.  However,  this  is  performed  with  great 
cheerfulness.  In  other  parts  of  the  war  we 
have  also  good  prospects ; count  Thaun  has 
taken  Annecy,  and  the  count  de  Merci  march- 
ed into  Franche  Compte,  while  his  electoral 
highness  is  much  superior  in  number  to  mon- 
sieur d’Harcourt ; so  that  both  on  the  side  of 
Savoy  and  Germany,  we  have  reason  to  expect, 
very  suddenly,  some  great  event. 


No.  69.]  Saturday,  August  27,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostii  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  S5, 8S. 

Wliate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  26. 

To  proceed  regularly  in  the  history  of  my 
Worthies,  I ought  to  give  an  account  of  wliat 
has  passed  from  day  to  day  in  this  place  ; but  a 
young  fellow  of  my  acquaintance  has  so  lately 
been  rescued  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Knights  of 
the  Industry,  that  I ratlier  choose  to  relate  the 
manner  of  his  escape  from  them,  and  the  un- 
common way  v>^hich  was  used  to  reclaim  him, 
than  to  go  on  in  my  intended  diary. 

You  are  to  know  then,  that  Tom  Wildair  is 
a student  of  tlie  Inner  Temple,  and  has  spent- 
his  time,  since  he  left  the  ujiiversity  for  that 
place,  in  the  comnion  diversions  of  men  of 
fashion  ; that  is  to  say,  in  wdioring,  drinking,  and 
gaming.  The  two  former  vices  he  had  from  lii.s 
father ; but  was  led  into  the  last  by  the  conver- 
sation of  a partizan  of  tiie  Pdyrmidons  who  had 
chambers  near  him.  His  allowance  from  liis 
father  was  a very  plentiful  one  for  a man  of 
sense,  but  as  scanty  for  a modern  fine  gentle- 
man. His  frequent  losses  had  reduced  him  to 
so  necessitous  a condition,  that  his  lodgings  were 
always  haunted  by  impatient  creditors ; and  all 
his  thoughts  employed  in  contriving  low  me- 
thods to  support  himself  in  a way  of  life  from 
which  he  knew  not  how  to  retreat,  and  in  whicii 
he  wanted  means  to  proceed.  There  is  never 
wanting  some  goodnatured  person  to  send  a man 
an  account  of  what  he  has  no  mind  to  hear  ; 
therefore  many  epistles  were  conveyed  to  the  fa- 
ther of  this  extravagant,  to  inform  him  of  the 
company,  the  pleasures,  the  distresses,  and  en- 
tertainments, in  which  his  son  passed  his  time. 
The  old  fellow  received  these  advices  with  all  the 
pain  of  a parent,  but  frequently  consulted  his 
pillow,  to  know  how  to  behave  himself  on  such 
important  occasions  as  the  welfare  of  his  son, 
and  the  safety  of  his  fortune.  After  many  agi- 
tations of  mind,  he  reflected,  that  necessity  was 
the  usual  snare  which  made  rren  fall  into  mean- 
ness, and  that  a liberal  fortune  generally  made 


a liberal  and  honest  mind ; he  resolved,  there- 
fore, to  save  him  from  his  ruin,  by  giving  him 
opportunities  of  tasting  what  it  is  to  be  at  ease, 
and  inclosed-to  him  the  following  order  upon  sir 
Tristram  Cash. 

‘ Sir, — Pray  pay  to  Mr.  Thomas  Wildair,  or 
order,  the  sum  of  one  thousand  pounds,  and 
place  it  to  the  account  of  yours, 

‘Humphry  Wildair.’ 

Tom  was  so  astonished  with  the  receipt  of 
this  order,  that  though  he  knew  it  to  be  his  fa- 
ther’s hand,  and  that  he  had  always  large  sums 
at  sir  Tristram’s  ; yet  a thousand  pounds  was  a 
trust  of  which  his  conduct  had  always  made  him 
appear  so  little  capable,  that  he  kept  his  note  by 
him,  until  he  writ  to  his  father  the  following 
letter  : 

‘ Honoured  Father, — I have  received  an  order 
under  your  hand  for  a thousand  pounds,  in  words 
at  length  ; a,nd  I think  I could  swear  it  is  your 
own  hand.  I have  looked  it  over  twenty  thou- 
sand times.  There  is  in  plain  letters,  T,h,o,u,- 
s,a,n,d;  and  after  it,  the  letters  F,o,u,n,d,s.  I 
iiave  it  still  by  me,  and  shall,  I believe,  continue 
reading  it  until  I hear  from  you.’ 

The  old  gentleman  took  no  manner  of  notice 
of  the  receipt  of  his  letter  ; but  sent  him  another 
order  for  three  thousand  pounds  more.  His 
amazement  on  this  second  letter  was  unspeak- 
able. He  immediately  double-locked  his  door, 
and  sat  down  carefully  to  reading  and  compar- 
ing both  his  orders.  After  he  liad  read  them 
until  he  was  half  mad,  he  walked  six  or  seven 
turns  in  his  chamber,  then  opens  his  door,  then 
locks  it  again  ; and  to  examine  thoroughly  this 
matter,  he  locks  his  door  again,  puts  his  table 
and  chairs  against  it ; then  goes  into  his  closet, 
and  locking  himself  in,  read  his  notes  over  again 
about  nineteen  times,  which  did  but  increase 
his  astonishment.  Soon  after,  he  began  to  re- 
collect many  stories  he  had  formerly  heard  of 
persons,  who  had  been  possessed  with  imagina- 
tions and  appearances  which  had  no  foundation 
in  nature,  but  had  been  taken  with  sudden  mad- 
ness in  the  midst  of  a seeming  clear  and  untaint- 
ed reason.  This  made  him  very  gravely  con- 
clude he  was  out  of  his  wits;  and,  with  a design 
to  compose  himself,  he  immediately  betakes 
him  to  his  night-cap,  with  a resolution  to  sleep 
himself  into  his  former  poverty  and  senses. 
To  bed  therefore  he  goes  at  noon-day  ; but  soon 
rose  again,  and  resolved  to  visit  sir  Tristram 
upon  this  occasion.  He  did  so,  and  dined  with 
the  knight,  expecting  he  would  mention  some 
advice  from  his  father  about  paying  him  money  ; 
but  no  such  thing  being  said,  ‘ Look  you,  sir 
Tristram,’  said  he,  ‘ you  are  to  know,  that  an 
affair  has  happened,  which — ’ ‘ Look  you,’  says 
Tristram,  ‘ I know  Mr.  Wildair,  you  are  going 
to  desire  me  to  advance  ; but  the  late  call  of  the 
bank,  where  I have  not  yet  made  my  last  pay- 
ment, has  obliged  me — ’ Tom  interrupted  him, 
by  showing  him  the  bill  of  a thousand  pounds. 
When  he  had  looked  at  it  for  a convenient  time, 
and  as  often  surveyed  Tom’s  looks  and  counte- 
nance ; ‘ Look  you,  Mr.  Wildair,  a thousand 


132 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  60. 


pounds — ’ Before  he  could  proceed,  he  shows 
him  the  order  for  three  thousand  more.  Sir 
Tristram  examined  the  orders  at  the  light,  and 
finding  at  the  writing  the  name,  there  was  a cer- 
tain stroke  in  one  letter,  which  the  father  and 
he  had  agreed  should  be  to  such  directions  as 
he  desired  might  be  more  immediately  honour- 
ed, he  forthwith  pays  the  money.  The  posses- 
sion of  four  thousand  pounds  gave  my  young 
gentleman  a new  train  of  thoughts  : he  began 
to  reflect  upon  his  birth,  the  great  expectations 
he  was  born  to,  and  the  unsuitable  ways  he  had 
long  pursued.  Instead  of  that  unthinking  crea- 
ture he  was  before,  he  is  now  provident,  gene- 
rous, and  discreet.  The  father  and  son  have  an 
exact  and  regular  correspondence,  with  mutual 
and  unreserved  confidence  in  each  other.  The 
son  looks  upon  his  father  as  the  best  tenant  he 
could  have  in  the  country,  and  the  father  finds 
the  son  the  most  safe  banker  he  could  have  in 
the  city. 

Will's  Coffee-house^  August  26. 

There  is  not  any  thing  in  nature  so  extrava- 
gant, but  that  you  will  find  one  man  or  other 
that  shall  practise  or  maintain  it ; otherwise 
Harry  Spondee  could  not  have  made  so  long  an 
harangue  as  he  did  here  this  evening,  concern- 
ing the  force  and  efficacy  of  well-applied  non- 
sense. Among  ladies,  he  positively  averred,  it 
was  the  most  prevailing  part  of  eloquence  ; and 
had  so  little  complaisance  as  to  say,  ‘ a woman 
is  never  taken  by  her  reason,  but  always  by  her 
passion.’  He  proceeded  to  assert,  ‘ tlie  way  to 
move  that,  was  only  to  astonish  her.  I know,’ 
continued  he,  ‘ a very  late  instance  of  this  ; for 
being  by  accident  in  the  room  next  to  Strephon,  I 
could  not  help  over-hearing  him,  as  he  made  love 
to  a certain  great  lady’s  woman.  The  true  me- 
thod in  your  application  to  one  of  this  second 
rank  of  understanding,  is  not  to  elevate  and 
surprise,  but  rather  to  elevate  and  amaze.  Stre- 
phon is  a perfect  master  in  this  kind  of  persua- 
sion : his  way  is,  to  run  over  with  a soft  air  a 
multitude  of  words,  without  meaning  or  con- 
nexion ; but  such  as  do  each  of  them  apart  give 
a pleasing  idea,  though  they  liave  nothing  to  do 
with  each  other  as  he  assembles  them.  After 
the  common  phrases  of  salutation,  and  making 
his  entry  into  the  room,  I perceived  he  had  taken 
the  fair  nymph’s  hand,  and  kissing  it  said, 
“Witness  to  my  happiness,  ye  groves ! be  still, 
ye  rivulets  ! Oli ! woods,  caves,  fountains,  dales, 
mountains,  lulls,  and  streams  I oh  ! fairest ! could 
you  love  me  ?”  To  which  I overlieard  her  an- 
swer, with  a very  pretty  lisp,  “ Oh  ! Strephon, 
you  are  a dangerous  creature  : why  do  you  talk 
these  tender  things  to  ine?  but  you  men  of  wit — ” 
“ Is  it  then  possible,”  said  the  enamoured  Stre- 
phon, “ that  she  regards  my  sorrows  ! Oh  ! pity, 
thou  balmy  cure  to  a heart  over-loaded  ! If  rap- 
ture, solicitation,  soft  desire,  and  pleasing  anx- 
iety— But  still  I live  in  the  most  afflicting  of  all 
circumstances,  doubt — Cannot  my  charmer 
name  the  place  and  moment  ? 

“ There  all  those  joys  insatiably  to  prove, 

With  wliich  rich  beauty  feeds  the  glutton  love.” 

“ Forgive  me,  madam ; it  is  not  that  my  heart  is 
weary  of  its  rliains,  but — ” This  incoherent 


stuff  was  answered  by  a tender  sigh,  “ Why  do 
you  put  your  wit  to  a weak  woman  ?”  Strephon 
saw  he  had  made  some  progress  in  her  heart, 
and  pursued  it,  by  saying  that  “ He  would  cer- 
tainly wait  upon  her  at  such  an  hour  near  Ro- 
samond’s pond  ; and  then — the  sylvan  deities, 
and  rural  powers  of  the  place,  sacred  and  invio- 
lable to  love  ; love,  the  mover  of  all  noble  hearts, 
should  hear  his  vows  repeated  by  the  streams 
and  echoes.”  The  assignation  was  accordingly 
made.  This  style  he  calls  the  unintelligible 
method  of  speaking  his  mind  ; and  I will  engage, 
had  this  gallant  spoken  plain  English,  she  had 
never  understood  him  half  so  readily  : for  we 
may  take  it  for  granted,  that  he  will  be  esteem- 
ed as  a very  cold  lover,  who  discovers  to  his 
mistress  that  he  is  in  his  senses. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  26. 

The  following  letter  came  to  my  hand,  with 
a request  to  have  the  subject  recommended  to 
our  readers,  particularly  the  Smart  Fellows ; 
who  are  desired  to  repair  to  major  Touch-hole, 
who  can  help  them  to  firelocks  that  are  only  fit 
for  exercise. 

Just  ready  for  the  press. 

‘Mars  Triumpliant;  or  London’s  Glory: — 
Being  the  whole  art  of  encampment,  with  the 
method  of  embattling  armies,  marcliing  them  off, 
posting  the  officers,  forming  hollow  squares,  and 
the  various  ways  of  paying  the  salute  with  the 
half-pike  ; as  it  was  performed  by  the  trained- 
bands  of  London  this  year,  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  nine,  in  that  nursery  of  Bellona, 
the  Artillery  Ground.  Wherein  you  have  a new 
method  how  to  form  a strong  line  of  foot,  with 
large  intervals  between  each  platoon,  very  use- 
ful to  prevent  the  breaking  in  of  horse.  A civil 
way  of  performing  the  military  ceremony ; 
wherein  the  major  alights  from  his  horse,  and, 
at  the  head  of  his  company,  salutes  the  lieute- 
nant-colonel ; and  the  lieutenant-colonel,  to  re- 
turn  the  compliment,  courteously  dismounts, 
and  after  the  same  manner  salutes  his  major  : 
exactly  as  it  was  performed,  with  abundance  of 
applause,  on  the  fifth  of  July  last.  Likewise  an 
account  of  a new  invention,  made  use  of  in  the 
red  regiment,  to  quell  mutineering  captains  ; 
with  several  other  things  alike  useful  for  the 
public.  To  which  is  added,  an  appendix  by 
major  Touch-hole  ; proving  the  method  of  disci- 
pline now  used  in  our  armies  to  be  very  de- 
fective ; with  an  essay  towards  an  amendment. 
Dedicated  to  the  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  first 
regiment.’ 

Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  now  in  the  press,  ‘ A de- 
fence of  Awkward  Fellows  against  the  class  of 
the  Smarts : with  a dissertation  upon  the  gravi- 
ty which  becomes  weighty  persons.  Illustrated 
by  way  of  fable,  and  a discourse  on  the  nature  of 
the  elephant,  the  cow,  the  dray-horse,  and  the 
dromedary,  which  have  motions  equally  steady 
and  grave.  To  this  is  added  a treatise  written 
by  an  elephant,  according  to  Pliny,  against  re- 
ceiving foreigners  into  the  forest  Adapted  to 
some  present  circumstances.  Together  with  al- 
lusions to  such  beasts  as  declare  against  the  poor 
Palatines.’ 


THE  TATLER. 


133 


No.  61.] 

No.  61.]  Tuesday,  August  30,  1709. 

duicquid  agiint  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

VVhate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  29. 

Among  many  phrases  which  have  crept  into 
conversation,  especially  of  such  company  as 
frequent  this  place,  there  is  not  one  which  mis- 
leads me  more,  than  that  of  a ‘Fellow  of  a great 
deal  of  fire.’  This  metaphorical  term.  Fire,  has 
i done  much  good  in  keeping  coxcombs  in  awe 
! of  one  another ; but,  at  the  same  time,  it  has 
made  them  troublesome  to  every  body  else.  You 
see  in  the  very  air  of  a ‘ Fellow  of  Fire,’  some- 
thing so  expressive  of  what  he  would  be  at,  that 
if  it  were  not  for  self-preservation,  a man  would 
laugh  out. 

I had  last  night  the  fate  to  drink  a bottle 
with  two  of  these  Firemen,  who  are  indeed  dis- 
persed like  the  myrmidons  in  all  quarters,  and 
to  be  met  with  among  those  of  the  most  differ- 
ent education.  One  of  my  companions  was  a 
scholar  with  Fire ; and  the  other  a soldier  of  the 
same  complexion.  My  learned  man  would  fall 
into  disputes,  and  argue  without  any  manner  of 
provocation  or  contradiction  : the  other  was  de- 
cisive without  words,  and  would  give  a shrug 
or  an  oath  to  express  his  opinion.  My  learned 
man  was  a mere  scholar,  and  my  man  of  war 
as  mere  a soldier.  The  particularity  of  the  first 
was  ridiculous,  that  of  the  second,  terrible. 
They  were  relations  by  blood,  which  in  some 
measure  moderated  their  extravagances  toward 
each  other  : I gave  myself  up  merely  as  a per- 
son of  no  note  in  the  company  ; but  as  if  brought 
to  be  convinced  that  I was  an  inconsiderable 
thing,  any  otherwise  than  that  they  would  show 
each  other  to  me,  and  make  me  spectator  of  the 
triumph  they  alternately  enjoyed.  The  scholar 
has  been  very  conversant  with  books,  and  the 
other  with  men  only ; which  makes  them  both 
superficial : for  the  taste  of  books  is  necessary 
to  our  behaviour  in  the  best  company,  and  the 
knowledge  of  men  is  required  for  a true  relish 
of  books : but  they  have  both  Fire,  which  makes 
one  pass  for  a man  of  sense  the  other  for  a fine 
gentleman.  I found  I could  easily  enough  pass 
my  time  with  the  scholar  : for,  if  I seemed  not 
to  do  justice  to  his  parts  and  sentiments,  he 
pitied  me,  and  let  me  alone.  But  the  warrior 
could  not  let  it  rest  there ; I must  know  all  that 
happened  within  his  shallow  observations  of  the 
nature  of  the  war : to  all  which  he  added  an  air 
of  laziness,  and  contempt  of  those  of  his  com- 
I panions  who  were  eminent  for  delighting  in  the 
' exercise  and  knowledge  of  their  duty.  Thus  it 
is  that  all  the  young  fellows  of  much  animal  life, 
and  little  understanding,  who  repair  to  our 
armies,  usurp  upon  the  conversation  of  reasona- 
ble men,  under  the  notion  of  having  Fire. 

The  word  has  not  been  of  greater  use  to 
shallow  lovers,  to  supply  them  with  chat  to 
their  mistresses,  than  it  has  been  to  pretended 
men  of  pleasure,  to  support  them  in  being  pert 
, and  dull,  and  saying  of  every  fool  of  their  order, 

‘ Such  a one  has  Fire.’  There  is  colonel  Trun- 


cheon, who  marches  with  divisions  ready  on  all 
occasions  ; a hero  who  never  doubted  in  his  life, 
but  is  ever  positively  fixed  in  the  wrong,  not 
out  of  obstinate  opinion,  but  invincible  stu- 
pidity. 

It  is  very  unhappy  for  this  latitude  of  London, 
that  it  is  possible  for  such  as  can  learn  only 
fashion,  habit,  and  a set  of  common  phrases  of 
salutation,  to  pass  with  no  other  accomplish- 
ments, in  this  nation  of  freedom,  for  men  of 
conversation  and  sense.  All  these  ought  to 
pretend  to  is,  not  to  offend ; but  they  carry  it 
so  far,  as  to  be  negligent  whether  they  offend 
or  not ; ‘ for  they  have  Fire.’  But  their  force 
differs  from  true  spirit,  as  mueh  as  a vicious 
from  a mettlesome  horse.  A man  of  Fire  is  a 
general  enemy  to  all  the  waiters  where  you 
drink ; is  the  only  man  affronted  at  the  com- 
pany’s being  neglected  ; and  makes  the  drawers 
abroad,  his  valet  de  chambre  and  footman  at 
home,  know  he  is  not  to  be  provoked  without 
danger. 

This  is  not  the  Fire  that  animates  the  noble 
Marinus,  a youth  of  good  nature,  affability,  and 
moderation.  He  commands  his  ship  as  an  in- 
telligence moves  its  orb  : he  is  the  vital  life,  and 
his  officers  the  limbs  of  the  machine.  His 
vivacity  is  seen  in  doing  all  the  offices  of  life 
with  readiness  of  spirit,  and  propriety  in  the 
manner  of  doing  them.  To  be  ever  active  in 
laudable  pursuits,  is  the  distinguishing  charac- 
ter of  a man  of  merit ; while  the  common  beha- 
viour of  every  gay  coxeomb  of  Fire  is,  to  be 
confidently  in  the  wrong,  and  dare  to  persist 
in  it. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  August  29. 

It  is  a common  objection  against  writings  of 
a satirical  mixture,  that  they  hurt  men  in  their 
reputations,  and  consequently  in  their  fortunes 
and  possessions  : but  a gentleman  who  frequents 
this  room  declared  he  was  of  opinion  it  ought  to 
be  so,  provided  such  performances  had  their 
proper  restrictions.  The  greatest  evils  in  hu- 
man society  are  such  as  no  law  can  come  at ; 
as  in  the  case  of  ingratitude,  where  the  manner 
of  obliging  very  often  leaves  the  benefactor 
without  means  of  demanding  justice,  though 
that  very  circumstance  should  be  the  more 
binding  to  the  person  who  has  received  the 
benefit.  On  such  an  occasion,  shall  it  be  possi- 
ble for  the  malefactor  to  escape  ? and  is  it  not 
lawful  to  set  marks  upon  persons  who  live  with- 
in the  law,  and  do  base  things  ? shall  not  we  use 
the  proteetion  of  those  laws  to  punish  them, 
which  they  have  to  defend  themselves  ? We 
shall  therefore  take  it  for  a very  moral  action  to 
find  a good  application  for  offenders,  and  to  turn 
them  into  ridieule  under  feigned  names. 

I am  advertised  by  a letter  of  August  25, 
that  the  name  of  Coppersmith  has  very  mueh 
wanted  an  explanation  in  the  city,  and  by  that 
means  is  unjustly  given,  by  those  who  are  con- 
scious they  deserve  it  themselves,  to  an  honest 
and  worthy  eitizen  belonging  to  the  Copper- 
office  ; but  that  word  is  framed  out  of  a moral 
consideration  of  wealth  among  men,  whereby  he 
that  has  gotten  any  part  of  it  by  injustice  and 
extortion,  is  to  be  thought,  in  the  eye  of  virtuous 


134 


THE  TATLER. 


men,  so  much  the  poorer  for  such  gain.  Thus, 
all  the  gold  which  is  torn  from  our  neighbours, 
by  making  advantage  of  their  wants,  is  Copper; 
and  I authorise  the  Lombards  to  distinguish 
themselves  accordingly.  All  the  honest,  who 
make  a reasonable  profit  both  for  the  advantage 
of  themselves  and  those  they  deal  with,  are 
Goldsmiths ; but  those  who  tear  unjustly  all  they 
can.  Coppersmiths.  At  the  same  time,  I desire 
him  who  is  most  guilty,  to  sit  down  satisfied 
with  riches  and  contempt,  and  be  known  by  the 
title  of  ‘ The  Coppersmith  as  being  the  chief 
of  that  respected,  contemptible  fraternity. 

This  is  the  case  of  all  others  mentioned  in 
our  lucubrations ; particularly  of  Stentcr,  who 
goes  on  in  his  vociferations  at  St.  Paul’s  with 
so  much  obstinacy,  that  he  has  received  admoni- 
tion from  St.  Peter’s  for  it,  from  a person  of 
eminent  wit  and  piety  ; but  who  is  by  old  age 
reduced  to  the  infirmity  of  sleeping  at  a service 
to  which  he  had  been  fifty  years  attentive ; and 
whose  death,  whenever  it  hapens,  may,  with 
that  of  the  saints,  well  be  called  ‘ Falling  asleep  :’ 
for  the  innocence  of  his  life  makes  him  expect 
it  as  indifferently  as  he  does  his  ordinary  rest. 
This  gives  him  a cheerfulness  of  spirit  to  rally 
on  his  own  weakness,  and  hath  made  liim  write 
to  Stentor  to  hearken  to  my  admonitions.  ‘ Bro- 
ther Stentor,’  said  he,  ‘for  the  repose  of  the 
church,  hearken  to  Bickerstaff;  and  consider, 
that,  while  you  are  so  devout  at  Saint  Paul’s, 
we  cannot  sleep  for  you  at  St.  Peter’s.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  29. 

There  has  been  lately  sent  me  a much  harder 
question  than  was  ever  yet  put  to  me,  since  I 
professed  astrology  ; to  wit,  how  far,  and  to 
what  age  women  ought  to  make  their  beauty 
their  chief  concern  ? The  regard  and  care  of 
their  faces  and  persons  are  as  variously  to  be 
considered,  as  their  complexions  themselves 
differ;  but  if  one  may  transgress  against  the 
careful  practice  of  the  fair  sex  so  much  as  to 
give  an  opinion  against  it,  I humbly  presume, 
that  less  care,  better  applied,  would  increase 
their  empire,  and  make  it  last  as  long  as  life. 
Whereas  now,  from  their  own  example,  we 
take  our  esteem  of  their  merit  from  it ; for  it  is 
very  just  that  she  who  values  herself  only  on 
her  beauty,  should  be  regarded  by  others  on 
no  other  consideration. 

There  is  certainly  a liberal  and  a pedantic 
education  among  women,  as  well  as  men ; and 
the  merit  lasts  accordingly.  She,  therefore, 
that  is  bred  with  freedom,  and  in  good  company, 
considers  men  according  to  their  respective 
characters  and  distinctions  ; while  she  that  is 
locked  up  from  such  observations,  will  consider 
her  father’s  butler,  not  as  a butler,  but  as  a man. 
In  like  manner,  when  men  converse  with  wo- 
men, the  well-bred  and  intelligent  are  looked 
upon  with  an  observation  suitable  to  their  dif- 
ferent talents  and  accomplishments,  without  re- 
spect to  their  sex ; while  a mere  woman  can  be 
observed  under  no  consideration  but  that  of  a wo- 
man ; and  there  can  be  but  one  reason  for  plac- 
ing any  value  upon  her,  or  losing  time  in  her 
company.  Wherefore,  I am  of  opinion,  that  the 
rule  for  pleasing  long  is,  to  obtain  such  qualifi- 


[No.  61. 

cations  as  would  make  them  so  were  they  not 
women. 

Let  the  beauteous  Cleomira  then  show  us  her 
real  face,  and  know  that  every  stage  of  life  has 
its  peculiar  charms,  and  that  there  is  no  neces- 
sity for  fifty  to  be  fifteen.  That  childish  colour- 
ing of  her  cheeks  is  now  as  ungraceful,  as  that 
shape  would  have  been  when  her  face  wore  its 
real  countenance.  She  has  sense,  and  ought  to 
know  that  if  she  will  not  follow  nature,  nature 
will  follow  her.  Time,  then,  has  made  that 
person  which  had,  when  I visited  her  grandfa- 
ther, an  agreeable  bloom,  sprightly  air,  and  soft 
utterance,  now  no  less  graceful  in  a lovely  as- 
pect, an  awful  manner,  and  maternal  wisdom. 
But  her  heart  was  so  set  upon  her  first  charac- 
ter, that  she  neglects  and  repines  at  her  present ; 
not  that  she  is  against  a more  stayed  conduct 
in  others,  for  she  recommends  gravity,  circum- 
spection, and  severity  of  countenance  to  her 
daughter.  Thus,  against  all  chronology,  the 
girl  is  the  sage,  the  mother  the  fine  lady. 

But  these  great  evils  proceed  from  an  unac- 
countable wild  method  in  the  education  of  the 
better  half  of  the  world,  the  women.  W'e  have 
no  such  thing  as  a standard  for  good  breeding. 

I was  the  other  day  at  my  lady  Wealthy’s,  and 
asked  one  of  her  daughters  how  she  did  ? She 
answered,  ‘ She  never  conversed  with  men.’ 
The  same  day  I visited  at  lady  Plantwell’s,and 
asked  her  daughter  the  same  question.  She  an- 
swers, ‘ What  is  that  to  you,  you  old  thief?’  and 
gives  me  a slap  on  the  shoulders. 

I defy  any  man  in  England  except  he  knows 
the  family  before  he  enters,  to  be  able  to  judge 
whether  he  shall  be  agreeable  or  not  when  he 
comes  into  It.  You  find  either  some  odd  old 
woman  who  is  permitted  to  rule  as  long  as  she 
lives,  in  hopes  of  her  death,  and  to  interrupt 
all  things  ; or  some  impertinent  young  woman 
who  will  talk  sillily  upon  the  strength  of  looking 
beautifully.  I will  not  answer  for  it,  but  it  may 
be,  that  I (like  all  other  old  fellows)  have  a fond- 
ness for  the  fashions  and  manners  which  pre- 
vailed when  I was  young  and  in  fashion  myself. 
But  certain  it  is,  that  the  taste  of  grace  and 
beauty  is  very  much  lowered.  The  fine  women 
they  show  me  now-a-days  are  at  best  but  pretty 
girls  to  me,  who  have  seen  Sacharissa,  when  all 
the  world  repeated  the  poems  she  inspired ; and 
Villaria,*  when  a youthful  king  was  her  subject. 
The  Things  you  follow,  and  make  songs  on 
now,  should  be  sent  to  knit  or  sit  down  to  bob- 
bins or  bonelace  : they  are  indeed  neat,  and  so 
are  their  sempstresses ; they  are  pretty,  and  so 
are  their  hand-maids.  But  that  graceful  motion, 
that  awful  mien,  and  that  winning  attraction, 
which  grew  upon  them  from  the  thoughts  and  < 
conversations  they  met  with  in  my  time,  are 
now  no  more  seen.  They  tell  me  I am  old  : I 
am  glad  I am  so ; for  I do  not  like  your  present 
young  ladies. 

Those  among  us  who  set  up  for  any  thing  of 
decorum,  do  so  mistake  the  matter,  that  they  of- 
fend on  the  other  side.  Five  young  ladies,  who 
are  of  no  small  fame  for  their  great  severity  of 
manners,  and  exemplary  behaviour,  would  lately 
go  no  where  with  their  lovers  but  to  an  organ- 

* The  dutchess  of  Cleveland. 


THE  TATLER. 


135 


No.  62.- 


loft  in  a church ; where  they  had  a cold  treat, 
and  some  few  opera  songs,  to  their  great  re- 
freshment and  edification.  Whether  these  pru- 
dent persons  had  not  been  as  much  so  if  this 
had  been  done  at  a tavern,  is  not  very  hard  to 
determine.  It  is  such  silly  starts  and  incohe- 
rences as  these,  which  undervalue  the  beauteous 
sex,  and  puzzle  us  in  our  choice  of  sweetness  of 
temper  and  simplicity  of  manners,  which  are 
the  only  lasting  charms  of  woman.  But  I must 
leave  this  important  subject,  at  present,  for  some 
matters  which  press  for  publication  ; as  you  will 
observe  in  the  following  letter  : 

‘ London,  Artillery  Ground,  August  26. 

‘ Dear  Sir, — It  is  natural  for  distant  relations 
to  claim  kindred  with  a rising  family  ; though 
at  this  time  zeal  to  my  country,  not  interest, 
calls  me  out.  The  city  forces  being  shortly  to 
take  the  field,  all  good  protestants  would  be 
pleased  that  their  arms  and  valour  should  shine 
with  equal  lustre.  A council  of  war  was  lately 
held,  the  honourable  colonel  Mortar  being  presi- 
dent. After  many  debates,  it  was  unanimously 
resolved.  That  major  Blunder,  a most  expert 
offieer,  should  be  detached  for  Birmingham,  to 
buy  arms,  and  to  prove  his  firelocks  on  the  spot, 
as  well  to  prevent  expense,  as  disappointment  in 
the  day  of  battle.  The  major,  being  a person 
of  consummate  experience,  was  invested  with  a 
discretionary  power.  He  knew  from  ancient 
story,  that  securing  the  rear,  and  making  a glo- 
rious retreat,  was  the  most  celebrated  piece  of 
conduct.  Accordingly  such  measures  were 
taken  to  prevent  surprise  in  the  rear  of  his  arms, 
that  even  Pallas  herself,  in  the  shape  of  rust, 
could  not  invade  them.  They  were  drawn  into 
close  order,  firmly  embodied,  and  arrived  se- 
curely without  touch-holes.  Great  and  national 
actions  deserve  popular  applause ; and  as  praise 
is  no  expense  to  the  public,  therefore  dearest 
kinsman,  I communicate  this  to  you,  as  well  to 
oblige  this  nursery  of  heroes,  as  to  do  justice  to 
my  native  country.  I am  your  most  affection- 
ate kinsman,  OFFSPRING  TWIG.’ 

‘ A war-horse,  belonging  to  one  of  the  colonels 
of  the  artillery,  to  be  let  or  sold.  He  may  be 
seen  adorned  with  ribbands,  and  set  forth  to  the 
best  advantage,  the  next  training  day.’ 


No.  62.]  Thursday,  September  1, 1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  liballi.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill — 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  August  31. 

This  place  being  frequented  by  persons  of 
condition,  I am  desired  to  recommend  a dog- 
kennel  to  any  who  shall  want  a pack.  It  lies 
not  far  from  Suffolk-street,  and  is  kept  by  two 
who  were  formerly  dragoons  in  the  French  ser- 
vice ; but  left  plundering  for  the  more  orderly 
life  of  keeping  dogs : besides  that,  according  to 
their  expectation,  they  find  it  more  profitable, 
as  well  as  more  conducing  to  the  safety  of  their 


skin,  to  follow  this  trade,  than  the  beat  of  drum. 
Their  residence  is  very  convenient  for  the  dogs 
to  whelp  in,  and  bring  up  a right  breed  to  follow 
the  scent.  The  most  eminent  of  the  kennel  are 
blood-hounds,  which  lead  the  van,  and  are  as 
follow ; 

A LIST  OF  THE  DOGS. 

Jowler,  of  a right  Irish  breed,  called  Captain. 

Rockwood,  of  French  race,  with  long  hair,  by 
the  courtesy  of  England,  called  also  Captain. 

Pompey,  a tall  hound,  kennelled  in  a convent 
in  France,  and  knows  a rich  soil. 

These  two  last  hunt  in  couple,  and  are  follow- 
ed by 

Ringwood,  a French  black  whelp  of  the  same 
breed,  a fine  open-mouthed  dog  ; and  an  old  sick 
hound,  always  in  kennel,  but  of  the  true  blood, 
with  a good  nose,  French  breed. 

There  is  also  an  Italian  grey-hound,  with 
good  legs,  and  knows  perfectly  the  ground  from 
Ghent  to  Paris. 

Ten  setting-dogs,  right  English. 

Four  mongrels  of  the  same  nation. 

And  twenty  whelps,  fit  for  any  game. 

These  curs  are  so  extremely  hungry,  that  they 
are  too  keen  at  the  sport,  and  worry  their  game 
before  the  keepers  can  come  in.  The  other  day 
a wild  boar  from  the  north  rushed  into  the  ken- 
nel, and  at  first,  indeed,  defended  himself  against 
the  whole  pack ; but  they  proved  at  last  too 
many  for  him,  and  tore  twenty-five  pounds  of 
flesh  from  off  his  back,  with  which  they  filled 
their  bellies,  and  made  so  great  a noise  in  the 
neighbourhood,  that  the  keepers  are  obliged  to 
hasten  the  sale.  That  quarter  of  the  town  where 
they  are  kennelled  is  generally  inhabited  by 
strangers,  whose  blood  the  hounds  have  often 
sucked  in  such  a manner,  that  many  a German 
count,  and  other  virtuosi,  who  came  from  the 
continent,  have  lost  the  intention  of  their  travels, 
and  been  unable  to  proceed  on  their  journey. 

If  these  hounds  are  not  very  soon  disposed  of 
to  some  good  purchaser,  as  also  those  at  the 
kennels  near  St.  James’s,  it  is  humbly  proposed, 
that  they  may  be  altogether  transported  to  Ame- 
rica, where  the  dogs  are  few,  and  the  wild  beasts 
many:  or  that,  during  their  stay  in  these  parts, 
some  eminent  justice  of  the  peace  may  have  it 
in  particular  direction  to  visit  their  harbours; 
and  that  the  sheriff  of  Middlesex  may  allow  him 
the  assistance  of  the  common  hangman  to  cut  off 
their  ears,  or  part  of  them,  for  distinction-sake, 
that  wm  may  know  the  blood-hounds  from  the 
mongrels  and  setters.  Until  these  things  are 
regulated,  you  may  inquire  at  a house  belonging 
to  Paris,  at  the  upper  end  of  Suffolk-street,  or  a 
house  belonging  to  Ghent,  opposite  to  the  lower 
end  of  Pall  Mall,  and  know  further. 

It  were  to  be  wished  that  these  curs  were  dis- 
posed of;  for  it  is  a very  great  nuisance  to  have 
them  tolerated  in  cities.  That  of  London  takes 
care,  that  the  ‘Common  Hunt,’  assisted  by  the 
Serjeants  and  bailiffs,  expel  them  whenever  they 
are  found  within  the  walls ; though  it  is  said, 
some  private  families  keep  them,  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  their  neighbours  ; but  it  is  desired,  that 
all  who  know  of  any  of  these  curs,  or  have  been 
bit  by  them,  would  send  me  their  marks,  and 
the  houses  where  they  are  harboured  ; and  I do 


136 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  62. 


not  doubt  but  I shall  alarm  the  people  so  well, 
as  to  have  them  used  like  mad  dogs  wdierever 
they  appear.  In  the  mean  time,  I advise  all 
sueh  as  entertain  this  kind  of  vermin,  that  if  they 
give  me  timely  notice  that  their  dogs  are  dis- 
missed, I shall  let  them  go  unregarded  ; other- 
wise am  obliged  to  admonish  my  fellow-subjects 
in  this  behalf,  and  instruct  them  how  to  avoid 
being  worried,  when  they  are  going  about  their 
lawful  professions  and  callings.  There  was 
lately  a young  gentleman  bit  to  the  bone ; who 
has  now  indeed  recovered  his  health,  but  is  as 
lean  as  a skeleton.  It  grieved  my  heart  to  see 
a gentleman’s  son  run  among  the  hounds ; but 
he  is,  they  tell  me,  as  fleet  and  as  dangerous  as 
the  best  of  the  pack. 

Will's  Coffee-house^  August  31. 

This  evening  was  spent  at  our  table  in  dis- 
course of  propriety  of  words  and  thoughts,  which 
is  Mr.  Dryden’s  definition  of  wit ; but  a very 
odd  fellow,  who  would  intrude  upon  us,  and  has 
a briskness  of  imagination  more  like  madness 
than  regular  thoughts,  said,  that  ‘Harry  Jacks 
was  the  first  who  told  him  of  the  taking  of  the 
citadel  of  Tournay ; and,’  says  he,  ‘ Harry  de- 
serves a statue  more  than  the  boy  who  ran  to 
the  senate  with  a thorn  in  his  foot,  to  tell  of  a 
victory.’  We  were  astonished  at  the  assertion; 
and  Spondee  asked  him  ‘ What  affinity  is  there 
between  that  boy  and  Harry,  that  you  say  their 
merit  has  so  near  a resemblance  as  you  just  now 
told  us?’  ‘Why,’  says  he,  ‘Harry,  you  know, 
is  in  the  French  interest ; and  it  was  more  pain 
to  him  to  tell  the  story  of  Tournay,  than  to  the 
boy  to  run  upon  a thorn  to  relate  the  victory 
which  he  was  glad  of.’  The  gentleman,  who 
was  in  the  chair  upon  the  subject  of  propriety 
of  words  and  thoughts,  would  by  no  means  al- 
low, that  there  was  wit  in  this  comparison  ; and 
urged,  that  ‘to  have  any  thing  gracefully  said, 
it  must  be  natural ; but  that  whatsoever  was  in- 
troduced in  common  discourse  with  so  much 
premeditation,  was  insufferable.’  That  critic 
went  on  : ‘ Had  Mr.  Jacks,’  said  he,  ‘told  him 
the  citadel  was  taken,  and  another  had  answer- 
ed, “ he  deserves  a statue  as  well  as  the  Roman 
boy,  for  he  told  it  with  as  much  pain,”  it  might 
have  passed  for  a sprightly  expression  ; but  there 
is  a wit  for  discourse,  and  a wit  for  writing. 
The  easiness  and  familiarity  of  the  first  is  not 
to  savour  in  the  least  of  study ; but  the  exactness 
of  the  other  is  to  admit  of  something  like  the 
freedom  of  discourse,  especially  in  treatises  of 
humanity,  and  what  regards  the  belles  lettres. 
I do  not  in  this  allow,  that  Bickerstaff’s  Tatlers, 
or  discourses  of  wit  by  retail,  and  for  the  penny, 
should  come  within  the  description  of  writing.’ 

I bowed  at  his  compliment,  and — But  he  would 
not  let  me  proceed. 

You  see  in  no  place  of  conversation  the  per- 
fection of  speech  so  much  as  in  an  accomplished 
woman.  Whether  it  be,  that  there  is  a partiality 
irresistible  when  we  judge  of  that  sex,  or  wliat- 
ever  it  is,  you  may  observe  a wonderful  freedom 
in  their  utterance,  and  an  easy  flow  of  words, 
without  being  distracted  (as  we  often  are  who 
read  much)  in  the  choice  of  dictions  and  phrases. 
My  lady  Courtly  is  an  instance  of  this.  She  was 


talking  the  other  day  of  dress,  and  did  it  with  ^ 
so  excellent  an  air  and  gesture,  that  you  would 
have  sworn  she  had  learned  her  action  from  our  t 
Demosthenes.  Besides  which,  her  words  were  m 
so  particularly  well  adapted  to  the  matter  she  : 
talked  of,  that  though  dress  was  a new  thing  to  - 
us  men,  she  avoided  the  terms  of  art  in  it,  and  ' 
described  an  unaflTected  garb  and  manner  in  so 
proper  terms,  that  she  came  up  to  that  of  Ho-  - J 
race’s  '■simplex  munditiisf  which  whoever  can  i.| 
translate  in  two  words,  has  as  much  eloquence  ij 
as  lady  Courtly.  I took  the  liberty  to  tell  her, 
that  ‘ all  she  had  said  with  so  much  good  grace, 
was  spoken  in  two  words  in  Horace,  but  would  U 
not  undertake  to  translate  them ;’  upon  which  || 
she  smiled,  and  told  me,  ‘ she  believed  me  a very 
great  scholar  ;’  and  I took  my  leave. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  31.  ’ 

I have  been  just  now  reading  the  introduc- 
tion to  the  history  of  Catiline  by  Sallust,  an  au- 
thor who  is  very  mucli  in  my  favour ; but 
when  I reflect  upon  his  professing  himself 
wholly  disinterested,  and,  at  the  same  time,  see  , 
how  industriously  he  has  avoided  saying  any  | 
thing  to  the  praise  of  Cicero,  to  whose  vigilance  ^ 
the  commonwealth  owed  its  safety,  it  very 
much  lessens  my  esteem  for  that  writer  ; and  is 
one  argument,  among  others,  for  laughing  at  all  i 
who  pretend  to  be  out  of  the  interests  of  the 
world,  and  profess  purely  to  act  for  the  service 
of  mankind,  without  the  least  regard  to  them- 
selves. I do  not  deny  but  that  the  rewards  are  - 
different ; some  aim  at  riches,  others  at  honour, 
by  their  public  services.  However,  they  are  all 
pursuing  some  end  to  themselves,  though  in- 
deed those  ends  differ  as  much  as  right  and 
wrong.  The  most  grateful  w’ay  then,  I should 
think,  w’ould  be  to  acknowledge,  that  you  aim 
at  serving  yourselves ; but,  at  the  same  time 
make  it  appear,  it  is  for  the  service  of  others 
that  you  have  these  opportunities. 

Of  all  the  disinterested  professors  I have  ever  : 
heard  of,  I take  the  boatswain  of  Dampier’s  ship 
to  be  the  most  impudent,  but  the  most  excus- 
able. You  are  to  know  that,  in  the  wild  searches 
that  navigator  was  making,  they  happened  to 
be  out  at  sea,  far  distant  from  any  shore,  in 
want  of  all  the  necessaries  of  life : insomuch 
that  they  began  to  look,  not  without  hunger,  on 
each  other.  The  boatswain  was  a fat,  healthy, 
fresh  fellow,  and  attracted  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
crew.  In  such  an  extreme  necessity,  all  forms 
of  superiority  were  laid  aside : the  captain  and  ^ 
lieutenant  were  safe  only  by  being  carrion,  and  ' 
the  unhappy  boatswain  in  danger  only  by  be- 
ing worth  eating.  To  be  short,  the  company  < 
were  unanimous,  and  the  boatsw'ain  must  be  ( 
cut  up.  He  saw  their  intention,  and  desired 
he  might  speak  a few  words  before  they  pro- 
ceeded; which  being  permitted,  he  delivered 
himself  as  follows  : 

‘ Gentlemen  sailors, — Far  be  it  that  I should 
speak  it  for  any  private  interest  of  my  own; 
but  I take  it  that  I should  not  die  w ith  a good 
conscience,  if  I did  not  confess  to  you,  that  I 
am  not  sound.  I say,  gentlemen,  justice  and 
the  testimony  of  a good  conscience,  as  well  as 


THE  TATLER. 


137 


No.  63.j 

love  of  my  country,  to  which  I hope  you  will  all 
return,  oblige  me  to  own,  that  black  Kate  at 
Deptford  has  made  me  very  unsafe  to  eat ; and, 
I speak  it  with  shame,  I am  afraid,  gentlemen, 
I should  poison  you.’ 

This  speech  had  a good  effect  in  the  boat- 
swain’s favour  ; but  the  surgeon  of  the  ship 
protested  he  had  cured  him  very  well,  and  offer- 
ed to  eat  the  first  steak  of  him  himself. 

The  boatswain  replied,  like  an  orator,  with  a 
true  notion  of  the  people,  and  in  hopes  to  gain 
time,  that  ‘ he  was  heartily  glad  if  he  could  be 
for  their  service;’  and  thanked  the  surgeon  for 
his  information.  ‘ However,’  said  he,  ‘ I must 
inform  you  for  your  own  good,  that  I have, 
ever  since  my  cure,  been  very  thirsty  and  drop- 
sical ; therefore,  I presume,  it  would  be  much 
better  to  tap  me,  and  drink  me  off,  than  eat  me 
at  once,  and  have  no  man  in  the  ship  fit  to  be 
drunk.’  As  he  was  going  on  with  his  harangue, 
a fresh  gale  arose,  and  gave  the  crew  hopes  of  a 
better  repast  at  the  nearest  shore,  to  which  they 
arrived  next  morning. 

Most  of  the  self-denials  we  meet  with  are  of 
this  sort ; therefore  I think  he  acts  fairest  who 
owns,  he  hopes  at  least  to  have  brother’s  fare, 
without  professing  that  he  gives  himself  up  with 
pleasure  to  be  devoured  for  the  preservation  of 
his  fellows. 

St.  James’s  Coffee-house^  August  31. 

Letters  from  the  Hague  of  the  sixth  of  Sep- 
tember, N.  S.  say,  that  the  governor  of  the  cita- 
del of  Tournay  having  offered  their  highnesses 
the  duke  of  Marlborough  and  the  prince  of 
Savoy  to  surrender  that  place  on  the  thirty-first 
of  the  last  month,  on  terms  which  were  not 
allowed  them  by  those  princes,  hostilities  were 
thereupon  renewed ; but  that  on  the  third  the 
place  was  surrendered,  with  a seeming  con- 
dition granted  to  the  besieged,  above  that  of  be- 
ing prisoners  of  war  : for  they  were  forthwith 
to  be  conducted  to  Conde,  but  were  to  be  ex- 
changed for  prisoners  of  the  allies,  and  parti- 
cularly those  of  Warneton  were  mentioned  in 
the  demand.  Both  armies  having  stretclied 
towards  Mons  with  the  utmost  diligence,  that 
of  the  allies,  though  they  passed  the  much 
more  difficult  road,  arrived  first  before  that 
town,  which  they  have  now  actually  invested  ; 
and  the  quarter-master-general  was,  at  the 
time  of  despatching  these  letters,  marking  the 
ground  for  the  encampment  of  the  covering 
army. 

To  the  hooJcsellers,  or  others  whom  this 
advertisement  may  concern. 

Mr.  Omicron,*  the  unborn  poet,  gives  notice, 
that  he  writes  all  treatises,  as  well  in  verse  as 
prose,  being  a ninth  son,  and  translates  out  of 
all  languages,  without  learning  or  study. 

If  any  bookseller  will  treat  for  his  pastoral 
on  the  siege  and  surrender  of  the  citadel  of 
Tournay,  he  must  send  in  his  proposals  before 
the  news  of  a capitulation  for  any  other  town. 


The  undertaker  for  either  play-house  may 
have  an  opera  written  by  him  ; or,  if  it  shall 
suit  their  design,  a satire  upon  operas ; both 
ready  for  next  winter. 


No.  63.]  Saturday y September  3, 1709. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  September  2. 

OF  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  LIFE  WITH  REGARD  TO 
OTHERS. 

I HAVE  ever  thought  it  the  greatest  diminu- 
tion to  the  Roman  glory  imaginable,  that  in 
their  institution  of  public  triumphs,  they  led 
their  enemies  in  chains  when  they  were  prison- 
ers. It  is  to  be  allowed  that  doing  all  honour 
to  the  superiority  of  heroes  above  the  rest  of 
mankind,  must  needs  conduce  to  the  glory  and 
advantage  of  a nation ; but  what  shocks  the 
imagination  to  reflect  upon  is,  that  a polite  peo- 
ple should  think  it  reasonable,  that  an  unhappy 
man,  who  was  no  way  inferior  to  the  victor  but 
by  the  chance  of  war,  should  be  led  like  a slave 
at  the  wheels  of  iiis  chariot.  Indeed,  these 
other  circumstances  of  a triumph,  that  it  was 
not  allowed  in  a civil  war,  lest  one  part  should 
be  in  tears,  while  the  other  was  making  accla- 
mations ; that  it  should  not  be  granted,  except 
such  a number  were  slain  in  battle  : that  the 
general  should  be  disgraced  who  made  a false 
muster  of  his  dead  ; these,  I say,  had  great  and 
politic  ends  in  their  being  established,  and  tend- 
ed  to  the  apparent  benefit  of  the  common- 
wealth. But  this  behaviour  to  the  conquered 
had  no  foundation  in  nature  or  policy,  only  to 
gratify  the  insolence  of  a haughty  people,  who 
triumphed  over  barbarous  nations,  by  acting 
what  was  fit  only  for  those  very  barbarians  to 
practice.  It  seems  wonderful,  that  they  who 
were  so  refined  as  to  take  care,  that  to  com- 
plete the  honour  done  to  the  victorious  officer, 
no  power  siiould  be  known  above  him  in  the  em- 
pire on  the  day  of  his  triumph,  but  that  the 
consuls  themselves  should  be  but  guests  at  his 
table  that  evening,  could  not  take  it  into 
thought  to  make  the  man  of  chief  note  among 
his  prisoners  one  of  tlie  company.  This  would 
have  improved  the  gladness  of  the  occasion  ; 
and  the  victor  had  made  a much  greater  figure, 
in  that  no  other  man  appeared  unhappy  on 
his  day,  than  because  no  other  man  appeared 
great. 

But  we  will  wave  at  present  such  important 
incidents,  and  turn  our  thoughts  rather  to  the 
familiar  part  of  human  life,  and  we  shall  find, 
that  the  great  business  we  contend  for  is  in  a 
less  degree  what  those  Romans  did  on  more 
solemn  occasions,  to  triumph  over  our  fellow- 
creatures  ; and  there  is  hardly  a man  to  be 
found,  wffio  would  not  rather  be  in  pain  to  ap- 
pear happy,  than  be  really  happy  and  thought 
miserable.  This  men  attempt  by  sumptuous 
equipages,  splendid  houses,  numerous  servants, 
and  all  the  cares  and  pursuits  of  an  ambitious 
or  fashionable  life. 

Bromeo  and  Tabio  are  particularly  ill-wishers 
to  each  other,  and  rivals  in  happiness.  There 
is  no  way  in  nature  so  good  to  procure  the 


* Mr.  Oldmixon  was  here  ridiculed  under  the  title  of 
Mr.  Omicron. 

S 


138 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  63. 


esteem  of  the  one,  as  to  give  him  little  notices  of 
certain  secret  points,  wherein  the  other  is  un- 
easy. Gnatho  has  the  skill  of  doing  this,  and 
never  applauds  the  improvements  Bromeo  has 
been  many  years  making,  and  ever  will  be 
making;  but  he  adds,  ‘Now  this  very  thing  was 
my  thought  when  Tabio  was  pulling  up  his  un- 
derwood, yet  he  never  w ould  hear  of  it ; but 
now  your  gardens  are  in  this  posture,  he  is 
ready  to  hang  himself.  Well,  to  be  sincere, 
that  situation  of  his  can  never  make  an  agree- 
able seat ; he  may  make  his  house  and  appur- 
tenances what  he  pleases,  but  he  cannot  remove 
them  to  the  same  ground  where  Bromeo’s 
stands  ; and  of  all  things  under  the  sun,  a man 
that  is  happy  at  second-hand  is  the  most  mon- 
strous.’ ‘It  is  a very  strange  madness,’  an- 
swers Bromeo,  ‘ if  a man  on  these  occasions  can 
think  of  any  end  but  pleasing  himself  As  for 
my  part,  if  things  are  convenient,  I hate  all 
ostentation.  There  is  no  end  of  the  folly  of 
adapting  our  affairs  to  the  imagination  of 
others.’  Upon  which,  the  next  thing  he  does 
is  to  enlarge  whatever  he  hears  his  rival  has  at- 
tempted to  imitate  him  in ; but  their  misfor- 
tune is,  that  they  are  in  their  time  of  life,  in 
their  estates,  and  in  their  understandings,  equal ; 
so  that  the  emulation  may  continue  to  the  last 
day  of  their  lives.  As  it  stands  now,  Tabio  has 
heard,  that  Bromeo  has  lately  purchased  two 
hundred  a year  in  the  annuities  since  he  last 
settled  the  account  of  their  happiness,  in  which 
he  thought  himself  to  have  the  balance.  This 
may  seem  a very  fantastical  way  of  thinking  in 
these  men  ; but  there  is  nothing  so  common,  as 
a man’s  endeavouring  rather  to  go  farther  than 
some  other  person  towards  an  easy  fortune, 
than  to  form  any  certain  standard  that  would 
make  himself  happy. 

WilVs  Coffee-house^  September  2. 

Mr.  Dactyle  has  been  this  evening  very  pro- 
fuse of  his  eloquence  upon  the  talent  of  turn- 
ing things  into  ridicule ; and  seemed  to  say 
very  justly,  that  ‘ there  was  generally  in  it 
something  too  disingenuous  for  the  society  of 
liberal  men,  except  it  were  governed  by  the  cir- 
cumstances of  persons,  time,  and  place.  This 
talent,’  continued  he,  ‘ is  to  be  used  as  a man 
does  his  sword,  not  to  be  drawn  but  in  his  own 
defence,  or  to  bring  pretenders  and  impostors  in 
society  to  a true  light.  But  we  have  seen  this 
faculty  so  mistaken,  that  the  burlesque  of  Virgil 
himself  has  passed,  among  men  of  little  taste, 
for  wit ;’  and  the  noblest  thoughts  that  can  en- 
ter into  the  heart  of  man  levelled  with  ribaldry 
and  baseness : though  by  the  rules  of  justice, 
no  man  ought  to  be  ridiculed  for  any  imperfec- 
tion, who  does  not  set  up  for  eminent  sufficiency 
in  that  way  wherein  he  is  defective.  Thus 
cowards,  who  would  hide  themselves  by  an  af- 
fected terror  in  their  mien  and  dress;  and  pe- 
dants, who  would  show  the  depth  of  their  know- 
ledge by  a supercilious  gravity,  are  equally  the 
objects  of  laughter.  Not  that  they  are  in  them- 
selves ridiculous,  for  their  want  of  courage,  or 
weakness  of  understanding;  but  that  they  seem 
insensible  of  their  own  place  in  life,  and  unhap- 
pily rank  themselves  with  those  whose  abilities. 


compared  to  their  defects,  make  them  contemp- 
tible. At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  remarked, 
that,  risibility  being  the  effect  of  reason,  a man 
ought  to  be  expelled  from  sober  company  who 
laughs  without  it.’  ‘ Ha  ! ha  !’  says  \V  ill  Truby, 
who  sat  by,  ‘ will  any  man  pretend  to  give  me 
laws  when  I should  laugh,  or  tell  me  what  I 
should  laugh  at?’  ‘Look  ye,’  answered  Hum- 
phry Slyboots,  ‘you  are  mightily  mistaken;  you 
may,  if  you  please,  make  what  noise  you  w ill, 
and  nobody  can  hinder  an  English  gentleman 
from  putting  his  face  into  wdiat  posture  he 
thinks  fit ; but  take  my  word  for  it,  that  motion 
which  you  now^  )nake  with  your  mouth  open, 
and  the  agitation  of  your  stomach,  wdiich  you 
relieve  by  holding  your  sides,  is  not  laughter  : 
laughter  is  a more  weighty  thing  than  you 
imagine  ; and  I wall  tell  you  a secret — you  never 
did  laugh  in  your  life  : and  truly  I am  afraid 
you  never  will,  except  you  take  great  care  to  be 
cured  of  those  convulsive  fits.’  Truby  left  us, 
and  when  he  had  got  two  yards  from  us,  ‘ Well,’ 
said  he,  ‘ you  are  strange  lellows  !’  and  was  im- 
mediately taken  wuth  another  fit. 

The  Trubies  are  a well-natured  family,  wdiosc 
particular  make  is  such,  that  they  have  the 
same  pleasure  out  of  good-wdll,  wdiich  other 
people  have  in  that  scorn  which  is  the  cause 
of  laughter  : therefore  their  bursting  into  the 
figures  of  men,  wdien  laughing,  proceeds  only 
from  a general  benevolence  they  are  born  with ; 
as  the  Slyboots  smile  only  on  the  greatest  oc- 
casion of  mirth ; wdfich  difference  is  caused 
rather  from  a difterent  structure  of  their  organs, 
than  that  one  is  less  moved  than  the  other.  1 
know  Sourly  frets  inwardly,  when  Will  Truby 
laughs  at  him ; but  wffien  I meet  him,  and  he 
bursts  out,  I know  it  is  out  of  his  abundant  joy 
to  see  me,  w’hich  he  expresses  by  that  vocifera- 
tion  which  is  in  others  laughter.  But  I shall 
defer  considering  this  subject  at  large,  until  I 
come  to  my  treatise  of  oscitation,  laughter,  and 
ridicule. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  2. 

The  following  letter  being  a panegyric  upon 
me  for  a quality  which  every  man  may  attain, 
an  acknowledgment  of  his  faults ; I thought  it 
for  the  good  of  my  fellow- writers  to  publish  it. 

‘ Sir, — It  must  be  allow’ed,  that  esquire  Bick- 
erstaff  is  of  all  authors  the  most  ingenuous. 
There  are  few,  very  few,  that  wall  own  them- 
selves in  a mistake,  though  all  the  wmrld  see 
them  to  be  in  downright  nonsense.  You  wall 
be  pleased,  sir,  to  pardon  this  expression,  for  the 
same  reason  for  wffiich  you  once  desired  us  to 
excuse  you,  w’hen  you  seemed  any  thing  dull. 
Most  writers,  like  the  generality  of  Paul*  Lor- 
raine’s saints,  seem  to  place  a peculiar  vanity 
in  dying  hard.  But  you,  sir,  to  show  a good 
example  to  your  brethren,  have  not  only  con- 
fessed, but  of  your  owm  accord  mended  the  in- 
dictment. Nay,  you  have  been  so  good-natured 
as  to  discover  beauties  in  it,  wdiich,  I will  as- 
sure you,  he  that  drew  it  never  dreamed  of. 


♦ Mr.  Paul  Lorraine  was  at  this  time  the  ordinary  of 
New'gate. 


No.  G4.] 


THE  TATLER. 


139 


And,  to  make  your  civility  the  more  accom- 
plished, you  have  honoured  him  with  tiic  title 
of  your  kinsman,  which,  thoug-h  derived  by  the 
left-liand,  he  is  not  a little  proud  of.  My  brother, 
for  such  Obadiah  is,  beino'  at  present  very  busy 
about  nothing-,  has  ordered  me  to  return  you 
his  sincere  thanks  for  all  these  favours;  and,  as  a 
small  token  of  his  gratitude,  to  communicate 
to  you  the  following  piece  of  intelligence,  which 
lie  thinks,  belongs  more  properly  to  you  than  to 
any  others  of  our  modern  historians. 

‘ Madonella,  who,  as  it  was  thought,  had 
long  since  taken  her  flight  towards  the  ethereal 
mansions,  still  walks,  it  seems,  in  tlie  regions 
of  mortality,  where  she  has  found,  by  deep  re- 
flections on  the  revolution  mentioned  in  yours 
of  June  the  twenty-third,  that  where  early  in- 
structions have  been  wanting  to  imprint  true 
ideas  of  things  on  the  tender  souls  of  those  of 
her  sex,  they  are  never  after  able  to  arrive  at 
such  a pitch  of  perfection,  as  to  be  above  the  laws 
of  matter  and  motion  ; laws  which  are  considera- 
bly enforced  by  the  principles  usually  imbibed 
in  nurseries  and  boarding  schools.  To  remedy 
this  evil,  she  has  laid  the  scheme  of  a college  for 
young  damsels  ; where  (instead  of  scissars,  nee- 
dles, and  samplers)  pens,  compasses, .quadrants, 
books,  manuscripts,  Greek,  Latin,  and  Hebrew, 
are  to  take  up  their  whole  time.  Only  on  holi- 
days the  students  will,  for  moderate  exercise,  be 
allowed  to  divert  themselves  with  the  use  of 
some  of  the  lightest  and  most  valuble  weapons  ; 
and  proper  care  will  be  taken  to*give  them  at 
least  a superficial  tincture  of  the  ancient  and 
modern  Amazonian  tactics.  Of  these  military 
performances,  the  direction  is  undertaken  by 
Epicene,*  the  writer  of  ‘ Memoirs  from  the 
Mediterranean,’  who,  by  the  help  of  some  artifi- 
cial poison  conveyed  by  smells,  has  within  these 
few  vi^eeks  brought  many  persons  of  both  sexes 
to  an  untimely  fate ; and,  what  is  more  surpris- 
ing, has,  contrary  to  her  profession,  with  the 
same  odours,  revived  others  who  had  long  since 
been  drowned  in  the  whirlpools  of  Lethe.  Ano- 
ther of  the  professors  is  to  be  a certain  lady, 
who  is  now  publishing  two  of  the  choicest  Saxon 
novels,t  which  are  said  to  have  been  in  as  great 
repute  with  the  ladies  of  queen  Emma’s  court, 
as  the  ‘ Memoirs  from  the  New  Atalantis’  are 
with  those  of  ours.  I shall  make  it  my  business 
to  inquire  into  the  progress  of  this  learned  in- 
stitution, and  give  you  the  first  notice  of  their 
‘ Philosophical  Transactions,  and  Searches  after 
Nature.’  Yours,  «fec. 

‘ TOBIAH  GREENHAT.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house^  September  2. 

This  day  we  have  received  advices  by  the  way 
of  Ostend,  which  give  an  account  of  an  engage-' 
ment  between  the  French  and  the  allies,  on  the 
eleventh  instant,  N.  S.  Marshal  Bouffiers  ar- 
rived in  the  enemy’s  camp  on  the  fifth,  and  ac- 
quainted marshal  Villars,  that  he  did  not  come 
in  any  character,  but  to  receive  his  commands 

* Epicene  means  Mrs.  D.  Mauley, 
t Mrs.  Elizabeth  Elstob,  the  lady  here  mentioned,  is 
a striking  instance,  that  no  accomplishments,  natural 
or  acquired,  could  protect  their  possessor,  of  whatever 
merit  or  sex,  from  the  insults  of  this  libertine  wit. 


for  the  king’s  service,  and  communicate  to  him 
his  orders  upon  the  present  posture  of  affairs. 
On  the  ninth,  both  armies  advanced  towards 
each  other,  and  cannonaded  all  the  ensuing  day, 
until  tiic  close  of  the  evening,  and  stood  on  tltcir 
arms  all  that  night.  On  the  day  of  battle  the 
cannonading  was  renewed  about  seven : the 
duke  of  Argylc  had  orders  to  attack  the  wood 
Sarton  the  rig  lit,  which  he  executed  so  success- 
fully, that  he  pierced  tlirough  it,  and  won  a con- 
siderable post.  The  prince  of  Orange  liad  the 
same  good  fortune  in  a wood  on  tlie  left : after 
which  the  whole  body  of  the  confederates,  joined 
by  the  forces  from  the  siege,  marched  up  and 
engaged  tlie  enemy,  who  were  drawn  up  at  some 
distance  from  these  woods.  The  dispute  was 
very  warm  for  some  time  ; but  towards  noon, 
the  French  began  to  give  ground  from  one  wing 
to  the  other ; which  advantage  being  observed 
by  our  generals,  the  whole  army  was  urged  on 
with  fresh  vigour,  and  in  a few  hours  the  day 
ended  with  the  entire  defeat  of  the  enemy. 


No.  64.]  Tuesday^  September  6,  1709. 

QmEcaret  ora  cruore  nostro?  Hor.  1 Od.  ii.  3G. 

What  coast,  encircled  by  the  briny  flood. 

Boasts  not  the  glorious  tribute  of  our  blood. 

Frorn  my  own  Apartment,  September  5. 

When  I lately  spoke  of  triumphs,  and  the  be- 
haviour of  the  Romans  on  those  occasions,  I 
knew,  by  my  skill  in  astrology,  that  there  was 
a great  event  approaching  to  our  advantage ; but, 
not  having  yet  taken  upon  me  to  tell  fortunes, 
I thought  fit  to  defer  the  mention  of  the  battle 
near  Mens  until  it  happened  ; which  moderation 
was  no  small  pain  to  me  ; but  I should  wrong 
my  art,  if  I concealed  that  some  of  my  aerial 
intelligencers  had  signified  to  me  the  news  of 
it  even  from  Paris,  before  the  arrival  of  lieuten- 
ant-colonel Graham  in  England.*  All  nations, 
as  well  as  persons,  have  their  good  and  evil 
genius  attending  them  ; but  the  kingdom  of 
PVance  has  three,  the  last  of  which  is  neither 
for  it  nor  against  it  in  reality  ; but  has  for  some 
months  past  acted  an  ambiguous  part,  and  at- 
tempted to  save  its  ward  from  the  incursion  of 
its  powerful  enemies,  by  little  subterfuges  and 
tricks,  which  a nation  is  more  than  undone 
when  it  is  reduced  to  practise.  Thus,  instead 
of  giving  exact  accounts  and  representations  of 
things,  they  tell  what  is  indeed  true,  but  at  the 
same  time  a falsehood,  when  all  the  circumstan- 
ces come  to  be  related.  Pacolet  was  at  the  court 
of  France  on  Friday  night  last,  when  this  geni- 
us of  that,  kingdom  came  thither  in  the  shape 
of  a post-boy,  and  cried  out,  that  Mons  was  re- 
lieved, and  the  duke  of  Marlborough  marched. 
Pacolet  was  much  astonished  at  this  account, 
and  immediately  changed  his  form,  and  flew  to 
the  neighbourhood  of  Mons,  from  whence  he 
found  the  allies  had  really  marched ; and  began  to 


* Lieut.  Col.  Graham  came  express  with  an  account 
of  the  battle  of  Malplaquet,  in  a letter  from  the  duke  of 
Marlborough  to  Mr.  Secretary  Boyle. 


140 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  64. 


inquire  into  the  reasons  of  this  sudden  change, 
and  half  feared  he  had  heard  a truth  of  the  pos- 
ture of  the  French  affairs,  even  in  their  own 
country.  But,  upon  diligent  inquiry  among  the 
aerials  who  attended  those  regions,  and  con- 
sultation with  the  neighbouring  peasants,  he  was 
able  to  bring  me  the  following  account  of  the 
motions  of  the  armies  since  they  retired  from 
about  tliat  place,  and  the  action  which  followed 
thereupon. 

On  Saturday  the  seventh  of  September,  N.  S. 
the  confederate  army  was  alarmed  in  their  camp 
at  Havre,  by  intelligence,  that  the  enemy  were 
marching  to  attack  the  prince  of  Hesse.  Upon 
this  advice,  the  duke  of  Marlborough  com- 
manded that  the  troops  should  immediately 
move  ; which  was  accordingly  performed,  and 
thej?  were  all  joined  on  Saturday  the  eighth  at 
noon.  On  that  day,  in  the  morning,  it  appeared 
that,  instead  of  being  attacked,  the  advanced 
guard  of  the  detachment,  commanded  by  the 
prince  of  Hesse,  had  dispersed  and  taken  prison- 
ers a party  of  the  enemy’s'  horse,  which  was 
sent  out  to  observe  the  march  of  the  confeder- 
ates. The  French  moved  from  Quiverain  on 
Sunday  in  the  morning,  and  inclined  to  the 
right  from  thence  all  that  day.  The  ninth, 
the  Monday  following,  they  continued  their 
march,  until  an  Tuesday,  the  tenth,  they  pos- 
sessed thcmselve.s  of  the  woods  of  Dour  and 
Blaugies.  As  soon  as  they  came  into  that 
ground,  they  threw  up  intrenchments  with  all 
expedition.  The  allies  arrived  within  few  hours 
after  the  enemy  was  posted  ; but  the  duke  of 
Marlborough  thought  fit  to  wait  for  the  arrival 
of  the  reinforcement  which  he  expected  from 
the  siege  of  Tournay.  Upon  notice  that  these 
troops  were  so  far  advanced  as  to  be  depended 
on  for  an  action  the  next  day,  it  was  accord- 
ingly resolved  to  engage  the  enemy. 

It  will  be  necessary  for  understanding  the 
greatness  of  the  action,  and  the  several  motions 
made  in  the  time  of  the  engagement,  that  you 
have  in  your  mind,  an  idea  of  the  place.  The 
two  armies,  on  the  eleventh  instant,  were  both 
drawn  up  before  the  woods  of  Dour,  Blaugies, 
Sart,  and  Jansart ; the  army  of  the  prince  of  Sa- 
voy on  the  right  before  that  of  Blaugies ; the 
forces  of  Great  Britain  in  the  centre  on  his  left ; 
those  of  the  high  allies,  with  the  wood  Sart,  as 
well  as  a large  interval  of  plain  ground,  and  Jan- 
sart  on  the  left  of  the  whole.  The  enemy  were 
intrenched  in  the  paths  of  the  woods,  and  drawn 
up  behind  two  intrenchments  over-against  them, 
opposite  to  the  armies  of  the  duke  of  Marlborough 
and  prince  Eugene.  There  were  also  two  lines 
intrenched  in  the  plains  over-against  the  army 
of  the  States.  This  was  the  posture  of  the 
French  and  confederate  forces  when  the  signal 
was  given,,  and  the  whole  line  moved  on  to  the 
charge. 

The  Dutch  army,  commanded  by  the  prince 
of  Hesse,  attacked  with  the  most  undaunted  bra- 
very; and,  after  a very  obstinate  resistance, 
forced  the  first  intrenchment  of  the  enemy  in  the 
plain  between  Sart  and  Jansart ; but  were  re- 
pulsed in  their  attack  on  the  second,  with  great 
slaughter  on  both  sides.  The  duke  of  Marlbo- 
rough, while  this  was  transacting  on  the  left,  had 
with  very  much  difficulty  marched  through  Sart, 


and  beaten  the  enemy  from  the  several  intrench- 
ments they  had  thrown  up  in  it.  As  soon  as  the 
duke  had  marched  into  the  plain,  he  observed 
the  main  body  of  the  enemy  drawn  up  and  in- 
trenched in  the  front  of  his  army.  This  situa- 
tion of  the  enemy,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  war, 
is  usually  thought  an  advantage  hardly  to  be 
surmounted  ; and  might  appear  impraetieable  to 
any  but  that  army  which  had  just  overcome 
greater  difficulties.  The  duke  commanded  the  I 
troops  to  form,  but  to  forbear  charging  until  fur-  f 

ther  order.  In  the  mean  time  he  visited  the  left  f 

of  our  line,  where  the  troops  of  the  States  had  | 
been  engaged.  The  slaughter  on  this  side  had 
been  very  great,  and  the  Dutch,  incapable  of  ' 
making  further  progress,  except  they  were  sud- 
denly reinforced.  The  right  of  our  line  was 
attacked  soon  after  their  coming  upon  the  plain ; 
but  they  drove  back  the  enemy  with  such  bra- 
very, tliat  the  victory  began  to  incline  to  the  al- 
lies by  the  precipitate  retreat  of  the  French  to 
their  works,  from  whence  they  were  immediately 
beaten.  The  duke,  upon  observing  this  advan- 
tage on  the  right,  commanded  the  earl  of  Orkney 
to  march  with  a sufficient  number  of  battalions, 
to  force  the  enemy  from  their  mtrcnchments  on 
the  plain  between  the  woods  of  Sart  and  Jan- 
sart ; which  being  performed,  the  horse  of  the 
allies  marched  into  the  plains,  covered  by  their 
own  foot,  and  forming  themselves  in  good  order  ; 
the  cavalry  of  the  enemy  attempted  no  more  but 
to  cover  the  foot  in  their  retreat.  The  allies 
made  so  good.use  of  the  beginningof  the  victory, 
that  all  their  troops  moved  on  with  fresh  resolu- 
tion, until  they  saw  the  enemy  fly  before  them 
towards  Conde  and  Maubeuge  ; after  whom, 
proper  detachments  were  sent,  who  made  a ter- 
rible slaughter  in  the  pursuit. 

In  this  action,  it  is  said,  prince  Eugene  was 
wounded,  as  also  the  duke  of  Aremb^erg,  and 
lieutenant-general  Webb.  The  count  of  Oxen- 
stern,  colonel  Lalo,  and  sir  Thomas  Pendergrass 
were  killed. 

This  wonderful  success,  obtained  under  all 
the  difficulties  that  could  be  opposed  in  the  way 
of  an  army,  must  be  acknowledged  as  owing  to 
the  genius,  courage,  and  conduct  of  the  duke 
of  Marlborough,  a consummate  hero ; wdio  has 
lived  not  only  beyond  the  time  in  which  Csesar 
said  he  was  arrived  at  a satiety  of  life  and  glory ; 
but  also  been  so  long  the  subject  of  panegyric, 
that  it  is  as  hard  to  say  any  thing  new  in  his 
praise,  as  to  add  to  the  merit  which  requires  such 
eulogiums. 

Willis  Coffee-house^  September  5. 

The  following  letter  being  very  explanatory  ( 
of  the  true  design  of  our  lucubrations,  and  at  the 
same  time  an  excellent  model  for  performing  it, 
it  is  absolutely  necessary,  for  the  better  under- 
standing our  wmrks,  to  publish  it. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire. 

‘ Sir, — Though  I have  not  the  honour  to  be 
of  the  family  of  the  Staffs,  nor  related  to  any 
branch  of  it,  yet  I applaud  your  wholesome  pro. 
ject  of  making  wit  useful. 

‘ This  is  what  has  been,  or  should  have  been, 
intended  by  the  best  comedies.  But  nobody,  I 


No.  65.] 


THE  TATLER. 


141 


think,  before  you,  thouglit  of  a way  to  bring  the 
stage,  as  it  were,  into  tlie  cott’cc-house,  and  there 
attack  those  gentlemen  who  thougiit  themselves 
out  of  the  reach  of  raillery,  by  prudently  avoid- 
ing its  chief  walks  and  districts.  I smile  when 
I see  a solid  citizen  of  threescore  read  the  article 
from  Will’s  coffee-house,  and  seem  to  be  just 
beginning  to  learn  his  alphabet  of  wit  in  specta- 
cles ; and  to  hear  the  attentive  table  sometimes 
stop  him  with  pertinent  queries,  which  he  is 
puzzled  to  answer,  and  then  join  in  commend- 
ing it  the  sincerest  way,  by  freely  owning  he 
does  not  understand  it. 

‘ In  pursuing  this  design,  you  will  always  have 
a large  scene  b^efore  you,  and  can  never  be  at  a 
loss  for  characters  to  entertain  a town  so  plenti- 
fully stocked  with  them.  The  follies  of  the  finest 
minds,  which  a philosophic  surgeon  knows  how 
to  dissect,  will  best  employ  your  skill ; and  of 
this  sort,  I take  the  liberty  to  send  you  the  fol- 
lowing sketch. 

‘ Cleontes  is  a man  of  good  family,  good  learn- 
ing, entertaining  conversation,  and  acute  wit. 
He  talks  well,  is  master  of  style,  and  writes  not 
contemptibly  in  verse.  Yet  all  this  serves  but 
to  make  him  politely  ridiculous  ; and  he  is  above 
the  rank  of  common  characters,  only  to  have  the 
privilege  of  being  laughed  at  by  the  best.  His 
family  makes  him  proud  and  scornful ; his  learn- 
ing, assuming  and  absurd  ; and  his  wit,  arrogant 
and  satirical.  He  mixes  some  of  the  best  quali- 
ties of  the  head  with  the  worst  of  the  heart. 
Every  body  is  entertained  by  him,  while  nobody 
esteems  him. — I am,  sir,  Your  most  affectionate 
monitor,  JOSIAH  COUPLET.’ 

Lost,  from  the  Cocoa-tree,  in  Pall-Mall,  two 
Irish  dogs,  belonging  to  the  pack  of  London; 
one  a tall  white  wolf-dog ; the  other  a black  nim- 
ble greyhound,  not  very  sound,  and  supposed  to 
be  gone  to  the  Bath,  by  instinct,  for  cure.  The 
man  of  the  inn  from  whence  they  ran,  being 
now  there,  is  desired,  if  he  meets  either  of  them, 
to  tie  them  up.  Several  others  are  lost  about 
Tunbridge  and  Epsom;  which  whoever  will 
maintain  may  keep. 


No.  65.]  Thursday,  September  8, 1709. 

duicquid  agunt  liomines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  September  7. 

I CAME  hither  this  evening,  and  expected  no- 
thing else  but  mutual  congratulations  in  the 
company,  on  the  late  victory;  but  found  our 
room,  which  one  would  have  hoped  to  have  seen 
full  of  good  humour  and  alacrity  upon  so  glorious 
an  occasion,  full  of  sour  animals,  inquiring  into 
the  action,  in  doubt  of  what  had  happened,  and 
fearful  of  the  success  of  their  countrymen.  It 
is  natural  to  believe  easily  what  we  wish  hearti- 
ly ; and  a certain  rule,  that  they  are  not  frierlds 
to  a glad  occasion  who  speak  all  they  can  against 
the  truth  of  it ; who  end  their  argument  against 
our  happiness,  that  they  wish  it  otherwise. 
When  I came  into  the  room,  a gentleman  was 


declaiming : ‘ If,’  says  he,  ‘ W'^e  have  so  great  and 
comjdete  a victory,  why  have  w'e  not  the  names 
of  the  prisoners?  Why  is  not  an  exact  relation 
of  the  conduct  of  our  generals  laid  before  the 
world  ? Why  do  we  not  know  where  and  whom 
to  applaud  ? If  we  are  victorious,  why  do  we 
not  give  an  account  of  our  captives  and  our  slain  ? 
But  we  are  to  be  satisfied  with  general  notices 
w^e  are  conquerors,  and  to  believe  it  so.  Sure 
this  is  approving  the  despotic  way  of  treating 
the  world,  which  we  pretend  to  fight  against,  if 
we  sit  down  satisfied  with  such  contradictory 
accounts,  which  have  the  words  of  triumph,  but 
do  not  bear  the  spirit  of  it.’  I whispered  Mr. 
Greenhat,  ‘ Pray,  w’hat  can  that  dissatisfied  man 
be?’  ‘He  is,’  answered  he,  ‘a  character  j^ou 
have  not  yet  perhaps  observed.  You  have  heard 
of  battle-painters,  have  mentioned  a battle-poet ; 
but  this  is  a battle-critic.  He  is  a fellow  that 
lives  in  a government  so  gentle,  that,  though  it 
sees  him  an  enemy,  suffers  his  malice,  because 
they  know  his  impotence.  He  is  to  examine 
the  weight  of  an  advantage  before  the  company 
will  allow  it.’  Greenhat  was  going  on  in  his  ex- 
planation, when  sir  George  England  thought  fit 
to  take  up  the  discourse  in  the  following  manner. 

‘ Gentlemen,  The  action  you  are  in  so  great 
doubt  to  approve  of,  is  greater  than  over  has  been 
performed  in  any  age ; and  the  value  of  it  I ob- 
serve from  your  dissatisfaction  : for  battle-critics 
are  like  all  others ; you  are  the  more  offended,  the 
more  you  ought  to  be,  and  are  convinced  you 
ought  to  be,  pleased.  Had  this  engagement 
happened  in  the  time  of  the  old  Romans,  and  such 
things  been  acted  in  their  service,  there  would 
not  be  a foot  of  the  wood  which  was  pierced  but 
had  been  consecrated  to  some  deity,  or  made 
memorable  by  the  death  of  him  who  expired  in 
it  for  the  sake  of  his  country.  It  had  been  said 
on  some  monument  at  the  entrance : Here  the 
duke  of  Argyle  drew  his  sword,  and  said  ‘March.’ 
Here  Webb,  after  having  an  accomplished  fame 
for  gallantry,  exposed  himself  like  a common 
soldier.  Here  Rivett,  wdio  was  wounded  at  the 
beginning  of  the  day,  and  carried  off  as  dead, 
returned  to  the  field,  and  received  his  death. 
Medals  had  been  struck  for  our  general’s  beha- 
viour when  he  first  came  into  the  plain.  Here 
was  the  fury  of  the  action,  and  here  the  hero 
stood  as  fearless  as  if  invulnerable.  Such  cer- 
tainly had  been  the  cares  of  that  state  for  their 
own  honour,  and  in  gratitude  to  their  heroic 
subjects.  But  the  wood  intrenched,  the  plain 
made  more  impassable  than  the  wood,  and  all 
the  difficulties  opposed  to  the  most  gallant  army 
and  the  most  intrepid  leaders  that  ever  the  sun 
shone  upon,  are  treated  by  the  talk  of  some  in 
this  room  as  objections  to  the  merit  of  our  gene- 
ral and  our  army  : but,’  continued  he,  ‘ I leave 
all  the  examination  of  this  matter,  and  a proper 
discourse  on  our  sense  of  public  actions,  to  my 
friend  Mr.  Bickerstaff ; who  may  let  beaux  and 
gamesters  rest,  until  he  has  examined  into  the 
reasons  of  men’s  being  malecontents,  in  the  only 
nation  that  suffers  professed  enemies  to  breathe 
in  open  air.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  7. 

The  following  letters  are  sent  to  me  from  re- 
lations ; and  though  I do  not  know  who  and  who 


142 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  66. 


are  intended,  I publish  them.  I have  only  writ 
nonsense,  if  there  is  nothing  in  them ; and  done 
a good  action,  if  they  alarm  any  heedless  men 
against  the  fraternity  of  the  Knights,  whom  the 
Greeks  call  Tx(rx.xXg. 

Bath,  Aug.  30. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — It  is  taken  very  ill  by 
several  gentlemen  here,  that  you  are  so  little  vi- 
gilant, as  to  let  the  dogs  run  from  their  kennels 
to  this  place.  Had  you  done  your  duty,  vve 
should  have  had  notice  of  their  arrival ; but  the 
sharpers  are  now  become  so  formidable  here, 
that  they  have  divided  themselves  into  nobles 
and  commons  ; beau  Bogg,  beau  Pert,  Rake,  and 
Tallboy,  are  of  their  upper  house  ; broken  cap- 
tains, ignorant  attornies,  and  such  other  bank- 
rupts from  industrious  professions,  compose  their 
lower  order.  Among  these  two  sets  of  men, 
there  happened  here  lately  some  unhappy  dif- 
ferences. Esquire  Humphry  came  down  among 
us  with  four  hundred  guineas : his  raw  appear- 
ance, and  certain  signals  in  the  good-natured 
muscles  of  Humphry’s  countenance,  alarmed  the 
societies ; for  sharpers  are  as  skilful  as  beggars 
in  physiognomy,  and  know  as  well  where  to 
hope  for  plunder,  as  the  others  to  ask  for  alms. 
Pert  was  the  man  exactly  fitted  for  taking  with 
Humphry,  as  a fine  gentleman ; for  a raw  fool 
is  ever  enamoured  with  his  contrary,  a coxcomb ; 
and  a coxcomb  is  what  the  booby,  who  wants 
experience,  and  is  unused  to  company,  regards 
as  the  first  of  men.  He  ever  looks  at  him  with 
envy,  and  would  certainly  be  such,  if  he  were 
not  oppressed  by  his  rusticity  or  bashfulness. 
There  arose  an  entire  friendship  by  this  sympa- 
thy between  Pert  and  Humphrey,  which  ended 
in  stripping  the  latter.  We  now  could  see  this 
forlorn  youth  for  some  days  moneyless,  without 
sword,  and  one  day  without  his  hat,  and  with 
secret  melancholy  pining  for  his  snuff-box  ; the 
jest  of  the  whole  town,  but  most  of  those  who 
robbed  him. 

‘ At  last  fresh  bills  came  down,  when  imme- 
diately their  countenances  cleared  up,  ancient 
kindnesses  and  familiarity  renew’ed,  and  to  din- 
ner he  was  invited  by  the  fraternity.  You  are  to 
know,  that  while  he  was  in  his  days  of  solitude, 
a commoner,  who  was  excluded  from  his  share 
of  the  prey,  had  whispered  the  esquire,  that  he 
was  bit,  and  cautioned  him  of  venturing  again. 
However,  hopes  of  recovering  his  snuff-box, 
which  was  given  him  by  his  aunt,  made  him 
fall  to  play  after  dinner ; yet,  mindful  of  what 
he  was  told,  he  saw  something  that  provoked 
him  to  tell  them,  they  were  a company  of  sharp- 
ers. Presently  Tallboy  fell  on  him,  and,  being 
too  hard  at  fisty -cuffs,  drove  him  out  of  doors. 
The  valiant  Pert  followed,  and  kicked  him  in 
his  turn  ; which  the  esquire  resented,  as  being 
nearer  his  match  ; so  challenged  him  : but  dif- 
fering about  time  and  place,  friends  interposed, 
for  he  had  still  money  left,  and  persuaded  him 
to  ask  pardon  for  provoking  them  to  beat  him, 
and  they  asked  his  for  doing  it.  The  house, 
consulting  whence  Humphry  could  have  his  in- 
formation, concluded  it  must  be  from  some  ma- 
licious commoner ; and,  to  be  revenged,  beau 
Bogg  watched  their  haunts,  and  in  a shop  where 
some  of  them  were  at  play  with  ladies,  showed 
dice  which  he  found,  or  pretended  to  find,  upon 


them;  and,  declaring  how  false  they  were, 
warned  the  company  to  take  care  who  they 
played  with.  By  his  seeming  candour,  he  clear- 
ed his  reputation,  at  least  to  ibols  and  some  silly 
women ; but  it  was  still  blasted  by  the  esquire’s 
story  wuth  thinking  men : however,  he  gained  a 
great  point  by  it ; for  the  next  day  he  got  the 
company  shut  up  with  himself  and  fellow-mem- 
bers, and  robbed  them  at  discretion. 

‘ I cannot  express  to  you  with  what  indigna-  i 
tion  I behold  the  noble  spirit  of  gentlemen  de- 
generated to  that  of  private  cut-purses.  It  is  in 
vain  to  hope  a remedy,  while  so  many  of  the  . 
fraternity  get  and  enjoy  estates  of  twenty,  thirty, 
and  fifty  thousand  pounds,  with  impunity,  creep  ^ 
into  the  best  conversations,  and  spread  the  in-  4 

fectious  villany  through  the  nation,  while  the  j 

lesser  rogues,  that  rob  for  hunger  or  nakedness,  1 
are  sacrificed  by  the  blind,  and,  in  this  respect,  1 
partial  and  defective  law.  Could  you  open  men’s  i 
eyes  against  the  occasion  of  all  this,  the  great 
corrupter  of  our  manners  and  morality,  the  au- 
thor of  more  bankrupts  than  the  war,  and  sure 
bane  of  all  industry,  frugality  and  good  nature  ; 
in  a word,  of  all  virtues  ; I mean,  public  or  pri- 
vate play  at  cards  or  dice;  how  willingly  would 
I contribute  my  utmost,  and  possibly  send  you 
some  memoirs  of  the  lives  and  politics  of  some 
of  the  fraternity  of  great  figure,  that  might  be 
of  use  to  you  in  setting  this  in  a clear  light 
against  next  session  ; that  all  who  care  for  their 
country  or  posterity,  and  see  the  pernicious  ef- 
fects of  such  a public  vice,  may  endeavour  its 
destruction  by  some  effectual  laws.  In  concur- 
rence of  this  good  design,  I remain  your  hum- 
ble  servant,  &c.’ 

Friday,  Sept.  2. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I heartily  join  with  you 
in  your  laudable  design  against  the  Myrmidons, 
as  well  as  your  late  insinuations  against  Cox- 
combs of  Fire  ; and  I take  this  opportunity  to 
congratulate  you  on  the  success  of  your  labours, 
which  I observed  yesterday  in  one  of  tlie  hottest 
fire-men  in  town;  who  not  only  affects  a soft 
smile,  but  was  seen  to  be  thrice  contradicted 
without  showing  any  signs  of  impatience. 
These,  I say,  so  happy  beginnings,  promise  fair, 
and  on  this  account  I rejoice  you  have  under- 
taken to  unkennel  the  curs  ; a work  of  such  use,  , 
that  I admire  it  so  long  escaped  your  vigilance  ; 
and  exhort  you,  by  the  concern  you  have  for  the 
good  people  of  England,  to  pursue  your  design  ; , 

and,  that  these  vermin  may  not  flatter  themselves 
that  they  pass  undiscovered,  I desire  you  would  I 
acquaint  Jack  Haughty,  that  the  whole  secret  1 
of  his  bubbling  his  friend  with  the  Swiss  at  the 
Thatched-house  is  well  known,  as  also  his  j 
sweetening  the  knight ; and  I shall  acknowledge 
the  favour.  Your  most  humble  servant,  <fcc.’ 


No.  66.]  Saturday,  September  10,  170.9. 
Q,uicquid  asunt  homines 

nosti  i est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  So,  S6. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say.  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  September  9. 

The  subject  of  the  discourse  this  evening  was 
eloquence  and  graceful  action.  Lysander,  wh« 


No.  66.] 


THE  TATLER. 


143 


is  something  particular  in  his  way  of  tliinking 
and  speaking,  told  us,  ‘ a man  could  not  be  elo- 
quent without  action  ; for  the  deportment  of  tiie 
body,  the  turn  of  the  eye,  and  an  apt  sound  to 
every  word  that  is  uttered,  must  all  conspire  to 
make  an  accomplished  speaker.  Action  in  one 
that  speaks  in  public,  is  the  same  thing  as 
a good  mien  in  ordinary  life.  Thus,  as  a 
certain  insensibility  in  the  countenance  recom- 
mends a sentence  of  humour  and  jest,  so  it  must 
be  a very  lively  consciousness  that  gives  grace 
to  great  sentiments.  The  jest  is  to  be  a thing 
unexpected  ; therefore  your  undesigning  man- 
ner is  a beauty  in  expressions  of  mirth  ; but 
when  you  are  to  talk  on  a set  subject,  the  more 
you  are  moved  yourself,  the  more  you  will  move 
others. 

‘ There  is,’  said  he,  ‘ a remarkable  example  of 
that  kind.  iEschines,  a famous  orator  of  anti- 
quity, had  pleaded  at  Athens  in  a great  cause 
against  Demosthenes;  but  having  lost  it,  retired 
to  Rhodes.’  Eloquence  was  then  the  quality 
most  admired  among  men;  and  the  magistrates 
of  that  place,  having  heard  he  had  a copy  of  the 
speech  of  Demosthenes,  desired  him  to  repeat 
both  their  pleadings.  After  his  own,  he  recited 
also  the  oration  of  his  antagonist.  The  people 
expressed  their  admiration  of  both,  but  more  of 
that  of  Demosthenes.  “ If  you  are,”  said  he, 
“thus  touched  with  hearing  only  what  that 
great  orator  said,  how  would  you  have  been  af- 
fected had  you  seen  him  speak  ? For  he  who 
hears  Demosthenes  only,  loses  much  the  better 
part  of  the  oration.”  Certain  it  is  that  they 
who  speak  gracefully  are  very  lamely  represent- 
ed in  iiaving  their  speeches  read  or  repeated  by 
unskilful  people  ; for  there  is  something  native 
to  each  man,  so  inherent  to  his  thoughts  and 
sentiments,  which  it  is  hardly  possible  for  ano- 
ther to  give  a true  idea  of.  You  may  observe 
in  common  talk,  when  a sentence  of  any  man’s 
is  repeated,  an  acquaintance  of  his  shall  imme- 
diately observe,  ‘ that  is  so  like  him,  methinks  I 
see  how  he  looked  when  he  said  it.’ 

But  of  all  the  people  on  the  earth,  there  are 
none  who  puzzle  me  so  much  as  the  clergy  of 
Great  Britain,  w'hoare,  I believe,  the  most  learn- 
ed body  of  men  now  in  the  world  ; and  yet  this 
art  of  speaking,  with  the  proper  ornaments  of 
voice  and  gesture,  is  wholly  neglected  among 
them ; and  I will  engage,  were  a deaf  man  to 
behold  the  greater  part  of  them  preach,  he  would 
rather  think  they  were  readingthe  contents  on- 
ly of  some  discourse  they  intended  to  make,  than 
actually  in  the  body  of  an  oration,  even  when 
they  are  upon  matters  of  such  a nature,  as  one 
would  believe  it  were  impossible  to  think  of 
without  emotion. 

I own  there  are  exceptions  to  this  general  ob- 
servation, and  that  the  dean  we  heard  the  other 
day  together,  is  an  orator.*  He  has  so  much 
regard  to  his  congregation,  that  he  commits  to 
his  memory  what  he  has  to  say  to  them  ; and 
has  so  soft  and  graceful  a behaviour,  that  it 
must  attract  your  attention.  His  person,  it  is 
to  be  confessed,  is  no  small  recommendation ; 
but  he  is  to  be  highly  commended  for  not  losing 
that  advantage,  and  adding  to  the  propriety  of 


Dr.  Atterbury. 


speech,  which  might  pass  the  criticism  of  Lon- 
ginus,  an  action  which  would  have  been  ap- 
proved by  Demosthenes.  He  has  a [)cculiar 
force  in  his  way,  and  has  many  of  his  audience* 
who  could  not  be  intelligent  hearers  of  his  dis- 
course, were  there  not  explanation  as  well  as 
grace  in  his  action.  This  art  of  his  is  used  with 
tlie  most  exact  and  honest  skill:  lie  never  at- 
tempts your  passions  until  he  has  convinced  your 
reason.  All  the  objeeiions  winch  he  can  form, 
are  laid  open  and  dispersed  before  he  uses  the 
least  vehemence  in  his  sermon  ; but  when  he 
thinks  he  has  your  head,  he  very  soon  wins  your 
heart ; and  never  pretends  to  siiow  the  beauty  of 
lioliness,  until  he  hatli  convinced  you  of  the 
truth  of  it. 

Would  every  one  of  our  clergymen  be  thus 
careful  to  recommend  truth  and  virtue  in  their 
proper  figures,  and  show  so  much  concern  for 
them  as  to  give  them  all  the  additional  force 
they  were  able,  it  is  not  possible  that  nonsense 
should  have  so  many  hearers  as  you  find  it  has 
in  dissenting  congregations,  for  no  reason  in  the 
world,  but  because  it  is  spoken  extempore : for 
ordinary  minds  are  wholly  governed  by  their 
eyes  and  ears,  and  there  is  no  way  to  come  at 
their  hearts,  but  by  power  over  their  imagina- 
tions. 

There  is  my  friend  and  merry  companion 
Daniel.f  He  knows  a great  deal  better  than  he 
speaks,  and  can  form  a proper  diseourse  as  well 
as  any  orthodox  neighbour.  But  he  knows  very 
well,  that  to  bawl  out  ‘ My  beloved  !’  and  the 
words  ‘grace!’  ‘ regeneration  !’  ‘ sanctification  !’ 

‘ a new  light !’  ‘ the  day  ! the  day  ! ay,  my  be- 
loved, the  day  ! or  rather  the  night,  the  night  is 
coming!’  and  ‘judgment  will  come  when  we 
least  think  of  it !’  and  so  forth. — He  knows,  to  be 
vehement,  is  the  only  way  to  come  at  his  au- 
dience. Daniel,  when  he  sees  my  friend  Green- 
hat  come  in,  can  give  a good  hint  and  cry  out, 

‘ This  is  only  for  the  saints  ! the  regenerated  !’ 
By  this  force  of  action,  though  mixed  v/ith  all 
the  incoherence  and  ribaldry  imaginable,  Daniel 
can  laugh  at  his  diocesan,  and  grow  fat  by  vo- 
luntary subscription,  while  the  parson  of  the 
parish  goes  to  law  for  half  his  dues.  Daniel  will 
tell  you,  ‘ it  is  not  the  shepherd,  but  the  sheep 
with  the  bell,  which  the  flock  follows.’ 

Another  thing,  very  wonderful  this  learned 
body  should  omit,  is,  learning  to  read  ; which 
is  a most  necessary  part  of  eloquence  in  one 
who  is  to  serve  at  the  altar  : for  there  is  no  man 
but  must  be  sensible,  that  the  lazy  tone,  and  in- 
articulate sound  of  our  common  readers,  depre- 
ciates the  most  proper  form  of  words  that  were 
ever  extant,  in  any  nation  or  language,  to  speak 
our  own  wants,  or  his  power  from  whom  we 
ask  relief. 

There  cannot  be  a greater  instance  of  the 
power  of  action,  than  in  little  parson  Dapper, 
who  is  the  common  relief  to  all  the  lazy  pul- 
pits in  town.  This  smart  youth  has  a very 
good  memory,  a quick  eye,  and  a clean  hand- 
kerchief. Thus  equipped,  he  opens  his  text, 


* At  the  chapel  of  Bridewell  Hospital,  where  he  was 
twenty  years  minister  and  preacher. 

t Dr.  Daniel  Burgess,  who  preached  to  a congregation 
of  independents  at  the  meeting-house  in  a court  adjoin- 
ing to  Carey-street,  near  Lincoln’s  Inn. 


144 


THE  TATLER. 


[Iso.  66. 


shuts  his  book  fairly,  shows  he  has  no  notes  in 
his  bible,  opens  both  palms,  and  shows  all  is  fair 
there  too.  Thus,  with  a decisive  -air,  my  young 
man  goes  on  without  hesitation  ; and  though 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  pretty  dis- 
course, he  has  not  used  one  proper  gesture ; yet, 
at  the  conclusion,  the  church-warden  pulls  his 
gloves  from  off  his  hands  ; ‘ Pray,  who  is  this 
extraordinary  young  man?’  Thus,  the  force  of 
action  is  such,  that  it  is  more  prevalent,  even 
when  improper,  than  all  the  reason  and  argu- 
ment in  the  world  without  it.  This  gentleman 
concluded  his  discourse  by  saying,  ‘ I do  not 
doubt  but  if  our  preachers  would  learn  to  speak, 
and  our  readers  to  read,  within  six  month’s  time, 
we  should  not  have  a dissenter  within  a mile  of 
a church  in  Great  Britain.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  9. 

I have  a letter  from  a young  fellow,  who 
complains  to  me  that  ‘ he  was  bred  a mercer, 
and  is  now  just  out  of  his  time ; but,  unfortu- 
nately (for  he  has  no  manner  of  education  suit- 
able to  his  present  estate)  an  uncle  has  left  him 
one  thousand  pounds  per  annum.’  The  young 
man  is  sensible,  that  he  is  so  spruce,  that  he 
fears  he  shall  never  be  genteel  as  long  as  he 
lives ; but  applies  himself  to  me,  to  know  what 
methods  to  take,  to  help  his  air,  and  be  a fine 
gentleman. 

He  says,  ‘ that  several  of  those  ladies  who 
were  formerly  his  customers,  visit  his  mother 
on  purpose  to  fall  in  his  way,  and  fears  he  shall 
be  obliged  to  marry  against  his  will;  for,’  says 
he,  ‘if  any  of  them  should  ask  me,  I shall  not 
be  able  to  deny  her.  I am,’  says  he  further, 
‘ utterly  at  a loss  how  to  deal  with  them ; for 
though  I was  the  most  pert  creature  in  the 
world  when  I was  foreman,  and  could  hand  a 
woman  of  the  first  quality  to  her  coach  as  well 
as  her  own  gentleman-usher,  I am  now  quite 
out  of  my  way,  and  speechless  in  their  company. 
They  commend  my  modesty  to  my  face.  No 
one  scruples  to  say,  I should  certainly  make 
the  best  husband  in  the  world,  a man  of  my 
sober  education.  Mrs.  Would-be  watches  all 
opportunities  to  be  alone  with  me ; therefore, 
good  Mr.  Bickerstaif,  here  are  my  writings  in- 
closed ; if  you  can  find  any  flaw  in  my  title,  so 
as  it  may  go  to  the  next  heir,  who  goes  to  St. 
James’s  coffee-house,  and  White’s,  and  could 
enjoy  it,  I should  be  extremely  w^ell  pleased 
with  two  thousand  pounds  to  set  up  my  trade, 
and  live  in  a way  I know  I should  become, 
rather  than  be  laughed  at  all  my  life  among  too 
good  company.  If  you  could  send  for  my  cousin, 
and  persuade  him  to  take  the  estate  on  these 
terms,  and  let  nobody  know  it,  you  would  ex- 
tremely oblige  me.’ 

Upon  first  sight,  I thought  this  a very  whim- 
sical proposal ; however,  upon  more  mature  con- 
sideration, I could  not  but  admire  the  young 
gentleman’s  prudence  and  good  sense  ; for  there 
is  nothing  so  irksome  as  living  in  a way  a man 
knows  he  does  not  become.  I consulted  Mr. 
Obadiah  Greenhat*  on  this  occasion,  and  he  is 
so  well  pleased  with  the  man,  that  he  has  half  a 


mind  to  take  the  estate  himself;  but,  upon 
second  thoughts,  he  proposed  this  expedient : ‘ I 
should  be  very  willing,’  said  he, ‘to  keep  the 
estate  where  it  is,  if  we  could  make  the  young 
man  any  way  easy  ; therefore,  I humbly  pro- 
pose, he  should  take  to  drinking  for  one  half- 
year,  and  make  a sloven  of  him,  and  from  thence 
begin  his  education  a-new : for  it  is  a maxim, 
that  one  who  is  ill-taught  is  in  a worse  condition 
than  he  who  is  wholly  ignorant;  therefore  a 
spruce  mercer  is  farther  off  the  air  of  a fine 
gentleman,  than  a downright  clown.  To  make 
our  patient  any  thing  better,  we  must  unmake 
him  what  he  is,’  I indeed  proposed  to  flux  him ; 
but  Greenhat  answered,  ‘ that  if  he  recovered, 
he  would  be  as  prim  and  feat  as  ever  he  was.’ 
Therefore  he  would  have  it  his  way,  and  our 
friend  is  to  drink  until  he  is  carbuncled  and 
tun -bellied  ; after  which,  we  will  send  him  down 
to  smoke  and  be  buried  with  his  ancestors  in 
Derbyshire.  I am,  indeed,  desirous  he  should 
have  his  life  in  the  estate,  because  he  has  such 
a just  sense  of  himself  and  his  abilities,  as  to 
know  that  it  is  an  unhappiness  to  him  to  be  a 
man  of  fortune. 

This  youth  seems  to  understand,  that  a gen- 
tleman’s  life  is  that  of  all  others  the  hardest  to 
pass  through  with  propriety  of  behaviour  ; for 
though  he  has  a support  without  art  or  labour, 
yet  his  manner  of  enjoying  that  circumstance, 
is  a thing  to  be  considered  ; and  you  see,  among 
men  who  are  honoured  with  the  common  appel- 
lation of  gentlemen,  so  many  contradictions  to 
that  character,  that  it  is  the  utmost  ill-fortune 
to  bear  it ; for  which  reason,  I am  obliged  to 
change  the  circumstances  of  several  about  this 
town.  Harry  Lacker  is  so  very  exact  in  his 
dress,  that  I shall  give  his  estate  to  his  younger 
brother,  and  make  him  a dancing-master.  Nokes 
Lightfoot  is  so  nimble,  and  values  himself  so 
much  upon  it,  that  I have  thoughts  of  making 
him  a huntsman  to  a pack  of  beagles,  and  giv- 
ing  his  land  to  somebody  that  will  stay  upon  it. 

Now  I am  upon  the  topic  of  becoming  what 
w’e  enjoy,  I forbid  all  persons  w'ho  are  not  of 
the  first  quality,  or,  wdio  do  not  bear  some  im- 
portant office  that  requires  so  much  distinction,  to 
go  to  Hyde-Park  with  six  horses ; for  I cannot 
but  esteem  it  the  highest  insolence.  Therefore, 
hereafter  no  man  shall  do  it  merely  because  he  is 
able,  without  any  other  pretension.  But,  what 
may  serve  all  purposes  quite  as  well,  it  shall  be 
allowed  all  such  who  think  riches  the  chief  dis- 
tinction, to  appear  in  the  ring  with  two  horses 
only,  and  a rent-roll  hanging  out  of  each  side 
of  their  coach.  This  is  a thought  of  Mr.  Green- 
hat’s,  who  designs  very  soon  to  publish  a sump- 
tuary discourse  upon  the  subject  of  equipage, 
wherein  he  will  give  us  rules  on  that  subject, 
and  assign  the  proper  duties  and  qualifications 
of  masters  and  servants,  as  well  as  that  of  hus- 
bands and  wives ; with  a treatise  of  economy 
without  doors  or  a complete  art  of  appearing  in 
the  world.  This  will  be  very  useful  to  all  who 
are  suddenly  rich,  or  are  ashamed  of  being  poor. 

Sunt  certa  piacula,  quse  te 

Ter  pure  lecto  poterunt  recreare  libello. 

Hor.  i.  Ep.  i.  36. 

And,  like  charm,  to  th’  upright  mind  and  pure, 

If  thrice  read  o’er,  will  yield  a certain  cure. 


* Mr.  Obadiah  Greenhat  means  Addison. 


THE  TATLER. 


145 


No.  67.] 

I have  notice  of  a new  pack  of  dogs,  of  quite 
another  sort  than  hitherto  mentioned.  I have 
not  an  exact  account  of  their  way  of  hunting, 
the  following  letter  giving  only  a bare  notice 
of  them. 

‘ September  7. 

‘ Sir — There  are  another  pack  of  dogs  to  be 
disposed  of,  who  kennel  about  Charing-cross,  at 
the  Old  Fat  Dog’s,  at  the  corner  of  Bucking- 
ham-court,  near  Spring-garden  : two  of  them 
are  said  to  be  whelped  in  Alsatia,^  now  in  ruins; 
but  they,  with  the  rest  of  the  pack,  are  as  per- 
nicious as  if  the  old  kennel  had  never  been  bro- 
ken down.  The  ancients  distinguished  this  sort 
of  curs  by  the  name  of  Heredipetes,  the  most 
pernicious  of  all  biters,  for  seizing  young  heirs, 
especially  when  their  estates  are  entailed ; 
whom  they  reduced  by  one  good  bite  to  such  a 
condition,  that  they  cannot  ever  after  come  to 
the  use  of  their  teeth,  or  get  a smelling  of  a 
crust.  You  are  desired  to  dispose  of  these  as 
soon  as  you  can,  that  the  breed  may  not  in- 
crease ; and  your  care  in  tying  them  up  will  be 
acknowledged,  by,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

PHILANTHROPOS.’ 
St.  James's  Coffee-house,  September  9. 

We  have  received  letters  from  the  duke  of 
Marlborough’s  camp,  which  bring  us  further 
particulars  of  the  great  and  glorious  victory  ob- 
tained over  the  enemy  on  the  eleventh  instant, 
N.  S.  The  number  of  the  wounded  and  pri- 
soners is  much  greater  than  was  expected  from 
our  first  account.  The  day  was  doubtful  until 
after  twelve  of  the  clock ; but  the  enemy  made 
little  resistance  after  their  first  line  on  the  left 
began  to  give  way.  An  exact  narration  of  the 
whole  affair  is  expected  next  post.  The  French 
have  had  twm  days  allowed  them  to  bury  their 
dead,  and  carry  off  their  wounded  men,  upon 
parole.  Those  regiments  of  Great  Britain, 
which  suffered  most,  are  ordered  into  garrison, 
and  fresh  troops  commanded  to  march  into  the 
field.  The  states  have  also  directed  troops  to 
march  out  of  the  towns,  to  relieve  those  who 
lost  so  many  men  in  attacking  the  second  en- 
trenchment of  the  French,  in  the  plain  between 
Sart  and  Jansart. 


No.  67.]  Tuesdaij,  September  13,  1709. 

Q,uicquid  agunt  homines 

noslri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  12. 

No  man  can  conceive,  until  he  come  to  try 
it,  how  great  a pain  it  is  to  be  a public-spirited 
person.  I am  sure  I am  unable  to  express  to 
the  world  how  great  anxiety  I have  suffered, 
to  see  of  how  little  benefit  my  lucubrations 
have  been  to  my  fellow-subjects.  Men  will  go 
on  in  their  own  way,  in  spite  of  all  my  labour. 
I gave  Mr.  Didapper  a private  reprimand  for 


wearing  red-heeled-shoes,  and  at  the  same  time 
was  so  indulgent  as  to  connive  at  him  for  four- 
teen days,  because  I would  give  him  ihe  wear- 
ing of  tliem  out ; but,  after  all  this,  I am  in- 
formed he  appeared  yesterda}^  with  a new  pair 
of  the  same  sort,  I have  no  better  success  with 
Mr.  What-d’ye-call,  as  to  his  buttons  ; Stentor 
still  roars  ; and  box  and  dice  rattle  as  loud  as 
they  did  before  I writ  against  them.  Partridge 
walks  about  at  noon  day,  and  J3sculapius  thinks 
of  adding  a new  lace  to  his  livery.  However, 
I must  still  go  on  in  laying  these  enormities 
before  men’s  eyes,  and  let  them  answer  for  go- 
ing on  in  their  practice. 

My  province  ig  much  larger  than  at  first  sight 
men  would  imagine,  and  I shall  lose  no  part  of 
my  jurisdiction,  winch  extends  not  only  to  futu- 
rity, but  also  is  a retrospect  to  things  past ; and 
the  behaviour  of  persons,  who  have  long  ago 
acted  their  parts,  is  as  much  liable  to  my  exami- 
nation, as  that  of  my  own  contemporaries. 

In  order  to  put  the  whole  race  of  mankind  in 
their  proper  distinctions,  according  to  the  opin- 
ion their  cohabitants  conceived  of  them,  I have, 
with  very  much  care  and  depth  of  meditation, 
thought  fit  to  erect  a cliamber  of  Fame,  and 
established  certain  rules,  which  are  to  be  ob- 
served in  admitting  members  into  this  illustrious 
society. 

In  this  chamber  of  Fame  there  are  to  be  three 
tables  but  of  different  lengths  ; the  first  is  to  con- 
tain exactly  twelve  persons  ; the  second,  twenty  ; 
and  the  third  a hundred.  This  is  reckoned  to 
be  the  full  number  of  those  who  have  any  com- 
petent share  of  fame.  At  the  first  of  these  ta- 
bles are  to  be  placed,  in  their  order,  the  twelve 
most  famous  persons  in  the  world ; not  with  re- 
gard to  the  things  they  are  famous  for,  but  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  of  their  fame,  whether  in 
valour,  wit,  or  learning.  Thus,  if  a scholar  be 
more  famous  than  a soldier,  he  is  to  sit  above 
him.  Neither  must  any  preference  be  given  to 
virtue,  if  the  person  be  not  equally  famous. 

When  the  first  table  is  filled,  the  next  in  re- 
nown  must  be  seated  at  the  second,  and  so  on  in 
like  manner  to  the  number  of  twenty;  as  also  in 
the  same  order  at  the  third,  which  is  to  hold  a 
hundred.  At  tlicse  tables,  no  regard  is  to  be  had 
to  seniority:  for  if  Julius  Csesar  shall  be  judged 
more  famous  than  Romulus  and  Scipio,  he  must 
have  the  precedence.  No  person  who  has  not 
been  dead  a hundred  years  must  be  offejed  to  a 
place  at  any  of  these  tables ; and  because  this  is 
altogether  a lay -society,  and  that  sacred  persons 
move  upon  greater  motives  than  that  of  fame,  no 
persons  celebrated  in  holy  writ,  or  any  ecclesi- 
astical men  whatsoever,  are  to  be  introduced 
here. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  room  is  to  be  a side- 
table  for  persons  of  great  fame,  but  dubious  ex- 
istence; such  as  Hercules,  Theseus,  iEneas, 
Achilles,  Hector,  and  others.  But  because  it  is 
apprehended,  that  there  may  be  great  contention 
about  precedence,  the  proposer  humbly  desires 
the  opinion  of  the  learned,  towards  his  assistance 
in  placing  every  person  according  to  his  rank, 
that  none  may  have  just  occasion  of  offence. 

The  merits  of  the  cause  shall  be  judged  by 
plurality  of  voices. 

For  the  mors  impartial  execution  of  this  im- 


* White  Friars. 

T 


146 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  67 


portant  affair,  it  is  desired  that  no  man  will  offer 
his  favourite  hero,  scholar,  or  poet ; and  that  the 
learned  will  be  pleased  to  send  to  Mr.  Bicker- 
staff,  at  Mr.  Morphew’s  near  Stationer’s-hall, 
their  several  lists  for  the  first  table  only,  and  in 
the  order  they  would  have  them  placed ; after 
which,  the  proposer  will  compare  the  several 
lists,  and  make  another  for  the  public,  wherein 
every  name  shall  be  ranked  according  to  the 
voices  it  has  bad.  Under  this  chamber  is  to  be 
a dark  vault  for  the  same  number  of  persons  of 
evil  fame. 

It  is  humbly  submitted  to  consideration,  whe- 
ther the  project  would  not  be  better  if  the  per- 
sons of  true  fame  meet  in  a middle  room,  those 
of  dubious  existence  in  an  upper  room,  and  those 
of  evil  fame  in  a lower  dark  room. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  that  no  historians  are  to  be 
admitted  at  any  of  these  tables ; because  they 
are  appointed  to  conduct  the  several  persons  to 
their  seats,  and  are  to-be  made  use  of  as  ushers 
to  the  assemblies. 

I call  upon  the  learned  world  to  send  me  their 
assistance  towards  this  design,  it  being  a matter 
of  too  great  moment  for  any  one  person  to  de- 
termine. But  I do  assure  them,  their  lists  shall 
be  examined  with  great  fidelity,  and  those  that 
are  exposed  to  the  public,  made  with  all  the 
caution  imaginable. 

In  the  mean  time,  while  I wait  for  these  lists, 
I am  employed  in  keeping  people  in  a right  way 
to  avoid  the  contrary  to  fame  and  applause ; to 
wit,  blame,  and  derision.  For  this  end,  I work 
upon  that  useful  project  of  the  penny-post,  by 
the  benefit  of  which  it  is  proposed,  that  a chari- 
table society  be  established : from  which  society 
there  shall  go  every  day,  circular  letters  to  all 
parts  within  the  bills  of  mortality,  to  tell  people 
of  their  faults  in  a friendly  and  private  manner, 
whereby  they  may  know  what  the  world  thinks 
of  them,  before  it  is  declared  to  the  world  that 
they  are  thus  faulty.  This  method  cannot  fail 
of  universal  good  consequences  : lor,  it  is  further 
added,  that  they  who  will  not  be  reformed  by  it, 
must  be  contented  to  see  the  several  letters  print- 
ed, which  were  not  regarded  by  them,  that  when 
they  will  not  take  private  reprehension,  they 
may  be  tried  further  by  a public  one.  I am 
very  sorry  I am  obliged  to  print  the  following 
epistles  of  that  kind,  to  some  persons,  and  the 
more  because  they  are  of  the  fair  sex. 

This  went  on  Friday  last  to  a very  fine  lady  : 

‘ Madam, — I am  highly  sensible  that  there  is 
nothing  of  so  tender  a nature  as  the  reputation 
and  conduct  of  ladies  ; and  that  when  there  is 
the  least  stain  got  into  their  fame,  it  is  hardly 
ever  to  be  washed  out.  When  I have  said  this, 
you  will  believe  I am  extremely  concerned  to 
hear,  at  every  visit  I make,  that  your  manner 
of  wearing  your  hair  is  a mere  affectation  of 
beauty,  as  well  as  that  your  neglect  of  powder 
has  been  a common  evil  to  your  sex.  It  is  to 
you  an  advantage  to  show  that  abundance  of  fine 
tresses:  but  I beseech  you  to  consider,  that  the 
force  of  your  beauty,  and  the  imitation  of  you, 
costs  Eleonora  great  sums  of  money  to  her  tire- 
woman for  false  locks,  besides  what  is  allowed 
to  her  maid  for  keeping  the  secret,  that  she  is 
gray.  I must  take  leave  to  add  to  this  admoni- 


tion, that  you  are  not  to  reign  above  four  months 
and  odd  days  longer.  Therefore,  I must  desire 
you  to  raise  and  friz  your  hair  a little,  for  it  is 
downright  insolence  to  be  thus  handsome  with- 
out art;  and  you  will  forgive  me  for  entreating 
you  to  do  now  out  of  compassion,  what  you  must 
soon  do  out  of  necessity. — I am,  madam,  your 
most  obedient,  and  most  humble  servant.’ 

This  person  dresses  just  as  she  did  before  I 
writ ; as  does  also  the  lady  to  whom  I addressed 
the  following  billet  the  same  day  ; 

‘ Madam, — Let  me  beg  of  you  to  take  off  the 
patches  at  the  lower  end  of  your  left  cheek,  and 
I will  allow  two  more  under  your  left  eye,  which 
will  contribute  more  to  the  symmetry  of  your 
face  ; except  you  would  please  to  remove  the  ten 
black  atoms  on  your  ladyship’s  chin  and  wear 
one  large  patch  instead  of  them.  If  so,  you 
may  properly  enough  retain  the  three  patches 
above  mentioned. — I am,  &c.’ 

This,  I thought,  had  all  the  civility  and  rea- 
son in  the  world  in  it ; but  whether  my  letters 
are  intercepted,  or  whatever  it  is,  the  lady  patches 
as  she  used  to  do.  It  is  to  be  observed  by  all 
the  charitable  society,  as  an  instruction  in  their 
epistles,  that  they  tell  people  of  nothing  but  what 
is  in  their  power  to  mend.  I shall  give  another 
instance  of  this  way  of  writing  : two  sisters  in 
Essex-street  are  eternally  gaping  out  of  the  win- 
dow,  as  if  they  knew  not  the  value  of  time,  or 
would  call  in  companions.  Upon  which  I writ 
the  following  line  : 

‘ Dear  Creatures, — On  the  receipt  of  this, 
shut  your  casements.’ 

But  I went  by  yesterday,  and  found  them  still 
at  the  window.  What  can  a man  do  in  this 
case,  but  go  on,  and  wrap  himself  up  in  his  owm 
integrity,  with  satisfaction  only  in  this  melan- 
choly truth,  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward,  and 
that  if  no  one  is  the  better  for  his  admonitions, 
yet  he  is  himself  the  more  virtuous  in  that  he 
gave  those  advices  ? 

St.  Ja7nes's  Coffee-house,  September  12. 

liBtters  of  the  thirteenth  instant  from  the  duke 
of  Marlborough’s  camp  at  Havre,  advise,  that 
the* necessary  dispositions  were  made  for  open- 
ing the  trenches  before  Mens.  The  direction 
of  the  siege  is  to  be  committed  to  the  prince  of 
I Orange,  wdio  designed  to  take  his  post  accord- 
i ingly,  with  thirty  battalions  and  thirty  squad- 
I rons,  on  the  day  following.  On  the  seventeenth 
lieutenant-general  Caclogan*  set  out  for  Brussels, 
to  hasten  the  ammunition  and  artillery  which  is 
to  be  employed  in  this  enterprise  ; and  the  con- 
federate army  w^as  extended  from  the  Haisne  to 
the  Troulle,  in  order  to  cover  the  siege.  The 
I loss  of  the  confederates  in  the  late  battle  is  not 
‘ exactly  known ; but  it  appears,  by  a list  trans- 


* No  officer  was  so  much  relied  upon  by  the  duke  of 
Marlborough  He  had  1 he  care  of  making  out  almost  every 
camp  during  the  war  i:i  the  Netherlands  and  Germany, 
; which  he  executed  so  skillfully,  that  it  is  observed,  the 
duke  was  never  surprised  or  attacked  in  camp,  during 
all  that  war. 


THE  TATLER. 


147 


^o.  68.] 

mitted  to  the  states-general,  that  the  number  of 
the  killed  and  wounded  in  their  service  amounts 
to  above  eight  thousand.  It  is  computed,  that 
the  English  have  lost  fifteen  hundred  men,  and 
the  rest  of  the  allies  above  five  thousand,  includ- 
ing the  wounded.  The  states-general  have  taken 
the  most  speedy  and  effectual  measures  for  rein- 
forcing their  troops ; and  it  is  expected,  that  in 
eight  or  ten  days  the  army  will  be  as  numerous 
as  before  the  battle.  The  affairs  in  Italy  afford 
us  nothing  remarkable ; only  that  it  is  hoped, 
the  difference  between  the  courts  of  Vienna  and 
Turin  will  be  speedily  accommodated.  Letters 
from  Poland  present  us  with  a near  prospect  of 
seeing  king  Augustus  re-established  on  the 
throne,  all  parties  being  very  industrious  to  re- 
concile themselves  to  his  interests. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  September  12. 

Of  all  the  pretty  arts  in  which  our  modern 
writers  excel,  there  is  not  any  which  is  more  to 
be  recommended  to  the  imitation  of  beginners, 
than  the  skill  of  transition  from  one  subject  to 
another.  I know  not  whether  I make  myself 
well  understood;  but  it  is  certain,  that  the  way  of 
stringing  a discourse,  used  in  the  Mercure  Gal- 
lant, the  Gentleman’s  Journal,*  and  other  learn- 
ed writings;  not  to  mention  how  naturally  things 
present  themselves  to  such  as  harangue  in  pul- 
pits, and  other  occasions  which  occur  to  the 
learned,  are  methods  worthy  commendation.  I 
shall  attempt  this  style  myself  in  a few  lines. 
Suppose  I was  discoursing  upon  the  king  of 
Sweden’s  passing  the  Boristhenes.  The  Boris- 
thenes  is  a great  river,  and  puts  me  in  mind  of 
the  Danube  and  the  Rhine.  The  Danube  I can- 
not think  of,  without  reflecting  on  that  unhappy 
prince  who  had  such  fair  territories  on  the  banks 
of  it;  I mean  the  duke  of  Bavaria,  who,  by  our 
last  letters,  is  retired  from  Mons.  Mons  is  as 
strong  a fortification  as  any  which  has  no  cita- 
del : and  places  which  are  not  completely  forti- 
fied are,  methinks,  lessons  to  princes  that  they 
are  not  omnipotent,  but  liable  to  the  strokes  of 
fortune.  But  as  all  princes  are  subject  to  such 
calamities,  it  is  the  part  of  men  of  letters  to 
guard  them  from  the  observations  of  all  small 
writers  ; for  which  reason,  I shall  conclude  my 
present  remarks,  by  publishing  the  following 
advertisement,  to  be  taken  notice  of  by  all  who 
dwell  in  the  suburbs  of  learning. 

‘ Whereas  the  king  of  Sweden  has  been  so 
unfortunate  as  to  receive  a wound  in  his  heel ; 
we  do  hereby  prohibit  all  epigrammatists  in 
either  language  and  both  universities,  as  well  as 
all  other  poets,  of  what  denomination  soever,  to 
make  any  mention  of  Achilles  having  received 
his  death’s  wound  in  the  same  part. 

‘We  do  likewise  forbid  all  comparisons  in 
coffee-houses  between  Alexander  the  Great  and 
the  said  king  of  Sweden,  and  from  making  any 
parallels  between  the  death  of  Patkul  and  Philo- 
tas ; we  being  very  apprehensive  of  the  reflec- 
tions that  several  politicians  have  ready  by  them 
to  produce  on  this  occasion,  and  being  willing, 
as  much  as  in  us  lies,  to  free  the  town  from  all 
impertinences  of  this  nature.’ 


No.  68.]  Thursday,  September  15, 1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sal.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  14. 

The  progress  of  our  endeavours  will  of  neces- 
sity be  very  much  interrupted,  except  the  learn- 
ed world  will  please  to  send  their  lists  to  the 
chamber  of  Fame  with  all  expedition.  There  is 
nothing  can  so  much  contribute  to  create  a noble 
emulation  in  our  youtli,  as  the  honourable  men- 
tion of  such  whose  actions  have  outlived  the  in- 
juries of  time,  and  recommended  themselves  so 
far  to  the  world,  that  it  is  become  learning  to 
know  the  least  circumstance  of  their  affairs.  It 
is  a great  incentive  to  see,  that  some  men  have 
raised  themselves  so  highly  above  their  fellow- 
creatures,  that  the  lives  of  ordinary  men  are 
spent  in  inquiries  after  the  particular  actions  of 
the  most  illustrious.  True  it  is,  that  without 
this  impulse  to  fame  and  reputation,  our  indus- 
try would  stagnate,  and  that  lively  desire  of 
pleasing  each  other,  die  away.  This  opinion 
was  so  established  in  the  heathen  world,  that 
their  sense  of  living  appeared  insipid,  except 
their  being  was  enlivened  with  a consciousness 
that  they  were  esteemed  by  the  rest  of  the  world. 

Upon  examining  the  proportion  of  men’s  fame 
for  my  table  of  twelve,  I thought  it  no  ill  way 
(since  I had  laid  it  down  for  a rule,  that  they 
were  to  be  ranked  simply  as  they  were  famous, 
without  regard  to  their  virtue,)  to  ask  my  sister 
Jenny’s  adviee  ; and  particularly  mentioned  to 
her  the  name  of  Aristotle.  She  immediately 
told  me,  he  was  a very  great  scholar,  and  that 
she  had  read  him  at  the  boarding-school.  She 
certainly  means  a trifle,  sold  by  the  hawkers 
called  ‘ Aristotle’s  Problems.’  But  this  raised  a 
great  scruple  in  me,  whether  a fame  increased 
by  imposition  of  others  is  to  be  added  to  his  ac- 
count, or  that  these  excrescences,  which  grow 
out  of  his  real  reputation,  and  give  encourage- 
ment to  others  to  pass  things  under  the  covert 
of  his  name,  should  be  considered  in  giving  him 
his  seat  in  the  chamber  ? This  punctilio  is  re- 
ferred to  the  learned.  In  the  meantime,  so  ill- 
natured  are  mankind,  that  I believe  I have 
names  already  sent  me  sufficient  to  fill  up  my 
lists  for  the  dark  room,  and  every  one  is  apt 
enough  to  send  in  their  accounts  of  ill-deservers. 
This  malevolence  does  not  proceed  from  a real 
dislike  of  virtue,  but  a diabolical  prejudice 
against  it,  which  makes  men  willing  to  destroy 
what  they  care  not  to  imitate.  Thus  you  see 
the  greatest  characters  among  your  acquaint- 
ance, and  those  you  live  with,  are  traduced  by 
all  below  them  in  virtue,  who  never  mention 
them  but  with  an  exception.  However,  I believe 
I shall  not  give  the  world  much  trouble  about 
filling  my  tables  for  those  of  evil  fame ; for  I 
have  some  thoughts  of  clapping  up  the  sharpers 
there,  as  fast  as  I can  lay  hold  of  them. 

At  present,  I am  employed  in  looking  over  the 
several  notices  which  I have  received  of  their 
manner  of  dexterity,  and  the  way  at  dice  of 
making  all  rugfr,  as  the  cant  is.  The  whole  art 
of  securing  a.  die  has  lately  been  sent  me,  by  a 


* Published  about  the  beginning  of  the  last  centnrv, 
in  4to. 


148 


THE  TATLER. 


person  who  was  of  the  fraternity,  but  is  disabled 
by  the  loss  of  a finger ; by  which  means  he  can- 
not practise  that  trick  as  he  used  to  do.  But  I 
am  very  much  at  a loss  how  to  call  some  of  the 
fair  sex,  who  are  accomplices  with  the  Knights 
of  Industry ; for  my  metaphorical  dogs  are  easily 
enough  understood : but  the  feminine  gender  of 
dogs  has  so  harsh  a sound,  that  we  know  not 
how  to  name  it.  But  I am  credibly  informed, 
that  there  are  female  dogs  as  voracious  as  the 
males,  and  make  advances  to  young  fellows, 
without  any  other  design  but  coming  to  a fami- 
liarity with  tlieir  purses.  I have  also  long  lists 
of  persons  of  condition,  who  are  certainly  of  the 
same  regimen  with  these  banditti,  and  instru- 
mental to  their  cheats  upon  undiscerning  men 
of  their  own  rank.  These  add  their  good  re- 
putation to  carry  on  the  impostures  of  others, 
whose  very  names  would  else  be  defence  enough 
against  falling  into  their  hands.  But,  for  the 
honour  of  our  nation,  these  shall  be  unmention- 
ed ; provided  we  hear  no  more  of  such  practices, 
and  that  they  shall  not  from  henceforward  suffer  ! 
the  society  of  such  as  they  know  to  be  the  com- 
mon enemies  of  order,  discipline  and  virtue.  If 
it  appear  that  they  go  on  in  encouraging  them, 
they  must  be  proceeded  against  according  to  the 
severest  rules  of  history,  where  all  is  to  be  laid 
before  the  world  with  impartiality,  and  without 
respect  to  persons, 

‘ So  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep.’ 

Will's  Coffee-house,  September  14. 

I find  left  here  for  me  the  following  epistle : 

‘Sir, — Having  lately  read  your  discourse 
about  the  family  of  Trubies,*  wherein  you  ob- 
served, that  there  are  some  who  fall  into  laugh- 
ter  out  of  a certain  benevolence  in  their  temper, 
and  not  out  of  the  ordinary  motive,  viz.  contempt, 
and  triumph  over  the  imperfections  of  others  ; 

I have  conceived  a good  idea  of  your  knowledge 
of  mankind.  And,  as  you  have  a tragi-comic 
genius,  I beg  the  favour  of  you  to  give  us  your 
thoughts  of  a quite  different  effect,  which  also 
is  caused  by  other  motives  than  what  are  com- 
monly taken  notice  of.  What  I would  have  you 
treat  of,  is  the  cause  of  shedding  tears.  I desire 
you  would  discuss  it  a little,  with  observations 
upon  the  various  occasions  which  provoke  us  to 
that  expression  of  our  concern,  &c. 

To  obey  this  complaisant  gentleman,  I know 
no  way  so  short  as  examining  the  various  touches 
of  my  own  bosom,  on  several  occurrences  in  a 
long  life,  to  the  evening  of  which  I am  arrived, 
after  as  many  various  incidents  as  any  body  has 
met  with,  I have  often  reflected,  that  there  is 
a great  similitude  in  the  motions  of  the  heart  in 
mirth  and  in  sorrow ; and  I think  the  usual  oc- 
casion of  the  latter,  as  well  as  the  former,  is 
something  which  is  sudden  and  unexpected. 
The  mind  has  not  a sufficient  time  to  recollect 
its  force,  and  immediately  gushes  into  tears  be- 
fore we  can  utter  ourselves  by  speech  or  com- 
plaint. The  most  notorious  causes  of  these 
drops  from  our  eyes  are  pity,  sorrow,  joy,  and  1 
reconciliation. 


* Tatler,  No.  63. 


1 

[No.  68.  I 

The  fair  sex,  who  are  made  of  man  and  not 
of  earth,  have  a more  delicate  humanity  than  we 
have  ; and  pity  is  the  most  common  cause  of 
their  tears  : for  as  we  are  inwardly  composed  of 
an  aptitude  to  every  circumstance  of  life,  and 
every  thing  that  befalls  any  one  person  might 
have  happened  to  any  other  of  the  human  race ; 
self-love,  and  a sense  of  the  pain  we  ourselves 
should  suffer  in  the  circumstances  of  any  whom 
we  pity,  is  the  cause  of  that  compassion.  Such 
a reflection  in  the  breast  of  a woman,  imme- 
diately inclines  her  to  tears ; but  in  a man,  it 
makes  him  think  how  such  a one  ought  to  act 
on  that  occasion  suitably  to  the  dignity  of  his 
nature.  Thus  a woman  is  ever  moved  for  those 
whom  she  hears  lament,  and  a man  for  those 
whom  he  observes  to  suffer  in  silence.  It  is  a ; 
man’s  own  behaviour  in  the  circumstances  he  is 
under,  which  procures  him  the  esteem  of  others, 
and  not  merely  the  affliction  itself  which  de- 
mands our  pity  ; for  we  never  give  a man  that  i 
passion  which  he  falls  into  for  himself.  He  that 
! commends  himself  never  purchases  our  ap- 
plause ; nor  he  who  bewails  himself,  our  pity. 

Going  through  an  alley  the  other  day,  I ob- 
served a noisy  impudent  beggar  bawl  out,  ‘ that  1 

he  was  wounded  in  a merchant-man  ; that  he  I 

had  lost  his  poor  limbs  ; and  showed  a leg  clout-  * 

ed  up.  All  that  passed  by  made  what  haste  they  < 

could  out  of  his  sight  and  hearing;  but  a poor  i 

fellow  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  with  a rusty  y 

coat,  a melancholy  air,  and  soft  voice,  desired  i 

them  ‘ to  look  upon  a man  not  used  to  beg.’  • 

The  latter  received  the  charity  of  almost  every  j 

one  that  went  by.  The  strings  of  the  heart, 
which  are  to  be  touched  to  give  us  compassion, 
are  not  so  played  on  but  by  the  finest  hand.  We 
see  in  tragical  representations,  it  is  not  the 
pomp  of  language,  nor  the  magnificence  of 
dress,  in  which  the  passion  is  wrought,  that 
touches  sensible  spirits  ; but  something  of  a x 

plain  and  simple  nature,  which  breaks  in  upon  ‘ 

our  souls  by  that  sympathy  which  is  given  us  i 

for  our  mutual  good-will  and  service.  i 

In  the  tragedy  of  ‘ Macbeth,’  where  Wilks 
acts  the  part  of  a man  whose  family  has  been 
murdered  in  his  absence,  the  wildness  of  his 
passion,  which  is  run  over  in  a torrent  of  cala- 
mitous circumstances,  does  but  raise  my  spirits, 
and  give  me  the  alarm : but  when  he  skilfully 
seems  to  be  out  of  breath,  and  is  brought  too 
low  to  say  more  ; and  upon  a second  reflection 
cries  only,  wiping  his  eyes,  ‘ What,  both  chil- 
dren ! Both,  both  my  children  gone  !’  there  is  | 
no  resisting  a sorrow  which  seems  to  have  cast  | 
about  for  all  the  reasons  possible  for  its  consola-  ‘ 

tion,  but  has  no  resource.  ‘ There  is  not  one  y 

left  ; but  both,  both  are  murdered  1’  such  sudden  i 

starts  from  the  thread  of  the  discourse,  and  a j 

plain  sentiment  expressed  in  an  artless  way,  are  ) 

the  irresistible  strokes  of  eloquence  and  poetry.  t 

The  same  great  master,  Shakspeare,  can  afford  | 

us  instances  of  all  the  places  where  our  souls  are  i 

accessible  ; and  ever  commands  our  tears.  But  i 

it  is  to  be  observed,  that  he  draws  them  from  ) 

some  unexpected  source,  which  seems  not  wholly 
I of  a piece  with  the  discourse.  Thus,  when  t 

Brutus  and  Cassius  had  a debate  in  the  tragedy  ’ 

! of  ‘ Csesar,’  and  rose  to  warm  language  against  | 

: each  other,  insomuch  that  it  had  almost  come  to  t 


i 


THE  TATLER. 


149 


' No.  69.] 

I something  that  might  be  fatal,  until  they  recol- 
p lected  themselves;  Brutus  does  more  than  make 
an  apology  for  the  heat  he  had  been  in,  by  say- 
ing, ‘ Portia  is  dead.’  Here  Cassius  is  all  ten- 
derness, and  ready  to  dissolve,  when  he  consi- 
ders that  the  mind  of  his  friend  had  been  em- 
ployed on  the  greatest  affliction  imaginable, 
when  he  had  been  adding  to  it  by  a debate  on 
trifles  ; which  makes  him,  in  the  anguish  of  his 
heart,  cry  out,  ‘ How  scaped  I killing,  when  I 
thus  provoked  you  V This  is  an  incident  which, 
moves  the  soul  in  all  its  sentiments  ; and  Cas- 
sius’s heart  was  at  once  touched  with  all  the 
soft  pangs  of  pity,  remorse,  and  reconciliation. 
It  is  said,  indeed,  by  Horace,  ‘ If  you  would  have 
I me  weep,  you  must  first  weep  yourself.’  This 

• is  not  literally  true  ; for  it  would  have  been  as 
rightly  said,  if  we  observe  nature.  That  I shall 
certainly  weep,  if  you  do  not : but  what  is  in- 
tended by  that  expression  is,  that  it  is  not  pos- 
sible to  give  passion,  except  you  show  that  you 
suffer  yourself.  Therefore,  the  true  art  seems 
to  be,  that  when  you  would  have  the  person  you 
represent  pitied,  you  must  show  him  at  once  in 
the  highest  grief,  and  struggling  to  bear  it  with 
decency  and  patience.  In  this  case,  we  sigh  for 
him,  and  give  him  every  groan  he  suppresses. 

I remember,  when  I was  young  enough  to 
follow  the  sports  of  the  field,  I have  more  than 
once  rode  off  at  the  death  of  a deer,  when  I 
have  seen  the  animal,  in  an  affliction  which  ap- 
peared human,  without  the  least  noise,  let  fall 
tears  when  he  was  reduced  to  extremity  ; and 
I have  thought  of  the  sorrow  I saw  him  in, 
when  his  haunch  came  to  the  table.  But  our 
I tears  are  not  given  only  to  objects  of  pity,  but 
the  mind  has  recourse  to  that  relief  in  all  oc- 
1 casions  which  give  us  great  emotion.  Thus, 
to  be  apt  to  shed  tears  is  a sign  of  a great  as 
well  as  little  spirit.  I have  heard  say,  the  pre- 
sent pope*  never  passes  through  the  people,  who 
always  kneel  in  crowds,  and  ask  his  benedic- 
tion, but  the  tears  are  seen  to  flow  from  his 
eyes.  This  must  proceed  from  an  imagination 
that  he  is  the  father  of  all  those  people  ; and 
that  he  is  touched  with  so  extensive  a benevo- 
lence, that  it  breaks  out  into  a passion  of  tears. 

1 You  see  friends,  who  have  been  long  absent, 
transported  in  the  same  manner  : a thousand 
little  images  crowd  upon  them  at  their  meet- 
ing, as  all  the  joys  and  griefs  they  have  known 
' during  their  separation  ; and,  in  one  hurry  of 
1 thought,  they  conceive  how  they  should  have 
i participated  in  those  occasions ; and  weep,  be- 
i cause  their  minds  are  too  full  to  wait  the  slow 
I expression  of  words. 

His  lacrymis  vitam  damus,  et  miserescimus  ultro. 

Virff.  iEn.  ii.  145. 

With  tears  the  wretch  confirmed  his  tale  of  woe  ; 

And  soft-ey’d  pity  pleaded  for  the  foe.  R.  Wynne. 

There  is  lately  broke  loose  from  the  London 
pack,  a very  tall  dangerous  biter.  He  is  now 
. at  the  Bath,  and  it  is  feared  will  make  a dam- 

t nable  havoc  amongst  the  game.  His  manner 

• of  biting  is  new,  and  he  is  called  the  Top.  He 
I secures  one  die  betwixt  his  two  fingers : the 
I other  is  fixed,  by  the  help  of  a famous  wax, 

I * Pope  Clement  XI. 


invented  by  an  apothecary,  since  a gamester : 
a little  of  which  he  puts  upon  his  fore-finger, 
and  that  holds  the  die  in  the  box  at  his  devo- 
tion. Great  sums  have  been  lately  won  by 
these  ways  ; but  it  is  hoped,  that  this  hint  of 
his  manner  of  cheating  will  open  the  eyes  of 
many  who  are  every  day  imposed  upon. 

There  is  now  in  the  press,  and  will  be  sud- 
denly published,  a book  entitled,  ‘An  Appen- 
dix to  the  Contempt  of  the  Clergy  ;’*  wherein 
will  be  set  forth  at  large,  that  all  our  dissen- 
sions are  owing  to  the  laziness  of  persons  in  the 
sacred  ministry,  and  that  none  of  the  present 
schisms  could  have  crept  into  the  flock,  but  by 
the  negligence  of  the  pastors.  There  is  a di- 
gression in  this  treatise,  proving,  that  the  pre- 
tences made  by  the  priesthood,  from  time  to 
time,  that  the  church  was  in  danger,  is  only  a 
trick  to  make  the  laity  passionate  for  that  of 
which  they  themselves  have  been  negligent. 
The  whole  concludes  with  an  exhortation  to 
the  clergy,  to  the  study  of  eloquence,  and  prac- 
tice of  piety,  as  the  only  method  to  support  the 
highest  of  all  honours,  that  of  a priest  who  lives 
and  acts  according  to  his  character. 


No.  69.]  Saturday.,  September  17,  1709. 

Q.uid  oportet 

Nos  facere,  a vulgo  longe  lateque  remotos? 

Hor.  1 Sat.  v.  i.  17. 

But  how  shall  we,  who  differ  far  and  wide. 

From  the  mere  vulgar,  this  great  point  decide. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment.,  September  16. 

It  is,  as  far  as  it  relates  to  our  present  being, 
the  great  end  of  education  to  raise  ourselves 
above  the  vulgar ; but  what  is  intended  by  the 
vulgar,  is  not,  methinks,  enough  understood. 
In  me,  indeed,  that  word  raises  a quite  different 
idea  from  what  it  usually  does  in  others;  but 
perhaps  that  proceeds  from  my  being  old,  and 
beginning  to  want  the  relish  of  such  satisfac- 
tions as  are  the  ordinary  entertainment  of  men. 
However,  such  as  my  opinion  is  in  this  case,  I 
will  speak  it;  bucause  it  is  possible  that  turn  of 
thought  may  be  received  by  others,  who  may 
reap  as  much  satisfaction  from  it  as  I do  myself. 

It  is  to  me  a very  great  meanness,  and  some- 
thing much  below  a philosopher,  which  is  what 
I mean  by  a gentleman,  to  rank  a man  among 
the  vulgar  for  the  condition  of  life  he  is  in,  and 
not  according  to  his  behaviour,  his  thoughts, 
and  sentiments,  in  that  condition.  For  if  a 
man  be  loaded  with  riches  and  honours,  and  in 
that  state  of  life  has  thoughts  and  inclinations 
below  the  meanest  artificer;  is  not  such  an  ar- 
tificer, who,  within  his  power,  is  good  to  his 
friends,  moderate  in  his  demands  for  his  labour, 
and  cheerful  in  his  occupation,  very  much 
superior  to  him  who  lives  for  no  other  end  but 
to  serve  himself,  and  assumes  a preference  in 
all  his  words  and  actions  to  those  who  act  their 
part  with  much  more  grace  than  himself? 


* A celebrated  book,  written  by  Dr.  John  Eachard, 
and  published  in  1015. 


150 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  69. 


Epictetus  has  made  use  of  the  similitude  of  a 
stage-play  to  human  life  with  much  spirit.  ‘ It 
is  not,’  says  he,  ‘ to  be  considered  arnong^  the 
actors,  who  is  prince,  or  who  is  beggar,  but  who 
acts  prince  or  beggar  best.’  The  circumstance 
of  life  should  not  be  that  which  gives  us  place, 
but  our  behaviour  in  that  circumstance  is  what 
should  be  our  solid  distinction.  Thus  a wise 
man  should  think  no  man  above  him  or  below 
him,  any  further  than  it  regards  the  outward 
order  or  discipline  of  the  world : for,  if  we  con- 
ceive too  great  an  idea  of  the  eminence  of  our 
superiors,  or  subordination  of  our  inferiors,  it 
Mjill  have  an  ill  effect  upon  our  behaviour  to 
both.  He  who  thinks  no  man  above  him  but 
for  his  virtue,  none  below  him  but  for  his  vice, 
can  never  be  obsequious  or  assuming  in  a wrong 
place ; but  will  frequently  emulate  men  in  rank 
below  him,  and  pity  those  above  him. 

This  sense  of  mankind  is  so  far  from  a le- 
velling principle,  that  it  only  sets  us  upon  a 
true  basis  of  distinction,  and  doubles  the  merit 
of  such  as  becotne  their  condition.  A man  in 
power,  who  can,  without  the  ordinary  prepos- 
sessions which  stop  the  way  to  tlie  true  know- 
ledge and  service  of  mankind,  overlook  the  little 
distinctions  of  fortune,  raise  obscure  merit,  and 
discountenance  successful  indesert,  has,  in  the 
minds  of  knowing  men,  the  figure  of  an  angel 
rather  than  a man ; and  is  al)ove  the  rest  of 
men  in  the  highest  character  he  can  be,  even 
that  of  their  benefactor. 

^ Turning  my  thouglits,  as  I was  taking  my 
pipe  this  evening,  after  this  manner,  it  was  no 
small  delight  to  me  to  receive  advice  from  Fe- 
licia, that  Eboracensis’'^  was  appointed  a go- 
vernor of  one  of  their  plantations.  As  I am  a 
great  lover  of  mankind,  I took  part  in  the  hap- 
piness of  that  people  who  were  to  be  governed 
by  one  of  so  great  humanity,  justice,  and  ho- 
nour. Eboracensis  has  read  all  the  schemes 
which  writers  have  formed  of  government  and 
■order,  and  has  been  long  conversant  with  men 
who  have  the  reins  in  their  hands  ; so  that  he 
can  very  well  distinguish  between  chimerical 
and  practical  politics.  It  is  a great  blessing, 
when  men  have  to  deal  with  such  different 
characters  in  the  same  species  as  those  of  free- 
men and  slaves,  that  they  who  command  have  a 
just  sense  of  human  nature  itself,  by  which  they 
can  temper  the  haughtiness  of  the  master,  and 
soften  the  servitude  of  the  slave — ‘ Hjb  tibi 
erunt  artes.’  This  is  the  notion  with  which 
those  of  the  plantation  receive  Eboracensis : 
arid  as  I have  cast  his  nativity,  I find  there 
will  be  a record  made  of  this  person’s  adminis- 
tration ; and  on  that  part  of  the  shore  from 
whence  he  embarks  to  return  from  liis  govern- 
ment, there  will  be  a monument,  with  these 
words  : ‘ Here  the  people  wept,  and  took  leave 
of  Eboracensis,  the  first  governor  our  mother 
Felicia  sent,  who,  during  his  command  here,  be- 
lieved himself  her  subject.’ 

Will's  Chucolate-house,  Septemher  16. 

The  following  letter  wants  such  sudden  de- 
spatch, that  all  things  else  must  wait  for  this 
time : 


Sept.  13,  equal  day  and  night. 

‘ Sir, — There  are  two  ladies,  who,  having  a 
good  opinion  of  your  taste  and  judgment,  desire 
you  to  make  use  of  them  in  the  following  par- 
ticular, which  perhaps  you  may  allow  very  ex- 
traordinary. The  two  ladies  before-mentioned 
have,  a considerable  time  since,  contracted  a 
more  sincere  and  constant  friendship  than  their 
adversaries,  the  men,  will  allow  consistent  with 
the  frailty  of  female  nature  ; and  being,  from  a 
long  acquaintance,  convinced  of  the  perfect 
agreement  of  their  tempers,  have  thought  upon 
an  expedient  to  prevent  their  separation,  and 
cannot  think  any  so  effectual  (since  it  is  com- 
mon  for  love  to  destroy  friendship)  as  to  give 
up  both  their  liberties  to  the  same  person  in 
marriage.  The  gentleman  they  have  pitched 
upon  is  neither  well  bred  nor  agreeable,  his  un- 
derstanding moderate,  and  his  person  never 
designed  to  charm  women  ; but  having  so  much 
self-interest  in  his  nature,  as  to  be  satisfied  with 
making  double  contracts,  upon  condition  of  re- 
receiving double  fortunes ; and  most  men  being 
so  far  sensible  of  the  uneasiness  that  one  woman 
occasions  ; they  think  him,  for  these  reasons, 
tile  most  likely  person  of  their  acquaintance  to 
receive  these  proposals.  Upon  all  other  ac- 
counts, he  is  the  last  man  either  of  them  would 
choose,  yet  for  this,  preferable  to  all  the  rest. 
They  desire  to  know  your  opinion  the  next  post, 
resolving  to  defer  farther  proceeding,  until  they 
have  received  it. — I am.  Sir,  your  unknown, 
unthought  of,  humble  servant, 

‘BRIDGET  EITHERSIDE.’ 

This  is  very  extraordinary;  and  much  might 
be  objected  by  me,  who  am  something  of  a 
civilian,  to  the  case  of  two  marrying  the  same 
man : but  these  ladies  are,  I perceive,  free- 
thinkers ; and  therefore  I shall  speak  only  to 
the  prudential  part  of  this  design,  merely  as 
a philosopher,  without  entering  into  the  merit 
of  it  in  the  ecclesiastical  or  civil  law.  These 
constant  friends,  Piladea  and  Orestea,  are  at 
a loss  to  preserve  their  friendship  from  the  en- 
croachments of  love : for  which  end  they  have 
resolved  upon  a fellow  who  cannot  be  the  ob- 
ject of  affection  or  esteem  to  either,  and  con- 
sequently cannot  rob  one  of  the  place  each  has 
in  her  friend’s  heart.  But  in  all  my  reading 
(and  I have  read  all  that  the  sages  of  love  have 
writ)  I have  found  the  greatest  danger  in  jea- 
lousy. The  ladies,  indeed,  to  avoid  tiiis  passion, 
choose  a sad  fellow ; but  if  they  would  be  ad- 
vised by  me,  they  had  better  have  each  her 
worthless  man ; otherwise,  he  that  was  despi- 
cable, while  he  was  indiflferent  to  them,  will 
become  valuable  when  he  seems  to  prefer  one 
to  the  other. 

I remember  in  the  history  of  Don  Qui.xote  of 
la  Mancha,  there  is  a memorable  passage,  which 
opens  to  us  the  weakness  of  our  nature  in  such 
particulars.  The  Don  falls  into  discourse  with 
a gentleman,  whom  he  calls  ‘ the  Knight  of  the 
Green  Cassock,’  and  is  invited  to  his  house. 
When  he  comes  there,  he  runs  into  discourse 
and  panegyric  upon  the  economy,  the  govern- 
ment, and  order  of  his  family,  the  education  of 
his  children,  and,  lastly,  on  the  singular  wisdom 
of  him  who  disposed  things  with  that  exactness. 


* Dr.  Sharp,  archbishop  of  Vork. 


THE  TATLER. 


151 


No.  70.] 

The  gentleman  makes  a soliloquy  to  himself:  ‘ O 
irresistible  power  of  flattery ! Though  I know 
this  is  a madman,  I cannot  help  being  taken 
with  his  applause.’  The  ladies  will  find  this 
much  more  true  in  the  case  of  their  lover ; and 
the  woman  he  most  likes  will  certainly  be  more 
pleased,  she  whom  he  slights  more  offended, 
than  she  can  imagine  before  she  was  tried. 
Now,  I humbly  propose,  that  they  both  marry 
coxcombs  whom  they  are  sure  they  cannot  like, 
and  then  they  may  be  pretty  secure  against  the 
change  of  affection,  which  they  fear  ; and,  by 
that  means,  preserving  the  temperature  under 
which  they  now  write,  enjoy,  during  life,  ‘ Equal 
day  and  night.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house^  September  16. 

There  is  no  manner  of  news ; but  people 
now  spend  their  time  in  coffee-houses  in  reflec- 
tions upon  the  particulars  of  the  late  glorious 
day,  and  collecting  the  several  parts  of  the  ac- 
tion, as  they  are  produced  in  letters  from  private 
hands,  or  notices  given  to  us  by  aecounts  in 
public  papers.  A pleasant  gentleman,  alluding 
to  the  great  fences  through  which  we  pierced, 
said  this  evening,  ‘ the  French  thought  them- 
selves on  the  right  side  of  the  hedge,  but  it  prov- 
ed otherwise.’  Mr.  Kidney,*  who  has  long 
conversed  with,  and  filled  tea  for,  the  most  con- 
summate politicians,  was  pleased  to  give  me  an 
account  of  this  piece  of  ribaldry  ; and  desired  me, 
on  that  occasion,  to  write  a whole  paper  on  the 
subject  of  valour,  and  explain  how  that  quality, 
which  must  be  possessed  by  whole  armies,  is  so 
highly  preferable  in  one  man  rather  than  ano- 
ther ; and  how  the  same  actions  are  but  mere 
acts  of  duty  in  some,  and  instances  of  the  most 
heroic  virtue  in  others.  He  advises  me  not  to 
fail,  in  this  discourse,  to  mention  the  gallantry 
of  the  prince  of  Nassau  in  this  last  engagement; 
wlio,  when  a battalion  made  a halt  in  the  face 
of  the  enemy,  snatched  the  colours  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  ensign,  and  planted  them  just  be- 
fore the  line  of  the  enemy,  calling  to  that  batta- 
lion to  take  care  of  their  colours  if  they  had  no 
regard  to  him.  Mr.  Kidney  has  my  promise  to 
obey  him  in  this  particular,  on  the  first  occasion 
that  offers. 

Mr.  Bickerstaff  is  now  compiling  exact  ac- 
counts of  the  pay  of  the  militia,  and  the  com- 
mission-officers under  the  respective  lieutenan- 
cies of  Great  Britain ; in  the  first  place,  of  those 
of  London  and  Westminster  ; and  in  regard  that 
there  are  no  common  soldiers,  but  all  house- 
keepers, or  representatives  of  house-keepers,  in 
these  bodies,  the  sums  raised  by  the  offieers  shall 
be  looked  into ; and  their  fellow-soldiers,  or  ra- 
ther fellow  travellers  from  one  part  of  the  town 
to  the  other,  not  defrauded  of  the  ten  pounds 
allowed  for  the  subsistenee  of  the  troops. 

Whereas,  not  very  long  since,  at  a tavern  be- 
tween Fleet-bridge  and  Charing-cross,  some  cer- 
tain polite  gentlemen  thought  fit  to  perform  the 
bacchanalian  exercises  of  devotion,  by  dancing 
without  clothes  on,  after  the  manner  of  the  Prae- 
Adamites  ; this  is  to  certify  those  persons,  that 


* A waiter  at  the  St.  James’s  Coffee-house. 


there  is  no  manner  of  wit  or  humour  in  the  said 
practice ; and  that  the  beadles  of  the  parish  are 
to  be  at  their  next  meeting,  where  it  is  to  be  ex- 
amined, whether  they  are  arrived  at  want  of 
feeling,  as  well  as  want  of  shame  ? 

Whereas  a chapel  clerk  was  lately  taken  in  a 
garret  on  a flock-bed,  with  two  of  the  fair  sex, 
who  are  usually  employed  in  sifting  cinders : 
this  is  to  let  him  know,  that  if  he  persists  in  be- 
ing a scandal  both  to  laity  and  clergy,  as  being, 
as  it  were,  both  and  neither,  the  names  of  the 
nymphs  who  were  with  him  shall  be  printed ; 
therefore,  he  is  desired,  as  he  tenders  the  repu- 
tation of  his  ladies,  to  repent. 

?vlr.  Bickerstaff  has  received  information,  that 
an  eminent  and  noble  preacher  in  the  chief  con- 
gregation of  Great  Britain,  for  fear  of  being 
thought  guilty  of  presbyterian  fervency  and  ex- 
temporary prayer,  lately  read  his,  before  ser- 
mon ; but  the  same  advices  acknowledging  that 
he  made  the  congregation  large  amends  by  the 
shortness  of  his  discourse,  it  is  thought  fit  to 
make  no  further  observation  upon  it. 


No.  70.]  Tuesday.,  September  20,  1709. 

Q.uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill — 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  19. 

The  following  letter,  in  prosecution  of  what  I 
have  lately  asserted,  has  urged  that  matter  so 
much  better  than  I had,  that  I insert  it  as  I re- 
ceived it.  These  testimonials  are  customary  with 
us  learned  men,  and  sometimes  are  suspected  to 
be  written  by  the  author ; but  I fear  no  one  will 
suspect  me  of  this. 

London,  Sept.  15, 1709. 

‘ Sir, — Having  read  your  lucubrations  of  the 
tenth  instant,  I cannot  but  entirely  agree  with 
you  in  your  notion  of  the  scarcity  of  men  who 
can  either  read  or  speak.  For  my  part,  I have 
lived  these  thirty  years  in  the  world,  and  yet 
have  observed  but  very  few  who  could  do  either 
in  any  tolerable  manner  ; among  which  few,  you 
must  understand  that  I reckon  myself.  How  far 
eloquence,  set  off  with  the  proper  ornaments  of 
voice  and  gesture,  will  prevail  over  the  passions, 
and  how  cold  and  unaffecting  the  best  oration 
in  the  world  w’ould  be  without  them,  there  are 
two  remarkable  instances  in  the  case  of  Liga- 
rius,  and  that  of  Milo.  Ciesar  had  condemned 
Ligarius.  He  came  indeed  to  hear  what  might 
be  said  ; but,  thinking  himself  his  own  master, 
resolved  not  to  be  biassed  by  any  thing  Cicero 
could  say  in  his  behalf:  but  in  this  he  was  mis- 
taken ; for  when  the  orator  began  to  speak,  the 
hero  is  moved,  he  is  vanquished,  and  at  length 
the  criminal  absolved.  It  must  be  observed,  that 
this  famous  orator  was  less  renowned  for  his 
courage  than  his  eloquence  ; for  though  he  came, 
at  another  time,  prepared  to  defend  Milo  with 
one  of  the  best  orations  that  antiquity  has  pro- 
duced ; yet,  being  seized  with  a sudden  fear,  by 


152 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  70. 


seeing  some  armed  men  surround  the  Forum,  he 
faltered  in  his  speech,  and  became  unable  to  ex- 
ert that  irresistible  force  and  beauty  of  action 
which  would  have  saved  his  client,  and  for  want 
of  which  he  was  condemned  to  banishment.  As 
the  success  the  former  of  these  orations  met  with 
appears  chiefly  owing  to  the  life  and  graceful 
manner  with  which  it  was  recited  (for  some 
there  are  who  think  it  may  be  read  without 
transport)  so  the  latter  seems  to  have  failed  of 
success  for  no  other  reason,  but  because  the  ora- 
tor was  not  in  a condition  to  set  it  off  with  those 
ornaments.  It  must  be  confessed,  that  artful 
sound  will,  with  the  crowd,  prevail  even  more 
than  sense  ; but  those  who  are  masters  of  both, 
will  ever  gain  the  admiration  of  all  their  hearers  ; 
and  there  is,  I think,  a very  natural  account  to 
be  given  of  this  matter ; for  the  sensation  of  the 
head  and  heart  are  caused  in  each  of  these  parts 
by  the  outward  organs  of  the  eye  and  ear  ; that, 
therefore,  which  is  conveyed  to  the  understand- 
ing and  passions  by  only  one  of  these  organs, 
will  not  affect  us  so  much  as  that  which  is 
transmitted  through  both.  I cannot  but  think 
your  charge  is  just  against  a great  part  of  the 
learned  clergy  of  Great  Britain,  who  deliver  the 
most  excellent  discourses  with  such  coldness 
and  indifference,  that  it  is  no  great  wonder 
the  unintelligent  many  of  their  congregations 
fall  asleep.  Thus  it  happens  that  their  orations 
meet  with  quite  a contrary  fate  to  that  of  De- 
mosthenes you  mentioned  ; for  as  that  lost  much 
of  its  beauty  and  force  by  being  repeated  to  the 
magistrates  of  Rhodes  without  the  winning  ac- 
tion of  that  great  orator  ; so  the  performances  of 
these  gentleman  never  appear  with  so  little 
grace,  and  to  so  much  disadvantage,  as  when 
delivered  by  themselves  from  the  pulpit.  Hip- 
pocrates, being  sent  for  to  a patient  in  this  city, 
and,  having  felt  his  pulse,  inquired  into  the 
symptoms  of  his  distemper;  and  finding  that  it 
proceeded  in  great  measure  from  want  of  sleep, 
advises  his  patient  with  an  air  of  gravity,  to  be 
carried  to  church  to  hear  a sermon,  not  doubting 
but  that  it  would  dispose  him  for  the  rest  he 
wanted.  If  some  of  the  rules  Horace  gives  for 
the  theatre  were  (not  improperly)  applied  to  our 
pulpits,  we  should  not  hear  a sermon  prescribed 
as  a good  opiate. 

Si  vis  me  flere,  dolendum  est 

Primum  ipse  tibi Hor.  Ars  Poet.  v.  102. 

If  you  would  have  me  weep,  begin  the  strain. 

Francis. 

‘ A man  must  himself  express  some  concern 
and  affection  in  delivering  his  discourse,  if  he 
expects  his  auditory  should  interest  themselves 
in  what  he  proposes.  For,  otherwise,  notwith- 
standing the  dignity  and  importance  of  the  sub- 
ject he  treats  of;  notwithstanding  the  weight 
and  argument  of  the  discourse  itself;  yet  too 
many  will  say, 

Male  si  mandata  loqueris, 

Aut  dormitabo,  aut  ridebo 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  114. 

‘ But  if,  unmov’d,  you  act  not  what  you  say, 

I’ll  sleep,  or  laugh  the  lifeless  theme  away.’ 

‘ If  there  be  a deficiency  in  the  speaker,  there 
will  not  be  a sufficient  attention  and  regard  paid 


to  the  thing  spoken ; but  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  you 
know,  that  as  too  little  action  is  cold,  so  too  much 
is  fulsome.  Some,  indeed,  may  think  themselves 
accomplished  speakers  for  no  other  reason  than 
because  they  can  be  loud  and  noisy ; for  surely 
Stentor  must  have  some  design  in  his  vocifera- 
tions.  But,  dear  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  convince  them, 
that  as  harsh  and  irregular  sound  is  not  harmo- 
ny ; so  neither  is  banging  a cushion,  oratory ; 
and,  therefore,  in  my  humble  opinion,  a certain 
divine  of  the  first  order,  whom  I allow  otherwise 
to  be  a great  man,  would  do  well  to  leave  this 
off ; for  I think  his  sermons  w’ould  be  more  per- 
suasive, if  he  gave  his  auditory  less  disturbance. 
Though  I cannot  say  that  this  action  would  be 
wholly  improper  to  profane  oration ; yet,  I think, 
in  a religious  assembly,  it  gives  a man  too  war- 
like, or  perhaps  too  theatrical  a figure,  to  be 
suitable  to  a Christian  congregation.  I am.  Sir, 
your  humble  servant,’  &c. 

The  most  learned  and  ingenious  Mr.  Rose- 
hat  is  also  pleased  to  write  to  me  on  this  sub- 
ject. 

‘ Sir, — I read  with  great  pleasure  in  the  Tat- 
ler  of  Saturday  last  the  conversation  upon  elo- 
quence : permit  me  to  hint  to  you  one  thing  the 
great  Roman  orator  observes  upon  this  subject  ,* 
Caput  enim  arhitrabatur  oratoris,  (he  quotes 
Menedemus,  an  Athenian,)  ut  ipsis  apud  quos 
ageret  tails  qualem  ipse  optaret  videretur ; id 
fieri  vitcB  dignitate.  (Tull,  de  Orat.)  It  is  the 
first  rule  in  oratory,  that  a man  must  appear 
such  as  he  would  persuade  others  to  be ; and 
that  can  be  accomplished  only  by  the  force  of 
his  life.  I believe  it  might  be  of  great  service 
to  let  our  public  orators  know,  that  an  unnatu- 
ral gravity  or  an  unbecoming  levity  in  their  be- 
haviour out  of  the  pulpit,  will  take  very  much 
from  the  force  of  their  eloquence  in  it.  Excuse 
another  scrap  of  Latin ; it  is  from  one  of  the  fa- 
thers : I think  it  will  appear  a just  observation 
to  all,  and  it  may  have  authority  with  some : 
Qui  autem  docent  tantum,  nec  facient  ipsi  prcB~ 
ceptis  suis  detrahunt  pondus : quis  enim  oblem~ 
peret,  cum  ipsi  prceceptores  doceam  non  obtem- 
perare?  Those  who  teach,  but  do  not  act 
agreeably  to  the  instructions  they  give  to  others, 
take  away  all  weight  from  their  doctrine : for 
who  v;ill  obey  the  precepts  they  inculcate,  if 
they  themselves  teach  us  by  their  practice  to 
disobey  them  ? — I am.  Sir,  your  most  humble 
servant, 

JONATHAN  ROSEHAT.’ 

‘ P.  S.  You  were  complaining  in  that  paper, 
that  the  clergy  of  Great  Britain  had  not  yet 
learned  to  speak ; a very  great  defect  indeed : 
and,  therefore,  I shall  think  myself  a well-de- 
server of  the  church,  in  recommending  all  the 
dumb  clergy  to  the  famous  speaking  doctor  at 
Kensington.  This  ingenious  gentleman,  out 
of  compassion  to  those  of  a bad  utterance,  has 
placed  his  whole  study  in  the  new-modelling 
the  organs  of  voice ; which  art  he  has  so  far 
advanced,  as  to  be  able  even  to  make  a good 
orator  of  a pair  of  bellows.  He  lately  exhibited 
a specimen  of  his  skill  in  this  way,  of  which  I 
was  informed  by  the  worthy  gentlemen  then 
present ; who  were  at  once  delighted  and 


No.  11. ] 


THE  TATLER. 


1.5.3 


amazed  to  hear  an  instrument  of  so  simple  an 
organization  use  an  exact  articulation  of  words, 
a just  cadency  in  its  sentences,  and  a wonder- 
ful pathos  in  its  pi'onunciation  : not  that  he  de- 
signs to  expatiate  in  this  practice  ; because  he 
cannot,  as  ho  says,  apprehend  what  use  it  may 
may  be  of  to  mankind,  whose  benefit  he  aims 
at  in  a more  particular  manner : and,  for  the 
same  reason,  he  will  never  more  instruct  the 
feathered  kind,  the  parrot  having  been  his  last 
scholar  in  that  way.  He  iias  a wonderful  fa- 
culty in  making  and  mending  echoes  : and  this 
he  will  perform  at  any  time  for  the  use  of  the 
solitary  in  the  country  ; being  a man  born  for 
universal  good,  and  for  that  reason  recommend- 
ed to  your  patronage  by.  Sir,  yours,  &c.’ 

Another  learned  gentleman  gives  me  also 
this  encomium  : 

‘ September  16. 

‘Sir, — You  are  now  got  into  a useful  and 
noble  subject;  take  care  to  handle  it  with  judg- 
ment and  delicacy.  I wish  every  jmung  divine 
would  give  yours  of  Saturday  last  a serious 
perusal ; and  now  you  are  entered  upon  the 
action  of  an  orator,  if  you  would  proceed  to  fa- 
vour the  world  with  some  remarks  on  the  mysti- 
cal enchantments  of  pronunciation,  wliat  a se- 
cret force  there  is  in  the  accents  of  a tunable 
voice,  and  wherefore  the  works  of  two  very 
great  men  of  the  profession  could  never  please 
so  well  when  read  as  heard,  I shall  trouble  you 
with  no  more  scribble.  You  are  now  in  the 
method  of  being  truly  profitable  and  delightful. 
If  you  can  keep  up  to  such  great  and  sublime 
subjects,  and  pursue  them  with  a suitable  geni- 
us, go  on  and  prosper.  Farewell.’ 

White's  Chocolate-house,  September  19. 

This  was  left  for  me  here,  for  the  use  of  the 
company  of  the  house  : 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire. 

September  15. 

‘ Sir, — The  account  you  gave  lately  of  a cer- 
tain dog-kennel  in  or  near  Suftblk-street,  was 
not  so  punctual,  as  to  the  list  of  the  dogs,  as 
might  have  been  expected  from  a person  of  Mr. 
Bickerstaff’s  intelligence  ; for,  if  you  will  des- 
patch Pacolet  thither  some  evening,  it  is  ten  to 
one  but  he  finds,  besides  those  you  mentioned, 

‘ Tovvzer,  a large  French  mongrel,  that  was 
not  long  ago  in  a tattered  condition,  but  has 
now  got  new  hair  ; is  not  fleet,  but,  when  he 
grapples,  bites  even  to  the  marrow. 

‘ Spring  a little  French  greyhound,  that  lately 
made  a false  trip  to  Tunbridge. 

‘Sly,  an  old  battered  fox-hound,  that  began 
the  game  in  France. 

‘ Lightfoot,  a fine  skinned  Flanders  dog,  that 
belonged  to  a p.ack  at  Ghent;  but  having  lost 
flesh,  is  gone  to  Paris,  for  the  benefit  of  the  air. 

‘ With  several  others,  that  in  time  may  be 
worth  notice. 

‘ Your  familiar  will  see  also,  how  anxious 
the  keepers  are  about  the  prey,  and,  indeed,  not 
without  very  good  reason,  for  they  have  their 
share  of  every  thing;  nay,  not  so  much  as  a 
poor  rabbit  can  be  run  down,  but  these  carni- 
U 


vorous  curs  swallow  a quarter  of  it.  Some  me 
chanics  in  the  neighbourhood,  that  have  entered 
into  this  civil  society,  and  who  furnish  part  of 
the  carrion  and  oatmeal  ibr  the  dogs,  have  the 
skin  ; and  the  bones  are  picked  clean  by  a littlo 
French  shock  that  belongs  to  tiie  family,  &c. 
I am7  Sir,  your  humble  servant,  &,c.’ 

‘ I had  almost  forgot  to  tell  you,  that  Ring- 
wood  bites  at  Hampstead  with  false  teeth.’^ 


No.  71.]  Thursday,  September  ^2, 1709. 

Quicquid  aguiit  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  21. 

I ii.vvE  long  been,  against  my  inclination, 
employed  in  satire,  and  that  in  prosecution  of 
such  persons,  who  are  below  the  dignity  of  the 
true  spirit  of  it ; such  who,  1 fear,  are  not  to  be 
reclaimed  by  making  them  only  ridiculous. 
The  sliarpers  shall,  therefore,  have  a month’s 
time  to  themselves,  free  from  the  observation 
of  this  paper;  but  I must  not  make  a truce 
witliout  letting  them  know,  that,  at  the  same 
time,  I am  preparing  for  a more  vigorous  war  : 
for  a friend  of  mine  has  promised  me  he  will 
employ  his  time  in  compiling  such  a tract,  be- 
fore the  session  of  the  ensuing  parliament,  as 
shall  lay  gaming  home  to  the  bosoms  of  all  who 
love  their  country  or  their  families  ; and  he 
doubts  not  but  it  will  create  an  act,  that  shall 
make  those  rogues  as  scandalous  as  those  less 
mischievous  ones  on  the  high  road. 

I have  received  private  intimations  to  take 
care  of  my  walks,  and  remember  there  are 
such  things  as  stabs  and  blows  : but  as  there 
never  was  any  thing  in  this  design  which  ought 
to  displease  a man  of  honour,  or  which  was  not 
designed  to  offend  the  rascals,  I shall  give  my- 
self very  little  concern  for  finding  what  I ex- 
pected, that  they  would  be  highly  provoked  at 
these  lucubrations.  But,  thcugli  I utterly  de- 
spise the  pack,  I must  confess  I am  at  a stand 
at  the  receipt  of  the  following  letter,  which 
seems  to  be  written  by  a man  of  sense  and 
Worth,  who  has  mistaken  some  passage  that 
I am  sure  was  not  levelled  at  him.  This  gen- 
tleman’s complaints  give  me  compunction,  when 
I neglect  the  threats  of  the  rascals.  I cannot 
be  in  jest  with  the  rogues  any  longer,  since  they 
pretend  to  threaten.  I do  not  know  W'hether  I 
shall  allow  them  the  favour  of  transportation. 

‘ September  13. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Observing  you  are  not 
content  with  lashing  the  many  vices  of  the  age 
without  illustrating  each  with  particular  char- 
acters, it  is  thought  nothing  would  more  con- 
tribute to  the  impression  you  design  by  such, 
than  always  having  regard  to  truth.  In  your 
I'atler  of  this  day,  I observe  you  allow,  that  no- 
thing is  so  tender  as  a lady’s  reputation  ; that  a 
stain  once  got  in  their  fame  is  hardly  ever  to 


* False  (lice. 


154 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  71. 


be  washed  out.  This  you  grant,  even  when 
you  give  yourself  leave  to  trifle.  If  so,  what 
caution  is  necessary  in  handling  the  reputation 
of  a man,  whose  well-being  in  this  life  perhaps 
entirely  depends  on  preserving  it  from  any 
wound,  which,  once  there  received,  too  often 
becomes  fatal  and  incurable  ? Suppose  some 
villanous  hand  through  personal  prejudice,  trans- 
mits materials  for  this  purpose,  which  you  pub- 
lish to  the  world,  and  afterwards  become  fully 
convinced  you  were  imposed  on  ; as  by  this  time 
you  may  be  of  a character  you  have  sent  into 
the  world;  I say,  supposing  this,  I would  be 
glad  to  know,  what  reparation  you  think  ought 
to  be  made  the  person  so  injured,  admitting  you 
stood  in  his  place.  It  has  always  been  held, 
that  a generous  education  is  the  surest  mark 
of  a generous  mind.  The  former  is,  indeed, 
perspicuous  in  all  your  papers ; and,  I am  per- 
suaded, though  you  affect  often  to  show  the 
latter,  yet  you  would  not  keep  any  measures, 
even  of  Christianity,  with  those  who  should 
handle  you  in  the  manner  you  do  others.  The 
application  of  all  this  is  from  your  having. very 
lately  glanced  at  a man  under  a character, 
which,  were  he  conscious  to  deserve,  he  would 
be  the  first  to  rid  the  world  of  himself;  and 
would  be  more  justifiable  in  it  to  all  sorts  of 
men,  than  you  in  your  committing  such  a vio- 
lence on  his  reputation,  which  perhaps  you  may 
be  convinced  of  in  another  manner  than  you  de- 
serve from  him. 

‘ A man  of  your  eapacity,  Mr.  Biekerstaff, 
should  have  more  noble  views,  and  pursue  the 
true  sjiirit  of  satire  ; but  I will  eonelude,  lest  I 
grow  out  of  temper,  and  will  only  beg  you  for 
your  own  preservation,  to  remember  the  pro- 
verb of  the  pitcher. — I am  yours,  A.  J.’ 

The  proverb  of  the  pitcher  I have  no  regard 
to ; but  it  would  be  an  insensibility  not  to  be 
pardoned,  if  a man  could  be  untouehed  at  so 
warm  an  aceusation,  and  that  laid  with  so  much 
seeming  temper.  All  I can  say  to  it  is,  that  if 
the  writer,  by  the  same  method  whereby  he 
conveyed  this  letter,  shall  give  me  an  instance 
wherein  I have  injured  any  good  man,  or  point- 
ed at  any  thing  which  is  not  the  true  object  of 
raillery,  I shall  acknowledge  the  offence  in  as 
open  a manner  as  the  press  can  do  it,  and  lay 
down  this  paper  for  ever. 

There  is  something  very  terrible  in  unjustly 
attacking  men  in  a way  that  may  prejudice 
their  honour  or  fortune ; but  when  men  of  too 
modest  a sense  of  themselves  will  think  they 
are  touched,  it  is  impossible  to  prevent  ill  con- 
sequences from  the  most  innocent  and  general 
discourses.  This  I have  known  to  happen  in 
circumstances  the  most  foreign  to  theirs  who 
have  taken  offence  at  them.  An  advertisement 
lately  published,  relating  to  Ornicron,  alarmed 
a gentleman  of  good  sense,  integrity,  honour, 
and  industry,  who  is  in  every  particular,  dif- 
ferent from  the  trifling  pretenders  pointed  at  in 
that  advertisement.  When  the  modesty  of  some 
is  as  excessive  as  the  vanity  of  others,  w'hat  de- 
fence is  there  against  misinterpretation  ? How- 
ever, giving  disturbance,  though  not  intended, 
to  men  of  virtuous  characters,  has  so  sincerely 
troubled  me  that  I will  break  from  this  satirical 


vein ; and,  to  show  I very  little  value  myself 
upon  it,  shall  for  this  month  ensuing  leave  the 
sharper,  the  fop,  the  pedant,  the  proud  man,  the 
insolent ; in  a word,  all  the  train  of  knaves  and 
fools,  to  their  own  devices,  and  touch  on  nothing 
but  panegyric.  This  way  is  suitable  to  the  true 
genius  of  the  Staffs,  who  are  much  more  in- 
clined to  reward  than  punish.  If,  therefore, 
the  author  of  the  above-mentioned  letter  does 
not  command  my  silence  wholly,  as  he  shall,  if 
I do  not  give  him  satisfaction,  I shall,  for  the 
above-mentioned  space  turn  my  thoughts  to 
raising  merit  from  its  obscurity,  celebrating 
virtue  in  its  distress,  and  attacking  vice  by  no 
other  method,  but  setting  innocence  in  a proper 
light. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  September  20. 

I find  here  for  me  the  following  letter  : 

‘ Esquire  Bickerstaff, — Finding  your  ad- 
vice and  censure  to  have  a good  effect,  I desire 
your  admonition  to  our  vicar  and  schoolmaster, 
who,  in  his  preaching  to  his  auditors,  stretches 
his  jaws  so  wide,  that,  instead  of  instructing 
youth,  it  rather  frightens  them  : likewise,  in 
reading  prayers,  he  has  such  a careless  loll,  that 
people  are  justly  offended  at  his  irreverent  pos- 
ture ; besides  the  extraordinary  charge  they  are 
put  to  in  sending  their  children  to  dance,  to 
bring  them  off  those  ill  gestures.  Another  evil 
faculty  he  has,  in  making  the  bowling-green 
his  daily  residence,  instead  of  his  church,  where 
his  curate  reads  prayers  every  day.  If  the 
weather  is  fair,  his  time  is  spent  in  visiting ; 
if  cold  or  wet,  in  bed,  or  at  least  at  home,  though 
within  a hundred  yards  of  the  church.  These, 
out  of  many  such  irregular  practices,  I write 
for  his  reclamation ; but  two  or  three  things 
more  before  I conclude ; to  wdt,  that  generally 
when  his  curate  preaches  in  the  afternoon,  he 
sleeps  setting  in  the  desk  on  a hassock.  With 
all  this  he  is  so  extremely  proud  that  he  will  go 
but  once  to  the  sick  except  they  return  his  visit.’ 

I was  going  on  in  reading  my  letter,  when  I 
was  interrupted  by  Mr.  Greenhat,  who  has  been 
this  evening  at  the  play  of  Hamlet.  ‘ Mr. 
Bickerstaff,’  said  he,  ‘ had  you  been  to-night  at 
the  play-house,  you  had  seen  the  force  of  action 
in  perfection  : your  admired  Mr.  Betterton  be- 
haved himself  so  well,  that  though  now  about 
seventy,  he  acted  youth  ; and  by  the  prevalent 
power  of  proper  manner,  gesture,  and  voice,  ap- 
peared through  the  wdiole  drama  a young  man 
of  great  expectation,  vivacity,  and  enterprise. 
The  soliloquy,  where  he  began  the  celebrated 
sentence  of  “ To  be  or  not  to  be  ?”  the  expostu- 
lation, where  he  explains  with  his  mother  in  her 
closet,  the  noble  ardour,  after  seeing  his  father’s 
ghost ; and  his  generous  distress  for  the  death 
of  Ophelia,  are  each  of  them  circumstances 
which  dwell  strongly  upon  the  minds  of  the 
audience,  and  would  certainly  affect  their  be- 
haviour on  any  parallel  occasions  in  their  own 
lives.  Pray,  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  let  us  have  virtue 
thus  represented  on  the  stage  with  its  proper 
ornaments,  or  let  these  ornaments  be  added  to 
her  in  places  more  sacred.  As  for  my  part,’ 
said  he,  ‘I  carried  my  cousin  Jerry, this  little 


No.  72.] 


THE  TATLER. 


155 


boy,  with  me ; and  shall  always  love  the  child 
for  his  partiality  in  all  that  concerned  the  for- 
tune of  Hamlet.  This  is  entering  youth  into 
the  affections  and  passions  of  manhood  before- 
hand, and,  as  it  were,  antedating  the  effects  we 
hope  from  a long  and  liberal  education.’ 

I cannot,  in  the  midst  of  many  other  things 
which  press,  hide  the  comfort  that  this  letter 
from  my  ingenious  kinsman  gives  me. 

‘ To  my  honoured  kinsman,  Isaac  Bickerstaff, 
Esquire. 

‘ Oxford,  Septemoer  18. 

* Dear  Cousin, — I am  sorry,  though  not  sur- 
prised, to  find  that  you  have  rallied  the  men  of 
dress  in  vain  ; that  the  amber-headed  cane  still 
maintains  its  unstable  post ; that  pockets  are 
but  a few  inches  shortened;  and  a beau  is  still 
a beau,  from  the  crown  of  his  night-cap,  to  the 
heels  of  his  shoes.  For  your  comfort,  I can  as- 
sure you,  that  your  endeavours  succeed  better 
in  this  famous  seat  of  learning.  By  them  the 
manners  of  our  young  gentlemen  are  in  a fair 
way  of  amendment,  and  their  very  language  is 
mightily  refined.  To  them  it  is  owing,  that 
not  a servitor  will  sing  a catch,  nor  a senior- 
fellow  make  a pun,  nor  a determining  bachelor 
drink  a bumper;  and  I believe  a gentleman- 
commoner  would  as  soon  have  the  heels  of  his 
shoes  red,  as  his  stockings.  When  a witling 
stands  at  a coffee-house  door,  and  sneers  at 
those  who  pass  by,  to  the  great  improvement  of 
his  hopeful  audience,  he  is  no  longer  surnamed 
‘a  sheer,’  but  ‘a  man  of  fire’  is  the  word.  A 
beauty,  whose  health  is  drunk  from  Heddington 
to  Hinksey;  who  has  been  the  theme  of  the 
muses,  her  cheeks  painted  with  roses,  and  her 
bosom  planted  with  orange  boughs,  has  no  more 
the  title  of  ‘lady,’  but  reigns  an  undisputed 
‘ toast.’  When  to  the  plain  garb  of  gown  and 
band  a spark  adds  an  inconsistent  long  wig,  we 
do  not  say  now  ‘ he  boshes,’  but  ‘ there  goes  a 
smart  fellow.’  If  a virgin  blushes,  we  no  longer 
cry,  ‘she  blues.’  He  that  drinks  until  he  stares, 
is  no  more  ‘tow-row,’  but  ‘honest.’  ‘A  young- 
ster in  a scrape,’  is  a word  out  of  date ; and 
what  bright  man  says,  ‘ I was  joabed  by  the 
dean  ?’  ‘ Bambouzling’  is  exploded ; ‘ a shat’  is 

‘ a tatler ;’  and  if  the  muscular  motion  of  a man’s 
face  be  violent,  no  mortal  says,  ‘ he  raises  a 
horse,’  but  ‘ he  is  a merry  fellow.’ 

‘ I congratulate  you  my  dear  kinsman,  upon 
these  conquests ; such  as  Roman  emperors  la- 
mented they  could  not  gain ; and  in  which  you 
rival  your  correspondent  Louis  le  Grand,  and 
his  dictating  academy. 

‘ Be  yours  the  glory  to  perform,  mine  to  re- 
cord, as  Mr.  Dryden  has  said  before  me  to  his 
kinsman ; and  while  you  enter  triumphant  into 
the  temple  of  the  muses,  I,  as  my  office  requires, 
will  with  my  staff  on  my  shoulder,  attend  and 
conduct  you.  I am,  dear  cousin,  your  most  af- 
fectionate kinsman, 

‘ BENJAMIN  BEADLESTAFF.’ 

Upon  the  humble  application  of  certain 
persons  who  have  made  heroic  figures  in  Mr. 
BickerstafPs  narrations,  notice  is  hereby  given, 
that  no  such  shall  ever  be  mentioned  for  the 


future,  except  those  who  have  sent  menaces 
and  not  submitted  to  admonition. 


No.  72.]  Saturday,  September  24,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  September  23. 

I HAVE  taken  upon  me  no  very  easy  task  in 
turning  all  my  thoughts  on  panegyric,  when 
most  of  the  advices  I receive  tend  to  the  quite 
contrary  purpose  ; and  I have  few  notices  but 
such  as  regard  follies  and  vices.  ’’But  the  pro- 
perest  way  for  me  to  treat  is,  to  keep  in  general 
upon  the  passions  and  affection's  of  men,  with 
as  little  regard  to  particulars  as  the  nature  of 
the  thing  will  admit.  However,  I think  there 
is  something  so  passionate  in  the  circumstances 
of  the  lovers  mentioned  in  the  following  letter, 
that  I am  willing  to  go  out  of  my  way  to  obey 
what  is  commanded  in  it : 

‘ London,  Sept.  17. 

‘Sir, — Your  design  of  entertaining  the  town 
with  the  characters  of  the  ancient  heroes,  as 
persons  shall  send  an  account  to  Mr.  Morphew’s, 
encourages  me  and  others  to  beg  of  you,  that, 
in  the  mean  time,  if  it  is  not  contrary  to  the 
method  you  have  proposed,  you  would  give  us 
one  paper  upon  the  subject  of  the  death  of 
PsBtus  and  his  wife,  when  Nero  sent  him  an 
order  to  kill  himself : his  wife,  setting  him  the 
example,  died  with  these  words  : “ Paetus,  it  is 
not  painful.”  You  must  know  the  story,  and 
your  observations  upon  it  will  oblige.  Sir,  your 
most  humble  servant.’ 

When  the  worst  man  that  ever  lived  in  the 
world  had  the  highest  station  in  it,  human  life 
was  the  object  of  his  diversion ; and  he  sent 
orders  frequently,  out  of  mere  wantdnness,  to 
take  off  such  and  such,  without  so  much  as 
being  angry  with  them.  Nay,  frequently,  his 
tyranny  was  so  humorous,  that  he  put  men  to 
death  because  he  could  not  but  approve  of  them. 
It  came  one  day  to  his  ear,  that  a certain  mar- 
ried couple,  Paetus  and  Arria,  lived  in  a more 
happy  tranquillity  and  mutual  love  than  any 
other  persons  who  were  then  in  being.  He  lis- 
tened with  great  attention  to  the  account  of 
their  manner  of  spending  their  time  together, 
of  the  constant  pleasure  they  were  to  each  other 
in  all  their  words  and  actions  ; and  found  by 
exact  information,  that  they  were  so  treasonable 
as  to  be  much  more  happy  than  his  imperial 
majesty  himself.  Upon  which  he  writ  Paetus 
the  following  billet : 

Paetus,  you  are  hereby  desired  to  despatch 
yourself.  I have  heard  a very  good  character 
of  you;  and  therefore  leave  it  to  yourself, 
whether  you  will  die  by  dagger,  sword,  or 
poison.  If  you  outlive  this  order  above  an  hour, 

I have  given  directions  to  put  you  to  death  by 
torture.  NERO.’ 


156 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  72. 


This  familiar  epistle  was  delivered  to  his  wife 
Arria,  who  opened  it. 

One  must  have  a soul  very  well  turned  for 
love,  pity,  and  indignation,  to  comprehend  the 
tumult  this  unhappy  lady  was  thrown  into  upon 
this  occasion.  The  passion  of  love  is  no  more 
to  be  understood  by  some  tempers,  than  a pro- 
blem in  a science  by  an  ignorant  man  : but  he 
that  knows  what  affection  is,  will  have,  upon 
considering  the  condition  of  Arria,  ten  thousand 
thoughts  flowing  upon  him,  which  the  tongue 
was  not  formed  to  express ; but  the  charming 
statue  is  now  before  my  eyes,  and  Arria  in  her 
unutterable  sorrow,  has  more  beauty  than  ever 
appeared  in  youth,  in  mirth,  or  in  triumph. 
These  are  the  great  and  noble  incidents  which 
speak  the  dignity  of  our  nature,  in  our  suffer- 
ings and  distresses.  Behold,  her  tender  affection 
for  her  husband  sinks  her  features  into  a coun- 
tenance wliich  appears  more  helpless  than  that 
of  an  infant:  but  again,  her  indignation  shows 
in  her  visage  and  her  bosom  a resentment  as 
strong  as  that  of  the  bravest  man.  Long  she 
stood  in  this  agony  of  alternate  rage  and  love  ; 
but  at  last  composed  herself  for  her  dissolution, 
rather  than  survive  her  beloved  Pcetus.  When 
he  came  into  her  presence,  he  found  her  with 
the  tyrant’s  letter  in  one  hand,  and  a dagger  in 
the  other.  Upon  his  approach  to  her,  she  gave 
him  the  order  : and  at  the  same  time  stabbing 
herself,  ‘ Pjetus,’  says  she,  ‘it  is  not  painful 
and  expired,  Ptetus  immediately  followed  her 
example.  The  passion  of  these  memorable 
lovers  was  such,  that  it  illuded  the  rigour  of 
their  fortune,  and  baffled  the  force  of  a blow, 
which  neither  felt,  because  each  received  it  for 
the  sake  of  the  other.  The  woman’s  part  in 
this  story  is  much  the  more  heroic,  and  has 
occasioned  one  of  the  best  epigrams  transmitted 
to  us  from  antiquity 

From  mij  own  Apartment^  September  23. 

The  boy  says,  one  in  a black  hat  left  the  fol- 
lowing letter  : 

lOtlj  of  tlie  Seventh  month. 

‘ Frikxd, — Being  of  that  part  of  Christians 
whom  men  call  Quakers,  and  being  a seeker  of 
the  right  way,  I was  persuaded  yesterday  to 
hear  one  of  your  most  noted  teachers ; the  mat- 
ter he  treated  was  the  necessity  of  well  living, 
grounded  upon  a future  state.  I was  attentive  : 
but  the  man  did  not  appear  in  earnest.  He  read 
liis  discourse,  notwithstanding  thy  rebukes,  so 
lieavily,  and  with  so  little  air  of  being  convinced 
himself,  that  I thought  he  would  have  slept,  as 
I observed  many  of  his  hearers  did.  I came 


♦Casta  suo  gladiiim  cum  traderet  Arria  Pseto, 

Cluem  de  visceribus  traxerat  ipsa  suis  ; 

Bi  qua  tides,  vultius  quod  feci,  non  dolet,  inquit 
Bed  quod  tu  facies  hoc  mihi,  P.^le,  dolet. 

Martial.  Epig.  i.  14. 

When  the  chaste  Arria  reached  tlie  reeking  sword, 
Drawn  from  her  bowels,  to  her  lionour’d  lord, 

Trust  me,  she  sahl,  for  1 do  not  grieve, 

1 die  by  that  which  Pietus  must  receive. 

Arria  mari to  et  solatium  mortis  et  exemplum  fait. 

Pcste  non  dolet.  Plin.  Epist.  lib.  iii.  ep.  18. 

Unde  colligitur,  facta  dictaque  virorum  feminarumque 
lllustrium,  alia  clariora  esse,  alia  majora. 


home  unedified,  and  troubled  in  mind.  I dipt 
into  the  Lamentations,  and  from  thence  turning 
to  the  thirty-fourth  chapter  of  Ezekiel,  I found 
these  words : ‘ Woe  be  to  the  shepherds  of  Israel, 
that  do  feed  themselves ! should  not  the  shep- 
herds feed  the  flock  ? Ye  eat  the  fat,  and  ye 
clothe  you  with  the  wool : ye  kill  them  that  are 
fed  ; but  ye  feed  not  the  flock.  The  diseased 
have  ye  not  strengthened;  neither  have  ye  heal- 
ed that  which  was  sick ; neither  have  ye  bound 
up  that  which  was  broken ; neither  have  ye 
brought  again  that  which  was  driven  away ; 
neither  have  ye  sought  that  which  was  lost ; but 
with  force  and  with  cruelty  have  ye  i uled  them,’ 
&c.  Now,  I pray  thee,  friend,  as  thou  art  a 
man  skilled  in  many  things,  tell  me  who  is 
meant  by  the  diseased,  the  sick,  the  broken,  the 
driven  away,  and  the  lost?  and  whether  the 
prophecy  in  this  chapter  be  accomplished,  or  yet 
to  come  to  pass  1 and  thou  wilt  oblige  thy  friend, 
though  unknown.’ 

This  matter  is  too  sacred  for  this  paper ; but 
I cannot  see  what  injury  it  would  do  to  any 
clergyman  to  have  it  in  his  eye,  and  believe  all 
that  are  taken  from  him  by  his  want  of  industry 
are  to  be  demanded  of  him.  I dare  say,  Favo- 
nius*  has  very  few  of  these  losses.  Favonius, 
in  the  midst  of  a thousand  impertinent  assail- 
ants  of  the  divine  truths,  is  an  undisturbed  de- 
fender of  them.  He  protects  all  under  his  care, 
by  the  clearness  of  his  understanding,  and  the 
example  of  his  life;  he  visits  dying  men  with 
the  air  of  a man  who  hopes  for  his  own  dissolu- 
tion, and  enforces  in  others  a contempt  of  this 
life,  by  his  own  expectation  of  the  next.  His 
voice  and  behaviour  are  the  lively  images  of  a 
composed  and  well-governed  zeal.  None  can 
leave  him  for  the  frivolous  jargon  uttered  by  the 
ordinary  teachers  among  dissenters,  but  such 
W'ho  cannot  distinguish  vociferation  from  elo- 
quence, and  argument  from  railing.  He  is  so 
great  a judge  of  mankind,  and  touches  our 
passions  with  so  superior  a command,  that  he 
who  deserts  his  congregation  must  be  a stranger 
to  the  dictates  of  nature  as  well  as  to  those  of 
grace. 

But  I must  proceed  to  other  matters,  and  re- 
solve the  questions  of  other  inquirers  ; as  in  the 
following : 

Heddington,  Sept.  19. 

‘Sir, — Upon  reading  that  part  of  the  Tatler, 
No.  69,  where  mention  is  made  of  a certain 
chapel-clerk,  there  arose  a dispute,  and  that 
produced  a w^ager,  whether  by  the  words  chapel- 
clerk  was  meant  a clergyman  or  layman  ? by  a 
clergyman  I mean  one  in  holy  orders.  It  was 
not  that  any  body  in  the  company  pretended  to 
guess  who  the  person  was  ; but  some  asserted, 
that  by  Mr.  Bickerstaff’s  words  must  be  meant 
a clergyman  only  ; others  said,  that  those  words 
might  have  been  said  of  any  clerk  of  the  parish ; 
and  some  of  them  more  properly  of  a layman. 
The  wager  is  half  a dozen  bottles  of  wine  ; in 
which,  if  you  please  to  determine  it,  your  health, 
and  all  the  family  of  the  Staffs,  shall  certainly 
be  drunk  ; and  you  will  singularly  oblige  another 


■*  Dr.  Sinai Iridge. 


No.  73.] 


THE  TATLER. 


157 


very  considerable  family  ; I mean  that  of  your 
humble  servants, 

‘ THE  TRENCHER  CAPS.’ 

It  is  very  customary  with  us  learned  men,  to 
find  perplexities  where  no  one  else  can  see  any. 
The  honest  gentlemen,  who  wrote  this,  are  much 
at  a loss  to  understand  what  I thought  very 
plain ; and,  in  return,  their  epistle  is  so  plain, 
that  I cannot  understand  it.  This,  perhaps,  is 
at  first  a little  like  nonsense,  but  I desire  all 
persons  to  examine  these  writings  with  an  eye 
to  my-  being  far  gone  in  the  occult  sciences ; 
and  remember,  that  it  is  the  privilege  of  the 
learned  and  the  great  to  be  understood  when 
they  please  : for  as  a man  of  much  business  may 
be  allowed  to  leave  company  when  he  pleases ; 
so  one  of  high  learning  may  be  above  your  ca- 
pacity when  he  thinks  fit.  But  without  further 
speeches  or  fooling,  I must  inform  my  friends 
the  Trencher  Caps,  in  plain  words,  that  I meant, 
in  the  place  they  speak  of,  a drunken  clerk  of  a 
charch ; and  I will  return  their  civility  among 
my  relations,  and  drink  their  healths  as  they  do 
^ours. 


No.  73.]  Tuesday,  September  27,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream, 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  September  26. 

I CANNOT  express  the  confusion  the  following 
letter  gave  me,  which  I received  by  Sir  Thomas* 
this  morning.  There  cannot  be  a greater  sur- 
prise than  to  meet  with  sudden  enmity  in  the 
midst  of  a familiar  and  friendly  correspondence  ; 
which  is  my  case  in  relation  to  this  epistle  : and 
I have  no  way  to  purge  myself  to  the  world,  but 
by  publishing  both  it  and  my  answer  : 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — You  are  a very  impu- 
dent fellow  to  put  me  into  the  Tatler.  Rot  you, 
sir,  I have  more  wit  than  you  ; and  rot  me,  I 
have  more  money  than  most  fools  I have  bub- 
bled. All  persons  of  quality  admire  me ; though, 
rot  me  if  I value  a blue  garter  any  more  than  I 
do  a blue  apron.  Every  body  knows  I am  brave  ; 
therefore  have  a care  how  you  provoke 

‘ MONOCULUS.’t 

The  Answer. 

Sir, — Did  I not  very  well  know  your  hand,  as 
well  by  the  spelling  as  the  character,  I should 
not  have  believed  yours  of  to-day  had  come  from 
ou.  But  when  all  men  are  acquainted  that  I 
ave  had  all  my  intelligence  from  you,  relating 
to  your  fraternity,  let  them  pronounce  who  is  the 
more  impudent.  I confess,  I have  had  a pecu- 
liar tenderness  for  you,  by  reason  of  that  luxu- 
riant eloquence  of  which  you  are  master,  and 
have  treated  you  accordingly ; for  which  you 
have  turned  your  florid  violence  against  your 


ancient  friend  and  school-fellow.  You  know  in 
your  own  conscience  you  gave  me  leave  to  touch 
upon  your  vein  of  speaking,  provided  I hid  your 
other  talents ; in  which  I believed  you  sincere, 
because,  like  the  ancient  Sinon,  you  have  before 
now  suffered  yourself  to  be  defaced  to  carry  on 
a plot.  Besides,  sir,  rot  me,  language  for  a per- 
son of  your  present  station!  Fy,  fy,  I am  really 
ashamed  for  you,  and  shall  no  more  depend  upon 
your  intelligence.  Keep  your  temper,  wash 
your  face,  and  go  to  bed. 

‘ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF.’ 

For  aught  I know,  this  fellow  may  have  con- 
fused  the  description  of  the  pack,  on  purpose  to 
ensnare  the  game,  while  I have  all  along  be- 
lieved he  was  destroying  tliem  as  well  as  my- 
self ; but  because  they  pretend  to  bark  more 
than  ordinary,  I shall  let  them  see  that  I will 
not  throw  away  the  whip,  until  they  know  bet- 
ter how  to  behave  themselves.  But  I must  not, 
at  the  same  time,  omit  the  praises  of  their  eco- 
nomy, expressed  in  the  following  advice  : 

Sept.  17. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Though  your  thoughts 
are  at  present  employed  upon  the  tables  of  fame, 
and  marshalling  your  illustrious  dead,  it  is  hoped 
the  living  may  not  be  neglected,  nor  defrauded 
of  their  just  honours  ; and  since  you  have  begun 
to  publish  to  the  world  the  great  sagacity  and 
vigilance  of  the  Knights  of  the  Industry,  it  will 
be  expected  you  shall  proceed  to  do  justice  to  all 
the  societies  of  them  you  can  be  informed  of; 
especially  since  their  own  great  industry  covers 
their  actions  as  much  as  possible  from  that  pub- 
lic notice  which  is  their  due. 

Paulum  sepultffi  distal  inertise 

Celata  virtus.  Hor.  4.  Od.  ix.  29. 

“ Hidden  vice  and  concealed  virtue  are  much  alike.” 

‘ Be  pleased,  therefore,  to  let  the  following 
memoirs  have  a place  in  their  history. 

‘ In  a certain  part  of  the  town,  famous  for  the 
freshest  oysters,  and  the  plainest  English,  there 
is  a house,  or  rather  a college,  sacred  to  hospi- 
tality and  the  industrious  arts.  At  the  entrance 
is  hieroglyphically  drawn  a cavalier  contending 
with  a monster,  with  jaws  expanded  just  ready 
to  devour  him. 

‘ Hither  the  brethren  of  the  Industry  resort ; 
but,  to  avoid  ostentation,  they  wear  no  habits  of 
distinction,  and  perform  their  exercises  with  as 
little  noise  and  show  as  possible.  Here  are  no 
under-graduates,  but  each  is  a master  of  his  art. 
They  are  distributed  according  to  their  various 
talents,  and  detached  abroad  in  parties,  to  divide 
the  labours  of  the  day.  They  have  dogs  as  well- 
nosed and  as  fleet  as  any  ; and  no  sportsmen 
show  greater  activity.  Some  beat  for  the  game, 
some  hunt  it,  others  come  in  at  the  death ; and 
my  honest  landlord  makes  very  good  venison 
sauce,  and  eats  his  share  of  the  dinner. 

‘ I would  fain  pursue  my  metaphors  ; but^  a 
venerable  person  who  stands  by  me,  and  waits 
to  bring  you  this  letter,  and  whom,  by  a certain 
benevolence  in  his  look,  I suspect  to  be  Pacolet, 
reproves  me,  and  obliges  me  to  write  in  plainer 
terms,  that  the  society  had  fixed  their  eyes  on  a 
gay  young  gentleman,  who  has  lately  succeeded 
to  a title  and  an  estate  ; the  latter  of  which  they 


* The  waiter  at  White’s  Chocolate-house, 
t Sir  Humphrey  Moneux. 


158 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  73. 


judged  would  be  very  convenient  for  them. 
Therefore,  after  several  attempts  to  get  into  his 
acquaintance,  my  landlord  finds  an  opportunity 
to  make  his  court  to  a friend  of  the  young  spark, 
in  the  following  manner  : 

‘ Sir,  as  I take  you  to  be  a lover  of  ingenuity 
and  plain  dealing,  I shall  speak  very  freely  to 
you.  In  a few  words,  then,  you  are  acquainted 
with  sir  Liberal  Brisk.  Providence  has,  for  our 
emolument,  sent  him  a fair  estate  ; for  men  are 
not  born  for  themselves.  Therefore,  if  you  will 
bring  him  to  my  house,  we  will  take  care  of 
him,  and  you  shall  have  half  the  profits.  There 
is  Ace  and  Cutter  will  do  his  business  to  a hair. 
You  will  tell  me,  perhaps,  he  is  your  friend  : I 
grant  it,  and  it  is  for  that  I propose  it,  to  pre- 
vent his  falling  into  ill  hands. 

“ We’ll  carve  him  like  a dish  fit  for  the  gods, 

Not  hew  him  like  a carcass  fit  for  hounds.” 

* In  short,  there  are,  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
.-a  hundred  mouths  open  for  him.  Now,  if  we 
>ean  secure  him  to  ourselves,  we  shall  disappoint 
all  those  rascals  that  do  not  deserve  him.  Nay, 
you  need  not  start  at  it.  Sir,  it  is  for  your  own 
advantage.  Besides,  Partridge  has  cast  me  his 
nativity,  and  I find  by  certain  destiny,  his  oaks 
must  be  felled. 

‘ The  gentleman,  to  whom  this  honest  pro- 
posal was  made,  made  little  answer;  but  said  he 
would  consider  it,  and  immediately  took  coach 
to  find  out  the  young  baronet,  and  told  him  all 
that  had  passed,  together  with  the  new  salvo  to 
satisfy  a man’s  conscience  in  sacrificing  his 
friend.  Sir  Brisk  was  fired,  swore  a dozen 
oaths,  drew  his  sword,  put  it  up  again,  called 
for  his  man,  beat  him,  and  bid  him  fetch  a 
coach.  His  friend  asked  him,  what  he  designed, 
and  whither  he  was  going  ? He  ajiswered,  to 
find  out  the  villains  and  fight  them.  To  which 
his  friend  agreed,  and  promised  to  be  his  second, 
on  condition  he  would  first  divide  his  estate  to 
them,  and  reserve  only  a proportion  to  himself, 
that  so  he  might  have  the  justice  of  fighting  his 
equals.  His  next  resolution  was  to  play  with 
them,  and  let  them  see  he  was  not  the  bubble 
they  took  him  for.  But  he  soon  quitted  that, 
and  resolved  at  last  to  tell  Bickerstaflf  of  them, 
and  get  them  enrolled  in  the  order  of  the  In- 
dustry ; with  this  caution  to  all  young  landed 
knights  and  esquires,  that  whenever  they  are 
drawn  to  play,  they  would  consider  it  as  calling 
them  down  to  a sentence  already  pronounced 
upon  them,  and  think  of  the  sound  of  these 
words:  His  oaks  must  be  felled. — I am,  sir, 

your  faithful  humble  servant. 

‘WILL  TRUSTY.’* 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  26. 

It  is  wonderful  to  consider  what  a pitch  of 
confidence  this  world  is  arrived  at.  Do  people 
believe  I am  made  up  of  patience  ? I have  long 
told  them,  that  I will  suffer  no  enormity  to 
pass,  without  I have  an  understanding  with  the 
offenders  by  way  of  hush-money  ; and  yet  the 
candidates  at  Queen-Hithe  send  coals  to  all  the 
town  but  me.  All  the  public  papers  have  had 
this  advertisement ; 


‘ London,  September  22,  1709. 
To  the  electors  of  an  alderman  for  the  ward  of 
Queen-Hithe. 

‘ Whereas  an  evil  and  pernicious  custom  has 
of  late  very  much  prevailed  at  the  election  of 
aldermen  for  this  city,  by  treating  at  taverns 
and  ale-houses,  thereby  engaging  many  unwarily 
to  give  their  vote  : which  practice  appearing  to 
sir  Arthur  de  Bradly  to  be  of  dangerous  conse- 
quence  to  the  freedom  of  elections,  he  hath 
avoided  the  excess  thereof.  Nevertheless,  to 
make  an  acknowledgment  to  this  ward  for  their 
intended  favour,  he  hath  deposited  in  the  hands 

of  Mr. , one  of  the  present  common-coun- 

cil,  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  to  be  dis- 
posed of  as  follows,  provided  the  said  sir  Arthur 
de  Bradly  be  the  alderman,  viz. 

‘ All  such  that  shall  poll  for  sir  Arthur  de 
Bradly  shall  have  one  chaldron  of  good  coals 
gratis. 

‘ And  half  a chaldron  to  every  one  that  shall 
not  poll  against  him. 

‘ And  the  remainder  to  be  laid  out  in  a clock, 
dial,  or  otherwise,  as  the  common-council-men 
of  the  said  ward  shall  think  fit. 

‘ And  if  any  person  shall  refuse  to  take  the 
said  coals  to  himself,  he  may  assign  the  same 
to  any  poor  electors  in  the  ward. 

‘ I do  acknowledge  to  have  received  the  said 
four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  for  the  pur- 
pose above-mentioned,  for  which  I have 
given  a receipt. 

‘ Witness,  J — s H — t,  J — n M — v. 

J — Y G — H, 

E — D D — s 

‘ N.  B.  Whereas  several  persons  have  already 
engaged  to  poll  for  sir  Humphry  Greenhat,  it  is 
hereby  further  declared,  that  every  such  person 
as  doth  poll  for  sir  Humphry  Greenhat,  and 
doth  also  poll  for  sir  Arthur  de  Bradly,  shall 
each  of  them  receive  a chaldron  of  coals  gratis, 
on  the  proviso  above-mentioned.’ 

This  is  certainly  the  most  plain-dealing  that 
ever  was  used,  except  that  the  just  quantity 
which  an  elector  may  drink  without  excess,  and 
the  difference  between  an  acknowledgment  and 
a bribe,  wants  explanation-  Another  difficulty 
with  me  is,  how  a man  who  is  bargained  with 
for  a chaldron  of  coals  for  his  vote  shall  be  said 
to  have  that  chaldron  gratis  ? If  my  kinsman 
Greenhat  had  given  me  the  least  intimation  of 
his  design,  I should  have  prevented  his  publish- 
ing nonsense ; nor  should  any  knight  in  England 
have  put  my  relation  at  the  bottom  of  the  leaf 
as  a postscript,  when,  after  all,  it  appears  Green- 
hat has  been  the  more  popular  man.  There  is 
here  such  open  contradiction,  and  clumsy  art  to 
palliate  the  matter,  and  prove  to  the  people,  that 
the  freedom  of  election  is  safer  when  laid  out  in 
coals  than  strong  drink,  that  I can  turn  this 
only  to  a religious  use,  and  admire  the  dispen- 
sation of  things  ; for  if  these  fellows  were  as 
wise  as  they  are  rich,  where  would  be  our 
liberty  ? This  reminds  me  of  a memorable 
speech*  made  to  a city  almost  in  the  same  lati- 
tude with  Westminster  : ‘ When  I think  of 


* This  letter  was  written  by  John  Hughes,  esq. 


A speech  of  queen  Elizab('th  to  the  citizens  of  London. 


No.  74.] 


THE  TATLER. 


159 


your  wisdom,  I admire  your  wealth ; when  I 
think  of  your  wealth,  I admire  your  wisdom.’ 


No.  74.]  Thursday,  September  29, 1709. 

Q.uicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  September  28. 

The  writer  of  the  following  letter  has  made 
a use  of  me,  which  I did  not  foresee  I should 
fall  into.  But  the  gentleman  having  assured 
me  that  he  has  a most  tender  passion  for  the 
fair  one,  and  speaking  his  intention  with  so 
much  sincerity,  I am  willing  to  let  them  con- 
trive an  interview  by  my  means. 

‘ Sir, — I earnestly  entreat  you  to  publish  the 
inclosed  ; for  I have  no  other  way  to  come  at 
her  or  return  to  myself.  A.  L. 

‘ P.  S.  Mr.  Bickerstaff, — You  cannot  ima- 
gine how  handsome  she  is  : the  superscription  of 
my  letter  will  make  her  recollect  the  man  that 
gazed  at  her.  Pray  put  it  in.’ 

I can  assure  the  young  lady,  the  gentleman 
is  in  the  trammels  of  love : how  else  would  he 
make  his  superscription  so  much  longer  than 
his  billet  ? He  superscribes  ; 

‘ To  the  younger  of  the  two  ladies  in  mourn- 
ing (who  sat  in  the  hindmost  seat  of  the  middle 
box  at  Mr.  Winstanley’s  water- workst  on  Tues- 
day was  fortnight,  and  had  with  them  a brother, 
or  some  acquaintance  that  was  as  careless  of 
that  pretty  creature  as  a brother ; which  seem- 
ing brother  ushered  them  to  their  coach)  with 
great  respect.  Present.’ 

‘Madam, — I have  a very  good  estate,  and 
wish  myself  your  husband  : let  me  know  by  this 
way  where  you  live  ; for  I shall  be  miserable 
until  we  live  together. 

‘ALEXANDER  LANDLORD.’ 

This  is  the  modern  way  of  bargain  and  sale ; 
a certain  short-hand  writing,  in  which  laconic 
elder  brothers  are  very  successful.  All  my  fear 
is,  that  the  nymph’s  elder  sister  is  unmarried  ; 
if  she  is,  we  are  undone  ; but  perhaps  the  care- 
less fellow  was  her  husband,  and  then  she  will 
let  us  go  on. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  28. 

The  following  letter  has  given  me  a new 
sense  of  the  nature  of  my  writings.  I have  the 
deepest  regard  to  conviction,  and  shall  never 
act  against  it.  However,  I do  not  yet  under- 
stand what  good  man  he  thinks  I have  injured  : 
but  his  epistle  has  such  weight  in  it,  that  I 
shall  always  have  respect  for  his  admonition, 
and  desire  the  continuance  of  it.  I am  not 
conscious  that  I have  spoke  any  faults  a man 
may  not  mend  if  he  pleases. 

* Winstanley’s  mathematical  water  theatre  stood  at 
the  lower  end  of  Piccadilly,  distinguishable  by  a wind- 
mill at  top. 


Sept.  25. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — When  I read  your  paper 
of  Thursday,  I was  surprised  to  find  mine  of 
the  thirteenth  inserted  at  large ; I never  in- 
tended myself  or  you  a second  trouble  of  this 
kind,  believing  I had  sufficiently  pointed  out 
the  man  you  had  injured,  and  that  by  this  time 
you  were  convinced  that  silence  would  be  the 
best  answer  ; but  finding  your  reflections  are 
such  as  naturally  call  for  a reply,  I take  this 
way  of  doing  it ; and,  in  the  first  place,  return 
you  thanks  for  the  compliment  made  me  of  my 
seeming  sense  and  worth.  I do  assure  you,  I 
shall  always  endeavour  to  convince  mankind  of 
the  latter,  though  I have  no  pretence  to  the  for- 
mer. But  to  come  a little  nearer,  I observe^you 
put  yourself  under  a very  severe  restriction, 
even  the  laying  down  the  Tatler  for  ever,  if  I 
can  give  you  an  instance,  wherein  you  have  in- 
jured any  good  man,  or  pointed  out  any  thing 
which  is  not  the  true  object  of  raillery. 

‘ I must  confess,  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  if  the  mak- 
ing a man  guilty  of  vices  that  would  shame  the 
gallows,  be  the  best  method  to  point  at  the  true 
object  of  raillery,  I have,  until  this  time,  been 
very  ignorant ; but  if  it  be  so,  I will  venture  to 
assert  one  thing,  and  lay  it  down  as  a maxim, 
even  to  the  Staffian  race,  viz.  That  that  me- 
thod of  pointing  ought  no  more  to  be  pursued, 
than  those  people  ought  to  cut  your  throat  who 
suffer  by  it ; because  I take  both  to  be  murder, 
and  the  law  is  not  in  every  private  man’s  hands 
to  execute  : but  indeed,  sir,  were  you  the  only 
person  would  suffer  by  the  Tatler’s  discontinu- 
ance, I have  malice  enough  to  punish  you  in 
the  manner  you  prescribe  ; but  I am  not  so 
great  an  enemy  to  the  town  or  my  own  pleasures 
as  to  wish  it;  nor  that  you  would  lay  aside  lash- 
ing the  reigning  vices,  so  long  as  you  keep  to  the 
true  spirit  of  satire  without  descending  to  rake 
into  characters  below  its  dignity  ; for,  as  you 
well  observe,  there  is  something  very  terrible  in 
unjustly  attacking  men  in  a way  that  may  pre- 
judice their  honour  or  fortune;  and,  indeed, 
where  crimes  are  enormous,  the  delinquent  de- 
serves little  pity,  yet  the  reporter  may  deserve 
less : and  here  I am  naturally  led  to  that  cele- 
brated author  of  “ Tlie  whole  Duty  of  Man,”* 
who  hath  set  this  matter  in  a true  light  in  his 
treatise  “ Of  the  Government  of  the  Tongue ;” 
where,  speaking  of  uncharitable  truths,  he  says, 

“ a discovery  of  this  kind  serves  not  to  reclaim, 
but  enrage  the  offender,  and  precipitate  him  into 
further  degrees  of  ill.  Modesty  and  fear  of 
shame  is  one  of  those  natural  restraints  which 
the  wisdom  of  heaven  has  put  upon  mankind ; 
and  he  that  once  stumbles,  may  yet,  by  a check 
of  that  bridle,  recover  again : but  when  by  a 
public  detection  he  is  fallen  under  that  infamy 


* Dr.  Nash,  in  his  History  of  Worcestershire,’  vol.  i. 
p.  352,  has  taken  much  pains  to  discover  the  author  of 
this  celebrated  book  ; which  has  been  ascribed  to  no  less 
than  eight  different  writers ; viz.  to  Abraham  Woodhead, 
Obadiah  Walker,  Bp.  Fell,  Bp.  Chappie,  Dr.  Allestree, 
Dr.  Henchman,  Mr.  Fulman,  and  lady  Pakington.  Dr. 
Nash  inclines  to  ascribe  the  book  to  lady  Pakington, 
though  amply  and  materially  corrected  by  Bp.  Fell,  be- 
tween whom  and  that  lady  there  subsisted  a long  and 
uninterrupted  correspondence.  The  first  edition  of  it 
appeared  in  1654.  It  has  been  supposed,  that  the  grand- 
son of  lady  Pakington  was  the  original  of  the  character 
of  sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  in  the  Spectator. 


160 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  75. 


he  feared,  he  will  then  be  apt  to  discard  all 
caution,  and  to  think  he  owes  himself  the  ut- 
most pleasures  of  vice,  as  the  price  of  his  repu- 
tation. Nay,  perhaps  he  advances  farthei*,  and 
sets  up  for  a reversed  sort  of  fame,  by  being 
eminently  wicked,  and  he  who  before  was  but 
a clandestine  disciple  becomes  a doctor  of  im- 
piety,” &-C.  This  sort  of  reasoning,  sir,  most 
certainly  induced  our  v/ise  legislators  very  lately 
to  repeal  that  law  which  put  the  stamp  of  infamy 
in  the  face  of  felons : therefore,  you  had  better 
give  an  act  of  oblivion  to  your  delinquents, 
at  least  for  transportation,  than  to  continue  to 
mark  them  in  so  notorious  a manner.  I can- 
not but  applaud  your  designed  attempt  of  “rais- 
ing merit  from  obscurity,  celebrating  virtue  in 
distress,  and  attacking  vice  in  another  method, 
by  setting  innocence  in  a proper  light.”  Your 
pursuing  these  noble  themes  will  make  a great- 
er advance  to  the  reformation  you  seem  to  aim 
at,  than  the  method  you  have  hitherto  taken,  by 
putting  mankind  beyond  the  power  of  retrieving 
themselves,  or,  indeed,  to  think  it  possible.  But 
if,  after  all  your  endeavours  in  this  new  way, 
there  should  then  remain  any  hardened  im peni- 
tents, you  must  even  give  them  up  to  the  rigour 
of  the  law,  as  delinquents  not  within  the  benefit 
of  their  clergy.  Pardon  me,  good  Mr.  Bicker- 
staff,  for  the  tediousness  of  this  epistle,  and  be- 
lieve it  is  not  from  self-conviction  I have  taken 
up  so  much  of  your  time,  or  my  own ; but  sup- 
posing you  mean  all  your  lucubrations  should 
tend  to  the  good  of  mankind,  I may  the  easier 
hope  your  pardon,  being,  sir,  Yours,  «Sec.’ 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  September  29. 

This  evening  I thought  fit  to  notify  to  the 
literati  of  this  house,  and  by  that  means  to  all 
the  world,  that  on  Saturday  the  fifteenth  of  Oc- 
tober next  ensuing,  I design  to  fix  my  first  ta- 
ble of  fame ; and  desire,  that  such  as  are  ac- 
quainted with  the  characters  of  the  twelve  most 
famous  men  that  have  ever  appeared  in  the 
world,  would  send  in  their  lists,  or  name  any 
one  man  for  that  table,  assigning  also  his  place 
at  it  before  that  time,  upon  pain  of  having  such 
his  man  of  fame  postponed,  or  placed  too  high 
for  ever.  I shall  not,  upon  any  application 
whatever,  alter  the  place  which  upon  that  day 
I shall  give  to  any  of  these  worthies.  But, 
whereas,  there  are  many  who  take  upon  them 
to  admire  this  hero,  or  that  author,  upon  second 
hand,  I expect  each  subscriber  should  under- 
write his  reason  for  the  place  he  allots  his  can- 
didate. 

The  thing  is  of  the  last  consequence  ; for  we 
are  about  settling  the  greatest  point  that  ever 
has  been  debated  in  any  age ; and  I shall  take 
precautions  accordingly.  Let  every  man  who 
votes,  consider,  that  he  is  now  going  to  give 
away  that,  for  which  the  soldier  gave  up  his 
rest,  his  pleasure,  and  his  life ; the  scholar  re- 
signed his  whole  series  of  thought,  his  midnight 
repose,  and  his  morning  slumbers.  In  a word, 
he  is,  as  I may  say,  to  be  judge  of  that  after- 
life, which  noble  spirits  prefer  to  their  very  real 
beings.  I hope  I shall  be  forgiven,  therefore, 
if  I make  some  objections  against  their  jury,  as 
they  shall  occur  to  me.  The  whole  of  the  num- 


ber by  whom  they  are  to  be  tried  are  to  be  scho- 
lars. I am  persuaded  also,  that  Aristotle  will  be 
put  up  by  all  of  that  class  of  men.  However,  in 
behalf  of  others,  such  as  wear  the  livery  of 
Aristotle,  the  two  famous  universities  are  called 
upon,  on  this  occasion ; but  I except  the  men  of 
Queen’s,  Exeter,  and  Jesus  Colleges,  in  Oxford, 
who  are  not  to  be  electors,  because  he  shall  not 
be  crowned  from  an  implicit  faith  in  his  writings, 
but  receive  his  honour  from  such  judges  as  shall 
allow  him  to  be  censured.  Upon  this  election, 
as  I was  just  now  going  to  say,  I banish  all  who 
think  and  speak  after  others  to  concern  them- 
selves in  it.  For  which  reason,  all  illiterate 
distant  admirers  are  forbidden  to  corrupt  the 
voices,  by  sending,  according  to  the  new  mode, 
any  poor  student’s  coals  and  candles  for  their 
votes  in  behalf  of  such  worthies  as  they  pretend 
to  esteem.  All  news-writers  are  also  excluded, 
because  they  consider  fame  as  it  is  a report 
which  gives  foundation  to  the  filling  up  their 
rhapsodies,  and  not  as  it  is  the  emanation  or 
consequence  of  good  and  evil  actions.  These  are 
excepted  against  as  justly  as  butchers  in  case 
of  life  and  death  : their  familiarity  with  the 
greatest  names  takes  off  the  delicacy  of  their 
regard,  as  dealing  in  blood  makes  the  Lanii  less 
tender  of  spilling  it. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  September  28. 

Letters  from  Lisbon  of  the  twenty-fifth  in- 
stant, N.  S.  speak  of  a battle  which  has  been 
fought  near  the  river  Cinca,  in  which  general 
Staremberg  had  overthrown  the  army  of  the 
duke  of  Anjou.  The  persons  who  send  this, 
excuse  their  not  giving  particulars,  because  they 
believed  an  account  must  have  arrived  here  be- 
fore we  could  hear  from  them.  They  had  ad- 
vices from  different  parts,  which  concurred  in 
the  circumstances  of  the  action  ; after  which, 
the  army  of  his  catholic  majesty  advanced  as 
! far  as  Fraga,  and  the  enemy  retired  to  Sara- 
gossa. There  are  reports,  that  the  duke  of  An- 
jou was  in  the  engagement ; but  letters  of  good 
authority  say,  that  prince  was  on  the  road  to- 
wards the  camp  when  he  received  the  news  of 
the  defeat  of  his  troops.  We  promise  ourselves 
great  consequences  from  such  an  advantage  ob- 
tained by  so  accomplished  a general  as  Starem- 
berg ; who,  among  the  men  of  this  present  age, 
is  esteemed  the  third  in  military  fame  and  re- 
putation. 


No.  75.]  Saturday,  October  1,  1709. 

ftuicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whate’er  men  do,  or  say,  or  think,  or  dream. 

Our  motley  paper  seizes  for  its  theme.  P. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  30. 

I AM  called  off  from  public  dissertations  by  a 
domestic  affair  of  great  importance,  which  is  no 
less  than  the  disposal  of  my  sister  Jenny  for  life. 
The  girl  is  a girl  of  great  merit,  and  pleasing 
conversation ; but  I,  being  born  of  my  father’s 
first  wife,  and  she  of  his  third,  she  converses 


No.  75.] 


THE  TATLER. 


161 


with  me  rather  like  a daughter  than  a sister.  I 
have,  indeed,  told  her,  that  if  she  kept  her  ho- 
nour, and  behaved  herself  in  such  a manner  as 
became  the  Bickerstaffs,  I would  get  her  an 
agreeable  man  for  her  husband ; which  was  a 
promise  I made  her  after  reading  a passage  in 
Pliny’s  ‘ Epistles.’  That  polite  author  had  been 
employed  to  find  out  a consort  for  his  friend’s 
daughter,  and  gives  the  following  character  of 
the  man  he  had  pitched  upon.  Aciliano  pluri- 
mum  vigoris  et  industricB  quanquam  in  maxima 
verecundia : est  illi  facies  liberalis,  multo  san- 
guine, multo  ruhore,  suffusa  : est  ingenua  totius 
corporis  pulchritudo,  et  quidam  senatorius  decor, 
qu(B  ego  nequaqunm  arbitror  negligenda  : debet 
enim  hoc  castitati  pucllarum  quasi  prcemium 
dari.  ‘ Acilianus  (for  that  was  the  gentleman’s 
name)  is  a man  of  extraordinary  vigour  and  in- 
dustry, accompanied  with  the  greatest  modesty  : 
he  has  very  much  of  the  gentleman,  with  a lively 
colour,  and  flush  of  health  in  his  aspect.  His 
whole  person  is  finely  turned,  and  speaks  him  a 
man  of  quality  : which  are  qualifications  that,  I 
think,  ought  by  no  means  to  be  overlooked  ; and 
should  be  bestowed  on  a daughter  as  the  reward 
of  her  chastity.’ 

A woman  that  will  give  herself  liberties,  need 
not  put  her  parents  to  so  much  trouble ; for  if 
she  does  not  possess  these  ornaments  in  a hus- 
band, she  can  supply  herself  elsewhere.  But  this 
is  not  the  case  of  my  sister  Jenny,  who,  I may 
say  without  vanity,  is  as  unspotted  a spinster  as 
any  in  Great  Britain.  I shall  take  this  occasion 
to  recommend  the  conduct  of  our  own  family  in 
this  particular. 

We  have,  in  the  genealogy  of  our  house,  the 
descriptions  and  pictures  of  our  ancestors  from 
the  time  of  king  Arthur ; in  whose  days  there 
was  one  of  my  own  name,  a knight  of  his  round 
table,  and  known  by  the  name  of  sir  Isaac  Bick- 
erstatf.  He  was  low  of  stature,  and  of  a very 
swarthy  complexion,  not  unlike  a Portuguese 
Jew.  But  he  was  more  prudent  than  men  of 
that  height  usually  are,  and  would  often  com- 
municate to  his  friends  his  design  of  lengthening 
and  whitening  his  posterity.  His  eldest  son, 
Ralph,  for  that  was  his  name,  was  for  this  rea- 
son married  to  a lady  who  had  little  else  to  re- 
commend her,  but  that  she  was  very  tall  and 
very  fair.  The  issue  of  this  match,  with  the 
help  of  high  shoes,  made  a tolerable  figure  in 
the  next  age;  though  the  complexion  of  the  fa- 
mily was  obscure  until  the  fourth  generation 
from  that  marriage.  From  which  time  until 
the  reign  of  William  the  Conqueror,  the  females 
of  our  house  were  famous  for  their  needle-work 
and  fine  skins.  In  the  male  line,  there  happen- 
ed an  unlucky  accident  in  the  reign  of  Richard 
III.  the  eldest  son  of  Philip,  then  chief  of  the  fa- 
mily, being  born  with  a hump-back  and  very 
high  nose.  This  was  the  more  astonishing,  be- 
cause none  of  his  forefathers  ever  had  such  a 
blemish  ; nor  indeed  was  there  any  in  the  neigh- 
Dourhood  of  that  make,  except  the  butler,  who 
was  noted  for  round  shoulders,  and  a Roman 
nose  : what  made  the  nose  the  less  excusable, 
was,  the  remarkable  smallness  of  his  eyes. 

These  several  defects  were  mended  by  suc- 
ceeding matches ; the  eyes  were  open  in  the 


next  generation,  and  the  hump  fell  in  a century 
and  a half  -A  but  the  greatest  difficulty  was,  how 
to  reduce  the  nose ; which  I do  not  find  was  ac- 
complished until  about  the  middle  of  the  reign 
of  Henry  VII.  or  rather  the  beginning  of  Hen- 
ry VIII. 

But,  while  our  ancestors  were  thus  taken  up 
in  cultivating  the  eyes  and  nose,  the  face  of  the 
Bickerstaffs  fell  down  insensibly  into  chin ; 
which  was  not  taken  notice  of,  their  thoughts 
being  so  much  employed  upon  the  more  noble 
features,  until  it  became  almost  too  long  to  be 
remedied. 

But,  length  of  time,  and  successive  care  in 
our  alliances,  have  cured  this  also,  and  reduced 
our  faces  into  that  tolerable  oval,  which  we  en- 
joy  at  present.  I would  not  be  tedious  in  this 
discourse,  but  cannot  but  observe,  that  our  race 
suffered  very  much  about  three  hundred  years 
ago,  by  the  marriage  of  one  of  our  heiresses  with 
an  eminent  courtier,  who  gave  us  spindleshanks, 
and  cramps  in  our  bones  ; insomuch,  that  we  did 
not  recover  our  health  and  legs  until  sir  Walter 
Bickerstaff  married  Maud  the  milk-maid,  of 
whom  the  then  garter  king-at-arms,  a facetious 
person,  said  pleasantly  enough,  ‘that  she  had 
spoiled  our  blood,  but  mended  our  constitutions.’ 

After  this  account  of  the  effect  our  prudent 
choice  of  matches  has  had  upon  our  persons  and 
features,  I cannot  but  observe,  that  there  are 
daily  instances  of  as  great  changes  made  by 
marriage  upon  men’s  minds  and  humours. 

One  might  wear  any  passion  out  of  a family 
by  culture,  as  skilful  gardeners  blot  a colour  out 
of  a tulip  that  hurts  its  beauty.  One  might  pro- 
duce an  affable  temper  out  of  a shrew,  by  graft- 
ing the  mild  upon  the  choleric ; or  raise  a jack- 
pudding from  a prude,  by  inoculating  mirth  and 
melancholy.  It  is  for  want  of  care  in  the  dis- 
posing our  children,  with  regard  to  our  bodies 
and  minds,  that  we  go  into  a house  and  see  such 
different  complexions  and  humours  in  the  same 
race  and  family.  But  to  me  it  is  as  plain  as  a 
pikestaff,  from  what  mixture  it  is,  that  this 
daughter  silently  lours,  the  other  steals  a kind 
look  at  you,  a third  is  exactly  well  behaved,  a 
fourth  a splenetic,  and  the  fifth  a coquette. 

In  this  disposal  of  my  sister,  I have  chosen, 
with  an  eye  to  her  being  a wit,  and  provided  that 
the  bridegroom  be  a man  of  a sound  and  excel- 
lent judgment,  who  will  seldom  mind  what  she 
says  when  she  begins  to  harangue  : for  Jenny’s 
only  imperfection  is  an  admiration  of  her  parts, 
which  inclines  her  to  be  a little,  but  a very  little, 
sluttish  ; and  you  are  ever  to  remark,  that  we 
are  apt  to  cultivate  most,  and  bring  into  obser- 
vation, what  we  think  most  excellent  in  our- 
selves, or  most  capable  of  improvement.  Thus, 
my  sister,  instead  of  consulting  her  glass  and 
her  toilet  for  an  hour  and  a half  after  her  pri- 
vate devotions,  sits  with  her  nose  full  of  snuff, 
and  a man’s  night-cap  on  her  head,  reading 
plays  and  romances.  Her  wit  she  thinks  her 


* Perhaps  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  to  mention,  that 
this  century  and  a half  of  time,  is  all  a fiction,  and  that 
the  wit  of  the  paper,  and  the  truth  of  the  history  are 
here  at  variance,  as  Henry  VII.  defeated  Richard  III.  in 
Bosworth  field ; was  his  immediate  successor  in  1485, 
and  died  in  1509. 


162 


THE  I'ATLER. 


[No.  76. 


distinction  : therefore  knows  nothing'  of  the  skill 
of  dress,  or  making  her  person  agreeable.  It 
would  make  you  laugh  to  see  me  often,  with  my 
spectacles  on,  lacing  her  stays  ; for  she  is  so 
very  a wit,  that  she  understands  no  ordinary 
thing  in  the  world. 

For  this  reason  I have  disposed  of  her  to  a 
man  of  business,  who  will  soon  let  her  see,  that 
to  be  well  dressed,  in  good  humour,  and  cheerful 
in  the  command  of  her  family,  are  the  arts  and 
sciences  of  female  life.  I could  have  bestowed 
her  upon  a fine  gentleman,  who  extremely  ad- 
mired her  wit,  and  would  have  given  her  a coach 
and  six : but  I found  it  absolutely  necessary  to 
cross  the  strain  ; for  had  they  met,  they  had  en- 
tirely been  rivals  in  discourse,  and  in  continual 
contention  for  the  superiority  of  understanding, 
and  brought  forth  critics,  pedants,  or  pretty  good 
poets.  As  it  is,  I expect  an  offspring  fit  for  the 
habitation  of  the  city,  town,  or  country;  crea- 
tures that  are  docile  and  tractable  in  whatever 
we  put  them  to. 

To  convince  men  of  the  necessity  of  taking 
this  method,  let  any  one,  even  below  the  skill 
of  an  astrologer,  behold  the  turn  of  faces  he 
meets  as  soon  as  he  passes  Cheapside  Conduit, 
and  you  see  a deep  attention  and  a certain  un- 
thinking sharpness  in  every  countenance.  They 
look  attentive,  but  their  thoughts  are  engaged 
on  mean  purposes.  To  me  it  is  very  apparent, 
when  I see  a citizen  pass  by,  whether  his  head 
is  upon  woollen,  silks,  iron,  sugar,  indigo,  or 
stocks.  Now,  this  trace  of  thought,  appears 
or  lies  hid  in  the  race  for  two  or  three  gene- 
rations. 

I know  at  this  time,  a person  of  a vast  estate, 
who  is  the  immediate  descendant  of  a fine  gen- 
tleman, but  the  great  grandson  of  a broker,  in 
whom  his  ancestor  is  now  revived.  He  is  a very 
honest  gentleman  in  his  principles,  but  cannot 
for  his  blood  talk  fairly  : he  is  heartily  sorry  for 
it;  but  he  cheats  by  constitution,  and  over- 
reaches by  instinct. 

The  happiness  of  the  man  who  marries  my 
sister  will  be,  that  he  has  no  faults  to  correct  in 
her  but  her  own,  a little  bias  of  fancy,  or  parti- 
cularity of  manners,  which  grew  in  herself,  and 
can  be  amended  by  her.  From  such  an  untaint- 
ed couple,  we  can  hope  to  have  our  family  rise 
to  its  ancient  splendour  of  face,  air,  countenance, 
manner  and  shape,  without  discovering  the  pro- 
duce of  ten  nations  in  one  house.  Obadiah 
Greenhat  says,  ‘ he  never  comes  into  any  com- 
pany in  England,  but  he  distinguishes  the  dif- 
ferent nations  of  wdiich  we  are  composed.’ 
There  is  scarce  such  a living  creature  as  a true 
Briton.  We  sit  down,  indeed,  all  friends,  ac- 
quaintance, and  neighbours  ; but  after  two  bot- 
tles, you  see  a Dane  start  up  and  swear,  ‘ The 
kingdom  is  his  own.’  A Saxon  drinks  up  the 
whole  quart,  and  swears  ‘ He  will  dispute  that 
with  him.’  A Norman  tells  them  both,  ‘ He 
will  assert  his  liberty  ;’  and  a Welchman  cries, 

‘ They  are  all  foreigners  and  intruders  of  yes- 
terday,’ and  beats  them  out  of  the  room.  Such 
accidents  happen  frequently  among  neighbour’s 
children,  and  cousins-german.  For  which  rea- 
son, I say,  study  your  race  ; or  the  soil  of  your 
family  will  dwindle  into  cits  or  esquires,  or  run 
up  into  wits  or  madmen. 


No.  76.]  Tuesday^  October  4,  1709. 

Ciuicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill — 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  October  3. 

It  is  a thing  very  much  to  be  lamented,  that 
a man  must  use  a certain  cunning  to  caution 
people  against  what  it  is  their  interest  to  avoid. 
All  men  will  allow,  that  it  is  a great  and  heroic 
work  to  correct  men’s  errors,  and,  at  the  price 
of  being  called  a common  enemy,  to  go  on  in 
being  a common  friend  to  my  fellow-subjects 
and  citizens.  But  I am  forced  in  this  work  to 
revolve  the  same  thing  in  ten  thousand  lights, 
and  cast  them  in  as  many  forms  to  come  at 
men’s  minds  and  affections,  in  order  to  lead  the 
innocent  in  safety,  as  well  as  disappoint  the  ar- 
tifices of  betrayers.  Since,  therefore  I can 
make  no  impression  upon  the  offending  side,  I 
shall  turn  my  observations  upon  the  offended  ; 
that  is  to  say,  I must  whip  my  children  for  going 
into  bad  company,  instead  of  railing  at  bad  com- 
pany for  ensnaring  my  children. 

The  greatest  misfortunes  men  fall  into,  arise 
from  tliemsolves ; and  that  temper,  which  is  call- 
ed very  often,  tlicugh  with  great  injustice,  good 
nature,  is  the  source  of  a numberless  train  of  evils. 
For  which  reason,  we  are  to  take  this  as  a rule, 
that  no  action  is  commendable  which  is  not  vo- 
luntary; and  we  have  made  this  a maxim  : 
‘ That  a man  who  is  commonly  called  good- 
natured,  is  hardly  to  be  thanked  for  any  thing 
he  does,  because  half  that  is  acted  about  him  is 
done  rather  by  his  sufferance  than  approbation.’ 
It  is  generally  laziness  of  disposition,  which 
chooses  rather  to  let  things  pass  the  worst  way, 
than  to  go  through  the  pain  of  examination.  It 
must  be  confessed,  such  a one  has  so  great  a be- 
nevolence in  him,  that  he  bears  a thousand  un- 
easinesses rather  than  he  will  incommode  others : 
nay,  often  when  he  has  justreason  to  be  offended, 
chooses  rather  to  sit  down  with  a small  injury, 
than  bring  it  into  reprehension,  out  of  pure  com- 
passion  to  the  offender.  Such  a person  has  it 
usually  said  of  him,  ‘ He  is  no  man’s  enemy  but 
his  own ;’  which  is,  in  effect,  saying,  he  is  a 
friend  to  every  man  but  himself  and  his  friends  : 
for,  by  a natural  consequence  of  his  neglecting 
himself,  he  either  incapacitates  himself  to  be 
another’s  friend,  or  makes  others  cease  to  be 
his.  If  I take  no  care  of  my  own  affairs,  no 
man  that  is  my  friend  can  take  it  ill  if  I am  ne- 
gligent also  of  his.  This  soft  disposition,  if  it 
continues  uncorrected,  throws  men  into  a sea  of 
difficulties. 

There  is  Euphusius,  with  all  the  good  quali- 
ties in  the  world,  deserves  well  of  nobody ; that 
universal  good-will  which  is  so  strong  in  him, 
exposes  him  to  the  assault  of  every  invader  upon 
his  time,  his  conversation,  and  his  property. 
His  diet  is  butcher’s-meat,  his  wenches  are  in 
plain  pinners  and  Norwich  crapes,  his  dress  like 
other  people,  his  income  great ; and  yet  has  he 
seldom  a guinea  at  command.  From  these  easy 
gentlemen,  are  collected  estates  by  servants  or 
gamesters ; which  latter  fraternity  are  excusa- 
ble,  when  we  think  of  this  clan,  who  seem  born 


THE  TATLER. 


1G3 


No.  7G.] 

to  be  their  prey.  All,  therefore,  of  the  family 
of  Actaeon,  are  to  take  notice,  that  they  are 
hereby  given  up  to  the  brethren  of  the  Industry, 
with  this  reserve  only,  that  the}^  are  to  be  mark- 
ed  as  stricken  deer,  not  for  their  own  sakes,  but 
to  preserve  the  herd  from  following  them,  and 
coming  within  the  scent. 

I am  obliged  to  leave  this  important  subject, 
without  telling  whose  quarters  arc  severed,  who 
has  the  humbles,  who  the  haunch,  and  who  the 
sides,  of  the  last  stag  that  was  pulled  down  ; but 
this  is  onl}’^  deferred  in  hopes  my  deer  wdll  make 
their  escape  without  more  admonitions  or  ex- 
amples ; of  which  they  have  had,  in  mine  and 
the  town’s  opinion,  too  great  a plenty.  I must, 
I say,  at  present  go  to  other  matters  of  moment. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  October  3. 

The  lady  has  answered  the  letter  of  Mr.  Alex- 
ander  Landlord,  which  was  published  on  Thurs- 
day last,  but  in  such  a manner  as  I do  not  think 
fit  to  proceed  in  the  affair ; for  she  has  plainly 
told  him,  that  love  is  her  design,  but  marriage 
her  aversion.  Bless  me  ! what  is  this  age  come 
to,  that  people  can  think  to  make  a pimp  of  an 
astronomer  ! 

I shall  not  promote  such  designs,  but  sliall 
leave  her  to  find  out  her  admirer,  while  I speak 
to  another  case  sent  to  me  by  a letter  of  Septem- 
ber the  thirtieth,  subseribed  Lovcwell  Bare- 
bones,  where  the  author  desires  me  to  suspend 
my  care  of  the  dead,  until  I have  done  something 
for  the  dying.  His  case  is,  that  the  lady  he 
loves  is  ever  accompanied  by  a kinswoman,  one 
of  those  gay,  cunning  women,  who  prevent  all 
the  love  which  is  not  addressed  to  themselves. 
This  creature  takes  upon  her  in  his  mistress’s 
presence  to  ask  him,  ‘ Whether  Mrs.  Florimel’ 
(that  is  the  cruel  one’s  name)  ‘ is  not  very  hand- 
some?’ upon  wliich  he  looks  silly  ; then  they 
both  laugh  out,  and  she  will  tell  him,  ‘ Tliat 
Mrs.  Florimel  had  an  equal  passion  for  him,  but 
desired  him  not  to  expect  the  first  time  to  be 
admitted  in  private ; but  that  now  he  was  at 
liberty  before  her  only,  who  was  her  friend,  to 
spea’ti  his  mind,  and  that  his  mistress  expected 
it.’  Upon  whicli  Florimel  acts  a virgin-confusion, 
and  with  some  disorder  waits  his  speech.  Here 
ever  follows  a deep  silence ; after  which  a loud 
laugh.  Mr.  Barebones  applies  himself  to  me  on 
this  occasion. 

All  the  advice  I can  give  him,  is,  to  find  a 
lover  for  the  confidant,  for  there  is  no  other 
bribe  will  prevail ; and  I see  by  her  carriage, 
that  it  is  no  hard  matter ; for  she  is  too  gay  to 
have  a particular  passion,  or  to  want  a general  one. 

Some  days  ago  the  town  had  a full  charge 
laid  against  my  Essays,  and  printed  at  large. 
I altered  not  one  word  of  what  he  of  the  con- 
trary opinion  said,  but  have  blotted  out  some 
warm  things  said  for  me ; therefore,  please  to 
hear  the  counsel  for  the  defendant,  thougli  I 
shall  be  so  no  otherwise  than  to  take  a middle 
way,  and,  if  possible,  keep  commendations  from 
being  insipid  to  men’s  taste,  or  raillery  perni- 
cious to  their  characters. 

Sept.  :^0,  J70f». 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — As  I always  looked  upon 
satire  as  the  best  friend  to  reformation,  wliilst 


its  lashes  were  general ; so  that  gentleman  must 
excuse  me,  if  I do  not  see  the  inconvenience  of 
a method  he  is  so  much  concerned  at.  The  er- 
rors he  assigns  in  it,  I think,  are  comprised  in 
“the  desperation  men  are  generally  driven  to, 
w'hen  by  a public  detection  they  fall  under  the 
infamy  they  feared,  who  otherwise,  by  cliccking 
their  bridle,  might  have  recovered  their  stumble, 
and,  through  a self-convietion,  become  their  owm 
reformers  : so  he  that  was  before  but  a clandes- 
tine disciple,  (to  use  your  own  quotation)  is  now 
become  a doctor  in  impiety.”  The  little  success 
that  is  to  be  expected  by  these  methods  from  a 
hardened  offender,  is  too  evident  to  insist  on ; 
yet,  it  is  true,  there  is  a great  deal  of  charity  in 
this  sort  of  reasoning,  whilst  the  effects  of  tlioso 
crimes  extend  not  beyond  themselves.  But 
what  relation  has  this  to  your  proceedings  ? It 
is  not  a circumstantial  guessing  will  serve  the 
turn,  for  there  are  more  than  one  to  pretend  to 
any  of  your  characters ; but  there  must  at  least 
be  sometiiing  that  must  amount  to  a nominal 
description,  before  even  common  fame  can  sepa- 
rate me  from  the  rest  of  mankind  to  dart  at. 
A general  representation  of  an  action,  cither 
ridiculous  or  enormous,  may  make  those  wind) 
who  find  too  much  similitude  in  tlie  character 
witli  themselves  to  plead  not  guilty ; but  none 
but  a witness  to  the  crime  can  charge  them 
with  the  guilt,  whilst  the  indictment  is  general, 
and  the  offender  has  the  asylum  of  the  whole 
world  to  protect  him.  Here  can  then  be  no  in- 
justice, where  no  one  is  injured  ; for  it  is  them- 
selves must  appropriate  the  saddle  before  scan- 
dal can  ride  them. 

‘ Your  method,  then,  in  my  opinion,  is  no  way 
subject  to  the  charge  brmight  against  it ; but, 
on  the  contrary,  I believe  this  advantage  is  too 
often  drawn  from  it,  that  whilst  we  laugh  at, 
or  detest,  the  unccrtaiji  subject  of  the  satire, 
we  often  find  something  in  the  error  a parallel 
to  ourselves  ; and  being  insensibly  drawn  to  the 
comparison  we  would  get  rid  of,  we  plunge 
deeper  into  the  mire,  and  shame  produces  that 
which  advice  has  been  too  weak  for ; and  you, 
sir,  get  converts  you  never  thought  of. 

‘ As  for  descending  to  characters  below  the 
dignity  of  satire ; what  men  think  are  not  be- 
neath commission,  I must  assure  him,  I think 
are  not  beneath  reproof : for,  as  there  is  as  much 
folly  in  a ridiculous  deportment,  as  there  is 
enormity  in  a criminal  one,  so  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other  ought  to  plead  exemption.  The 
kennel  of  curs  are  as  much  enemies  to  the  state, 
as  Gregg*  for  his  confederacy  ; for,  as  this  be- 
trayed our  government,  so  the  other  does  our 
property ; and  one  without  the  other  is  equally 
useless.  As  for  the  act  of  oblivion  he  so  strenu- 
ously insists  on,  Le  Roy  s'aviseraf  is  a fashion- 
able answer ; and  for  his  modus  of  panegyric, 
the  hint  was  unnecessary,  where  virtue  need 
never  ask  twice  for  her  laurel.  But  as  for  his 
reformation  by  opposites,  I again  must  ask  his 
pardon,  if  I think  the  effects  of  these  sort  of 
reasonings,  by  the  paucity  of  converts,  are  too 


* William  Greg"  was  an  under-clerk  to  Mr.  Secretary 
Harley,  in  1708,  ami  was  detected  in  a treasonable  corres- 
pondence.  He  discovered  to  the  court  of  France,  the 
design  on  Toulon,  and  was  executed  for  that  crime, 

\ i.  e.  The  king  will  consider  of  it. 


164 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  77. 


great  an  argument,  both  of  their  imbecility 
and  unsuccessfulness,  to  believe  it  will  be  any 
better  than  misspending  of  time,  by  suspending 
ft  method  that  will  turn  more  to  advantage,  and 
which  has  no  other  danger  of  losing  ground,  but 
by  discontinuance.  And  as  I am  certain  of 
what  he  supposes,  that  your  lucubrations  are 
intended  for  the  public  benefit ; so  I hope  you 
will  not  give  them  so  great  an  interruption,  by 
laying  aside  the  only  method  that  can  render 
you  beneficial  to  mankind,  and,  among  others, 
agreeable  to,  Sir,  your  humble  servant,  &lc.' 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  October  3. 

Letters  from  the  camp  at  Havre,  of  the  se- 
venth instant,  N.  S.  advise,  that  the  trenches 
were  opened  before  Mons  on  the  twenty-seventh 
of  the  last  month,  and  the  approaches  were  car- 
ried on  at  two  attacks  with  great  application 
and  success,  notwithstanding  the  rains  which 
had  fallen  ; that  the  besiegers  had  made  them- 
selves masters  of  several  redoubts,  and  other 
out-works,  and  had  advanced  the  approaches 
within  ten  paces  of  the  counterscarps  of  the 
hornwork.  Lieutenant-general  Cadogan  re- 
ceived a slight  wound  in  the  neck  soon  after 
opening  the  trenches. 

The  enemy  were  throwing  up  entrenchments 
between  Quesnoy  and  Valenciennes,  and  the 
chevalier  do  Luxemburg  was  encamped  near 
Charleroy  with  a body  of  ten  thousand  men. 
Advices  from  Catalonia  by  the  way  of  Genoa, 
import,  that  count  Staremburg  having  passed 
the  Segra,  advanced  towards  Balaguier,  which 
place  he  took  after  a few  hours  resistance,  and 
made  the  garrison,  consisting  of  three  Spanish 
battalions,  prisoners  of  war.  Letters  from  Bern 
say,  that  the  army  under  the  command  of  count 
Thaun  had  begun  to  repass  the  mountains,  and 
would  shortly  evacuate  Savoy. 

‘ Whereas,  Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  received  in- 
telligence, that  a young  gentleman,  who  has 
taken  my  discourses  upon  John  Partridge  and 
others  in  too  literal  a sense,  and  is  suing  an 
elder  brother  to  an  ejectment ; the  aforesaid 
young  gentleman  is  hereby  advised  to  drop  his 
action,  no  man  being  esteemed  dead  in  law, 
who  eats  and  drinks,  and  receives  his  rents.’ 


No.  77.]  Thursday,  October  6,  1709. 

Claicquid  agmit  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Jtiv.  Sat.  i.  85, 86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  -whatever  ill — 

B}'  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  5. 

As  bad  as  the  world  is,  I find  by  very  strict 
observation  upon  virtue  and  vice,  that  if  men 
appeared  no  worse  than  they  really  are,  I should 
have  less  work  than  at  present  I am  obliged  to 
undertake  for  their  reformation.  They  have 
generally  taken  up  a kind  of  inverted  ambition, 
and  affect  even  faults  and  imperfections  of  which 
they  arc  innocent.  The  other  day  in  a coffee- 
house I stood  by  a young  heir,  with  a fresh, 
sanguine,  and  healthy  look,  who  entertained  us 


with  an  account  of  his  claps  and  diet-drink; 
though,  to  my  knowledge,  he  is  as  sound  as  any 
of  his  tenants. 

This  worthy  youth  put  me  into  reflections 
upon  that  subject ; and  I observed  the  fantasti- 
cal humour  to  be  so  general,  that  there  is  hardly 
a man  who  is  not  more  or  less  tainted  with  it. 
The  first  of  this  order  of  men  are  the  valetudi- 
narians, who  are  never  in  health ; but  complain 
of  want  of  stomach  or  rest  every  day  until  noon, 
and  then  devour  all  which  comes  before  them. 
Lady  Dainty*  is  convinced,  that  it  is  necessary 
for  a gentlewoman  to  be  out  of  order ; and,  to 
preserve  that  character,  she  dines  every  day  in 
her  closet  at  twelve,  that  she  may  become  her 
table  at  two,  and  be  unable  to  eat  in  public. 
About  five  years  ago,  I remember,  it  was  the 
fashion  to  be  short-sighted.  A man  would  not 
own  an  acquaintance  until  he  had  first  examined 
him  with  his  glass.  At  a lady’s  entrance  into 
tlie  play-house,  you  might  see  tubes  immediately 
levelled  at  her  from  every  quarter  of  the  pit  and 
side-boxes.  However,  that  mode  of  infirmity  is 
out,  and  the  age  has  recovered  its  sight : but  the 
blind  seem  to  be  succeeded  by  the  lame,  and  a 
janty  limp  is  the  present  beauty.  I think  I 
have  formerly  observed,  a cane  is  part  of  the 
dress  of  a prig,  and  always  worn  upon  a button 
for  fear  he  should  be  thought  to  have  an  occasion 
for  it,  or  be  esteemed  really,  and  not  genteelly  a 
cripple.  I have  considered,  but  could  never  fmd 
out  the  bottom  of  this  vanity.  I indeed  have 
heard  of  a Gascon  general,  who,  by  the  lucky 
grazing  of  a bullet  on  the  roll  of  his  stocking, 
took  occasion  to  halt  all  his  life  after.  But  as 
for  our  peaceable  cripples,  I know  no  foundation 
for  their  behaviour,  without  it  may  be  supposed 
that,  in  this  warlike  age,  some  think  a cane  the 
next  honour  to  a wooden  leg.  This  sort  of  affec- 
tation I have  known  run  from  one  limb  or 
member  to  another.  Before  the  limpers  came 
in,  I remember  a race  of  lispers,  fine  persons, 
who  took  an  aversion  to  particular  letters  in  our 
language.  Some  never  uttered  the  letter  H; 
and  others  had  as  mortal  an  aversion  to  S. 
Others  have  had  their  fashionable  defect  in  their 
ears,  and  would  make  you  repeat  all  you  said 
twice  over.  I know  an  ancient  friend  of  mine, 
whose  table  is  every  day  surrounded  with  flat- 
terers,  that  makes  use  of  this,  sometimes  as  a 
piece  of  grandeur,  and  at  others  as  an  art,  to 
make  them  repeat  their  commendations.  Such 
affectations  have  been  indeed  in  the  world  in 
ancient  times ; but  they  fell  into  them  out  of 
politic  ends.  Alexander  the  Great  had  a wry 
neck,  which  made  it  the  fashion  in  his  court  to 
carry  their  heads  on  one  side  when  they  came 
into  the  presence.  One  who  thought  to  out- 
shine  the  whole  court,  carried  his  head  so  over 
complaisantly,  that  this  martial  prince  gave  him 
so  great  a box  on  the  ear,  as  set  all  the  heads 
of  the  court  upright. 

This  humour  takes  place  in  our  minds  as 
well  as  bodies.  I know  at  this  time  a 3mung 
gentleman,  who  talks  atheistically  all  day  in 
coffee-houses,  and  in  his  degrees  of  understand- 


* The  name  given  to  an  affected  invalid  lady  by  Col- 
ley Cibber,  in  his  play  of  ‘ The  Double  Gallant,  or  Sick 
Lady’s  Cure,’ 


No.  78.] 


THE  TATLER. 


165 


ing  sets  up  for  a free-thinker ; though  it  can  be 
proved  upon  him,  he  says  his  prayers  every 
morning  and  evening.  But  this  class  of  modern 
wits  I shall  reserve  for  a chapter  by  itself. 

Of  the  like  turn  are  all  your  marriage-haters, 
who  rail  at  the  noose,  at  the  words,  ‘ for  ever 
and  aye,’  and  at  the  same  time  are  secretly 
pining  for  some  young  thing  or  other  that 
makes  their  hearts  ache  by  her  refusal.  The 
next  to  these,  are  such  as  pretend  to  govern 
their  wives,  and  boast  how  ill  they  use  them, 
when,  at  the  same  time,  go  to  their  houses,  and 
you  shall  see  them  step  as  if  they  feared  making 
a noise,  and  as  fond  as  an  alderman.^  I do  not 
know  but  sometimes  these  pretences  may  arise 
from  a desire  to  conceal  a contrary  defect  than 
that  they  set  up  for.  I remember,  when  I was 
a young  fellow,  we  had  a companion  of  a very 
fearful  complexion,  who,  when  we  sat  in  to  drink, 
would  desire  us  to  take  his  sword  from  him 
when  he  became  fuddled,  for  it  was  his  misfor- 
tune to  be  quarrelsome. 

There  are  many,  many  of  these  evils,  which 
demand  my  observation  ; but  because  I have  of 
late  been  thought  somewhat  too  satirical,  I shall 
give  them  warning,  and  declare  to  the  whole 
world,  that  they  are  not  true,  but  false  hypocrites ; 
and  make  it  out  that  they  are  good  men  in  their 
hearts.  The  motive  of  this  monstrous  affecta- 
tion, in  the  above-mentioned  and  the  like  parti- 
culars, I take  to  proceed  from  that  noble  thirst 
of  fame  and  reputation  whicli  is  planted  in  the 
hearts  of  all  men.  As  this  produces  elegant 
writings  and  gallant  actions  in  men  of  great 
abilities,  it  also  brings  forth  spurious  productions 
in  men  who  are  not  capable  of  distinguishing 
themselves  by  things  which  are  really  praise- 
worthy. As  the  desire  of  fame  in  men  of  true 
wit  and  gallantry  shows  itself  in  proper  in- 
stances, the  same  desire  in  men  who  have  the 
ambition  without  proper  faculties,  runs  wild,  and 
discovers  itself  in  a thousand  extravagances,  by 
which  they  would  signalize  themselves  from 
others,  and  gain  a set  of  admirers.  When  I was 
a middle-aged  man,  there  were  many  societies 
of  ambitious  young  men  in  England,  who,  in 
their  pursuits  after  fame,  were  every  night  em- 
ployed in  roasting  porters,  smoking  cobblers, 
knocking  down  watchmen,  overturning  consta- 
bles, breaking  windows,  blackening  sign-posts, 
and  the  like  immortal  enterprises,  that  dispersed 
their  reputation  throughout  the  whole  kingdom. 
One  could  hardly  find  a knocker  at  a door  in  a 
whole  street  after  a midnight  expedition  of  these 
beaux  esprits.  I was  lately  very  much  sur- 
prised by  an  account  of  my  maid,  who  entered 
ray  bed-chamber  this  morning  in  a very  great 
fright,  and  told  me,  she  was  afraid  my  parlour 
was  haunted  ; for  that  she  had  found  several 
panes  of  my  windows  broken,  and  the  floor 
strewed  with  half-pence.t  I have  not  yet  a full 
light  into  this  new  way,  but  am  apt  to  think, 
that  it  is  a generous  piece  of  wit  that  some  of 
my  contemporaries  make  use  of,  to  break  win- 
dows, and  leave  money  to  pay  for  them. 

* As  fawning  as  lap-dogs. 

t Gay’s  Trivia  was  published  about  this  time,  and 
from  a passage  in  that  poem,  and  a note  upon  it,  we 
learn,  that  there  were  bucks  in  those  days,  who  took  a 
delight  in  breaking  windows  with  half-pence,  and  were 
distinguished  by  the  name  of  Nickers. 


St.  James's  Coffee-house,  October  5. 

I have  no  manner  of  news  more  than  what  the 
whole  town  had  the  other  day ; except  that  I 
have  the  original  letter  of  the  marshal  Boufflers 
to  the  French  king,  after  the  late  battle  in  the 
woods,  which  I translate  for  the  benefit  of  the 
English  reader : 

‘ Sire, — This  is  to  let  your  majesty  under- 
stand, that  to  your  immortal  honour,  and  the  de- 
struction of  the  confederates,  your  troops  have 
lost  another  battle.  Artagnan  did  wonders, 
Rohan  performed  miracles,  Guiche  did  wonders, 
Gattion  performed  miracles,  the  whole  army 
distinguished  themselves,  and  every  body  did 
wonders.  And  to  conclude  the  wonders  of  the 
day,  I can  assure  your  majesty,  that  though  you 
have  lost  the  field  of  battle,  you  have  not  lost  an 
inch  of  ground.  The  enemy  marched  behind 
us  with  respect,  and  we  ran  away  from  them  as 
bold  as  lions.’ 

Letters  have  been  sent  to  Mr.  BickerstafF,  re- 
lating to  the  present  state  of  the  town  of  Bath, 
wherein  the  people  of  that  place  have  desired 
him  to  call  home  the  physicians.  All  gentlemen, 
therefore,  of  that  profession  are  hereby  directed 
to  return  forthwith  to  their  places  of  practice; 
and  the  stage-coaches  are  required  to  take  them 
in  before  other  passengers  until  there  shall  be  a 
certificate  signed  by  the  mayor,  or  Mr.  Powel, 
that  there  are  but  two  doctors  to  one  patient  left 
in  town. 


No.  78.]  Saturday,  October  8,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  libelli.  Jiiv.  Sat.  i.  85,  86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  7. 

As  your  painters,  who  deal  in  history-pieces, 
often  entertain  themselves  upon  broken  sketches, 
and  smaller  flourishes  of  the  pencil ; so  I find 
some  relief  in  striking  out  miscellaneous  hints, 
and  sudden  starts  of  fancy,  without  any  order 
or  connexion,  after  having  spent  myself  on  more 
regular  and  elaborate  dissertations.  I am  at 
present  in  tliis  easy  state  of  mind  sat  down  to 
my  scrutoire  ; where,  for  the  better  disposition 
of  my  correspondence,  I have  writ  upon  every 
drawer  the  proper  title  of  its  contents  ; as  hypo- 
crisy, dice,  patches,  politics,  love,  duels,  and  so 
forth.  My  various  advices  are  ranged  under 
such  several  heads,  saving  only  that  I have  a 
particular  box  for  Pacolet,  and  another  for  Mo- 
noculus.  I cannot  but  observe  that  my  duel- 
box,  which  is  filled  by  the  lettered  men  of  ho- 
nour, is  so  very  ill  spelt,  that  it  is  hard  to  decy- 
pher their  writings.  My  love-box,  though  on  a 
quite  contrary  subject,  filled  with  the  works  of 
the  fairest  hands  in  Great  Britain,  is  almost  as 
unintelligible.  The  private  drawer,  which  is 
sacred  to  politics,  has  in  it  some  of  the  most  re- 
fined panegyrics  and  satires  that  any  age  has 
produced. 

I have  now  before  me  several  recommenda- 


166 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  78. 


lions  for  places  at  my  Table  of  Fame.  Three 
of  th(!m  are  of  an  extraordinary  nature,  in  which 
I find  I am  misunderstood,  and  shall,  therefore, 
beg-  leave  to  produce  them.  They  are  from  a 
quaker,  a courtier,  and  a citizen. 

‘ Isaac, — Thy  lucubrations,  as  thou  lovest  to 
call  them,  have  been  perused  by  several  of  our 
friends,  who  have  taken  offence ; forasmuch  as 
thou  excludest  out  of  the  brotherhood  all  persons 
who  are  praise-worthy  for  religion,  we  are  afraid 
that  thou  wilt  fill  thy  table  with  none  but  hea- 
thens, and  cannot  hope  to  spy  a brother  there  ; 
for  there  are  none  of  us  who  can  be  placed 
among  murdering  heroes,  or  ungodly  wits;  since 
we  do  not  assail  our  enemies  with  the  arm  of 
flesh,  nor  our  gainsayers  with  the  vanity  of  hu- 
man wisdom.  If,  therefore,  thou  wilt  demean 
thyself  on  this  occasion  with  a right  judgment, 
according  to  the  gifts  that  are  in  thee,  we  desire 
thou  wilt  place  James  Nayler  at  the  upper  end 
of  thy  table.  EZEKIEL  STIFFRUMP.’ 

In  answer  to  my  good  friend  Ezekiel,  I must 
stand  to  it,  that  I cannot  break  my  rule  for  the 
sake  of  James  Naylcr;  not  knowing  wJiether 
Alexander  the  Great,  who  is  a choleric  hero, 
would  not  resent  his  sitting  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  table  with  his  hat  on. 

But  to  my  courtier. 

‘ Sm, — I am  surprised,  that  }mu  lose  your  time 
in  complimentingthe  dead,  when  you  may  make 
your  court  to  the  living.  Let  me  only  tell  you  in 
the  ear,  Alexander,  and  Cresar,  as  generous  as 
they  were  formerl}’-,  have  not  now  a groat  to 
dispose  of.  Fill  your  table  with  good  company  : 
I know  a person  of  quality  that  shall  give  you 
one  hundred  pounds  for  a place  at  it.  Be  se- 
cret, and  be  rich. — Yours, 

‘ You  know  my  hand.’ 

This  gentleman  seems  to  have  the  true  spirit, 
without  the  formality,  of  an  under-courtier  ; 
therefore,  I shall  be  plain  with  him,  and  let  him 
leave  the  name  of  his  courtier  and  one  hundred 
pounds  in  Morphew’s  hands ; if  I can  take  it,  I 
will. 

My  citizen  writes  the  following  : 

‘ Mr.  Isaac  Bickerstaff, 

‘ Sir, — Your  Tatler,  of  the  thirteenth  of  Sep- 
tember, I am  now  reading,  and  in  your  list  of 
famous  men,  desire  you  not  to  forget  Aider- 
man  Whittington,*  who  began  the  world  with 
a cat,  and  died  worth  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  pounds  sterling,  which  he  left  to  an 
only  daughter  three  years  after  his  mayoralty. 
If  you  want  any  further  particulars  of  ditto 
alderman,  daughter,  or  cat,  let  me  know,  and/ier 
first  v/ill  advise  the  needful,  which  concludes, 
your  loving  friend,  LEMUEL  LEGER.’ 

I shall  have  all  due  regard  to  this  gentleman’s 
recommendation  ; but  cannot  forbear  observing 
how  wonderfully  this  sort  of  style  is  adapted  for 
the  despatch  of  business,  by  leaving  out  insigni- 


*  Ricliarcl  Whittinston  lived  in  tlie  end  of  the  14tli, 
and  the  hesinnin"  of  the  15th  century,  fie  was  a mer- 
cer ; four  times  lord  mayor  of  London,  and  three  times 
buried  in  St.  .Michaers  church,  Paler  No.sU-r,  Vintry- 
ward. 


ficant  particles ; besides  that,  the  dropping  of  the 
first  person  is  an  artful  way  to  disengage  a man 
from  the  guilt  of  rash  words  or  promises.  But  I 
am  to  consider,  that  a citizen’s  reputation  is 
credit,  not  fame ; and  am  to  leave  these  lofty 
subjects  for  a matter  of  private  concern  in  the 
next  letter  before  me. 

‘ Sir, — I am  just  recovering  out  of  a languish, 
ing  sickness  by  the  care  of  Hippocrates,  who 
visited  me  throughout  my  whole  illness,  and 
was  so  far  from  taking  any  fee,  that  he  inquired 
into  my  circumstances,  and  would  have  relieved 
me  also  that  w'ay,  but  I did  not  want  it.  I know 
no  method  of  thanking  him,  but  recommending 
it  to  you  to  celebrate  so  great  humanity  in  the 
manner  you  think  fit,  and  to  do  it  with  the  spi- 
rit and  sentiments  of  a man  just  relieved  from 
grief,  misery,  and  pain,  to  joy,  satisfaction,  and 
ease  : in  which  you  will  represent  the  grateful 
sense  of  your  obedient  servant,  T.  B. 

I think  the  writer  of  this  letter  has  put  the 
matter  in  as  good  a dress  as  I can  for  him ; yet 
I cannot  but  add  my  applause  to  what  this  dis- 
tressed man  has  said.  There  is  not  a more  use- 
ful man  in  a commonwealth  than  a good  physi- 
cian  : and  by  consequence  no  worthier  a person 
than  he  that  uses  his  skill  with  generosity  even 
to  persons  of  condition,  and  compassion  to  those 
who  are  in  w-ant : which  is  the  behaviour  of 
Hippocrates,  who  shows  as  much  liberality  in  his 
practice  as  he  does  wit  in  his  conversation,  and 
skill  in  his  profession.  A wealthy  doctor,  who 
can  help  a poor  man,  and  will  not  without  a fee, 
has  less  sense  of  humanity  than  a poor  ruffian, 
who  kills  a rich  man  to  supply  his  necessities. 
It  is  something  monstrous  to  consider  a man  of 
a liberal  education  tearing  out  the  bowels  of  a 
poor  family,  by  taking  for  a visit  what  would 
keep  them  a week.  Hippocrates  needs  not 
the  comparison  of  such  extortion  to  set  off  his 
generosity  ; but  I mention  his  generosity  to  add 
shame  to  such  extortion. 

This  is  to  give  notice  to  all  ingenious  gentle- 
men in  and  about  the  cities  of  London  and  West- 
minster, who  have  a mind  to  be  instructed  in  the 
noble  sciences  of  music,  poetry,  and  politics,  that 
they  repair  to  the  Smyrna  coffee-house  in  Pall- 
mall,  betwixt  the  hours  of  eight  and  ten  at 
night,  where  they  may  be  instructed  gratis, 
with  elaborate  essays  by  word  of  mouth  on  all 
or  any  of  tiie  above-mentioned  arts.  The  disci- 
ples are  to  prepare  their  bodies  with  three  dishes 
of  boliea,  and  purge  their  brains  with  two 
pinches  of  snuff.  If  any  young  student  gives 
indication  of  parts,  by  listening  attentively,  or 
asking  a pertinent  question,  one  of  the  profes- 
sors shall  distinguish  him,  by  taking  snuff  out 
of  his  box  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  audience. 

N.  B.  The  seat  of  learning  is  now  removed 
from  the  corner  of  the  chimney  on  the  left  hand 
towards  the  window,  to  the  round  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  over  against  the  fire  ; a revo- 
lution much  lamented  by  the  porters  and  chair- 
men, who  were  much  edified  through  a pane 
of  glass  that  remained  broken  all  the  last  sum- 
mer. 

I cannot  forbear  advertising  my  correspon- 
dents, that  I think  myself  treated  by  some  of 
them  after  too  familiar  a manner,  and  in  phrases 


No.  79.] 


THE  TATLER. 


167 


that  neither  become  them  to  give  nor  me  to 
take.  I shall,  therefore,  desire  for  the  future, 
that  if  any  one  returns  me  an  answer  to  a letter, 
he  will  not  tell  me  he  has  received  the  favour 
of  my  letter ; but,  if  he  does  not  think  fit  to  say 
he  has  received  the  honour  of  it,  that  he  tell 
me  in  plain  English,  he  has  received  my  letter 
of  such  a date.  I must  likewise  insist  that  he 
would  conclude  with,  / am  vnth  great  respect, 
or  plainly,  I am,  without  farther  addition ; and 
not  insult  me,  by  an  assurance  of  his  being 
with  great  truth  and  esteem  my  humble  servant. 
There  is  likewise  another  mark  of  superiority 
which  I cannot  bear ; and  therefore  must  inform 
my  correspondents,  that  I discard  all  faithful 
humble  servants,  and  am  resolved  to  read  no 
letters  that  are  not  subscribed,  your  most  obe- 
dient, or  7nost  humble  servant,  or  both.  These 
may  appear  niceties  to  vulgar  minds,  but  they 
are  such  as  men  of  honour  and  distinction  must 
have  regard  to.  And  I very  well  remember  a 
famous  duel  in  France,  where  four  were  killed 
of  one  side,  and  three  of  the  other,  occasioned 
by  a gentleman’s  subscribing  himself  a most 
affectionate  friend. 


No.  79.]  Tuesday,  October  11,  1709. 

Felices  ter,  et  amplius, 
duos  irrupta  tenet  copula  ; nec  malis 
Divulsis  queriinoniis, 

Suprenri  citius  solvet  amor  die. 

Hor.  1.  Od.  xiii.  17. 

Thrice  happy  they,  in  pure  delights 
Whom  love  in  mutual  bonds  unites. 

Unbroken  by  complaints  or  strife 

Even  to  the  latest  hours  of  life.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  10. 

My  sister  Jenny’s  lover,  the  honest  Tranquil- 
lus,  for  that  shall  be  his  name,  has  been  impa- 
tient with  me  to  despatch  the  necessary  direc- 
tions for  his  marriage  ; that  while  I am  taken 
up  with  imaginary  sclieme.s,  as  he  calls  them, 
he  might  not  burn  with  real  desire,  and  the  tor- 
ture of  e.vpectation.  When  I had  reprimanded 
him  for  the  ardour  wherein  he  expressed  him- 
self, which  I thought  had  not  enough  of  that 
veneration  with  which  the  marriage-bed  is  to 
be  ascended,  I told  him,  ‘ the  day  of  his  nup- 
tials should  be  on  tlie  Saturday  following,  which 
was  the  eighth  instant.’  On  the  seventh  in  the 
evening,  poor  Jenny  came  into  my  chamber, 
and,  having  her  heart  full  of  the  great  change 
of  life  from  a virgin  condition  to  that  of  a wife, 
she  long  sat  silent.  I saw  she  expected  me  to 
entertain  her  on  this  important  subject,  which 
was  too  delicate  a circumstance  for  herself  to 
touch  upon  ; whereupon  I relieved  her  modesty 
in  the  following  manner  : ‘ Sister,’  said  I,  ‘ you 
are  now  going  from  me  : and  be  contented,  that 
you  leave  the  company  of  a talkative  old  man, 
for  that  of  a sober  young  one  : but  take  this 
along  with  you,  that  there  is  no  mean  in  the 
state  you  are  entering  into  ; but  you  are  to  be 
exquisitely  happy  or  miserable ; and  your  fortune 
in  this  way  of  life  will  be  wholly  of  your  own 
making.  In  all  the  marriages  I have  ever  seen, 
most  of  which  have  been  unhappy  ones,  the 
great  cause  of  evil  has  proceeded  from  slight  oc- 


casions ; and  I take  it  to  be  the  first  maxim  in 
a married  condition,  that  you  are  to  be  above 
trifles.  When  two  persons  have  so  good  an 
opinion  of  each  other  as  to  come  together  for 
life,  they  will  not  differ  in  matters  of  import- 
ance, because  they  think  of  each  other  with  re- 
spect ; and  in  regard  to  all  things  of  considera- 
tion that  may  aftect  them,  they  are  prepared  for 
mutual  assistance  and  relief  in  such  occurrences. 
For  less  oecasions,  they  form  no  resolutions, 
but  leave  their  minds  unprepared. 

‘ This,  dear  Jenny,  is  the  reason  that  the 
quarrel  between  sir  Harry  Willit  and  his  lady, 
which  began  about  her  squirrel,  is  irreconcila- 
ble. Sir  Harry  was  reading  a grave  author ; 
she  runs  into  his  study,  and  in  a playing  hu- 
mour, claps  the  squirrel  upon  the  folio;  he 
threw  the  animal  in  a rage  on  the  floor ; she 
snatehes  it  up  again,  calls  sir  Harry  a sour 
pedant,  without  good  nature  or  good  manners. 
This  cast  him  into  such  a rage,  that  he  threw 
down  the  table  before  him,  kicked  the  book 
round  the  room ; then  recollected  himself: 
“Lord,  madam,”  said  he,  “why  did  you  run  into 
such  expressions?  I was,”  said  he,  “in  the  high- 
est delight  with  that  author,  when  you  clapped 
your  squirrel  upon  my  book and,  smiling, 
added  upon  recollection,  “ I have  a great  re- 
spect for  your  favourite,  and  pray  let  us  all  be 
friends.”  My  lady  was  so  far  from  accepting 
this  apology,  that  she  immediately  conceived  a 
resolution  to  keep  him  under  for  ever ; and  with 
a serious  air  replied,  “There  is  no  regard  to 
be  had  to  what  a man  says,  who  can  fall  into 
so  indiscreet  a rage,  and  such  an  abject  sub- 
mission, in  the  same  moment,  for  which  I abso- 
lutely despise  }mu.”  Upon  which  she  rushed 
out  of  the  room.  Sir  Harry  staid  some  minutes 
behind,  to  think  and  command  himself ; after 
which  he  followed  lier  into  her  bed-chamber, 
where  she  was  prostrate  upon  the  bed,  tearing 
her  hair,  and  naming  twenty  coxcombs  who 
would  have  used  her  otherwise.  This  provoked 
him  to  so  high  a degree,  that  he  forbore  nothing 
but  beating  her ; and  all  the  servants  in  the  fa- 
mily were  at  their  several  stations  listening, 
whilst  the  best  man  and  wmman,  the  best  master 
and  mistress,  defamed  each  other  in  a way  that 
is  not  to  be  repeated  even  at  Billingsgate.  You 
know  this  ended  in  an  immediate  separation  ; 
she  longs  to  return  home,  but  knows  not  how 
to  do  it : he  invites  her  home  every  day,  and 
lies  with  every  woman  he  can  get.  Her  hus- 
band requires  no  submission  of  her  ; but  she 
thinks  her  very  return  will  argue  she  is  to  blame, 
which  she  is  resolved  to  be  for  ever,  rather  than 
acknowledge  it.  Thus,  dear  Jenny,  my  great 
advice  to  you  is,  be  guarded  against  giving  or 
receiving  little  provocations.  Great  matters  of 
offence  I have  no  reason  to  fear  either  from  you 
or  your  husband.’ 

After  this,  we  turned  our  discourse  into  a 
more  gay  style,  and  parted ; but  before  we  did 
so,  I made  her  resign  her  snuff-box  for  ever, 
and  half  drown  herself  with  washing  away  the 
stench  of  the  musty. 

But  the  wedding  morning  arrived,  and  our 
family  being  very  numerous,  there  was  no  avoid- 
ing the  inconvenience  of  making  the  ceremony 
and  festival  more  public,  than  the  modern  way 


168 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  80. 


of  celebrating  them  makes  me  approve  of.  The 
bride  next  morning  came  out  of  her  chamber, 
dressed  with  all  the  art  and  care  that  Mrs. 
Toilet,  the  tire-woman,  could  bestow  on  her. 
She  was  on  her  wedding-day  three-and-twenty  ; 
her  person  is  far  from  what  we  call  a regular 
beauty  ; but  a certain  sweetness  in  her  counte- 
nance, an  ease  in  her  shape  and  motion,  with 
an  unaffected  modesty  in  her  looks,  had  attrac- 
tions beyond  what  symmetry  and  exactness  can 
inspire,  without  the  addition  of  these  endow- 
ments. When  her  lover  entered  the  room,  her 
features  flushed  with  shame  and  joy  ; and  the 
ingenuous  manner,  so  full  of  passion  and  of  awe, 
with  which  Tranquillus  approached  to  salute 
her,  gave  me  good  omens  of  his  future  behaviour 
towards  her.  The  wedding  was  wholly  under 
my  care.  After  the  ceremony  at  church,  I 
was  resolved  to  entertain  the  company  with  a 
dinner  suitable  to  the  occasion,  and  pitched  upon 
the  Apollo,’’^  at  the  Old-Devil  at  Temple-bar,  as 
a place  sacred  to  mirth  tempered  with  discretion, 
where  Ben  Jonson  and  his  sons  used  to  make 
their  liberal  meetings.  Here  the  chief  of  the 
Staffian  race  appeared  ; and  as  soon  as  the  com- 
pany were  come  into  that  ample  room,  Lepidus 
Wagstaff  began  to  make  me  compliments  for 
choosing  that  place,  and  fell  into  a discourse 
upon  the  subject  of  pleasure  and  entertainment, 
drawn  from  the  rules  of  Ben’s  club,  which  are 
in  gold  letters  over  the  chimney.  Lepidus  has 
a way  very  uncommon,  and  speaks  on  subjects 
on  which  any  man  else  would  certainly  offend, 
with  great  dexterity.  He  gave  us  a large  ac- 
count of  the  public  meetings  of  all  the  well- 
turned  minds  who  had  passed  through  this  life 
in  ages  past,  and  closed  his  pleasing  narrative 
with  a discourse  on  marriage,  and  a repetition 
of  the  following  verses  out  of  Milton.t 

‘ Hail,  wedded  love!  mysterious  law!  true  source 
Of  human  otfspring,  sole  propriety 
In  paradise,  of  all  things  common  else. 

By  thee  adulterous  lust  was  driven  from  men 
Among  the  bestial  herds  to  range;  by  thee. 

Founded  in  reason,  loyal,  just,  and  pure. 

Relations  dear,  and  ail  the  charities 
Of  father,  son,  and  brother,  first  w'ere  known. 
Perpetual  fountain  of  domestic  sweets. 

Whose  bed  is  undefiled  and  chaste  pronounced. 
Present  or  past,  as  saints  or  patriarchs  used. 

Here  Love  his  golden  shafts  employs  : here  lights 
His  constant  lamp,  and  waves  liis  purple  wings  ; 
Reigns  here,  and  revels  not  in  the  bought  smile 
Of  harlots,  loveless,  joyless,  unendeared. 

Casual  fruition  ; nor  in  court  amours. 

Mixed  dance,  or  wanton  mask,  or  midnight  ball, 

Or  serenade,  which  the  starved  lover  sings 
To  his  proud  fair,  best  quitted  with  disdain.’ 

In  these  verses,  all  the  images  that  can  come 
into  a young  woman’s  head  on  such  an  occa- 
sion are  raised ; but  that  in  so  chaste  and  ele- 
gant a manner,  that  the  bride  thanked  him  for 
his  agreeable  talk,  and  we  sat  down  to  dinner. 

Among  the  rest  of  the  company,  there  was 
got  in  a fellow  you  call  a Wag.  This  ingenious 
person  is  the  usual  life  of  all  feasts  and  merri- 
ments, by  speaking  absurdities,  and  putting 
every  body  of  breeding  and  modesty  out  of 


* A large  room  at  the  Devil  Tavern  still  bears  this 
name,  and  the  rules  of  Ben’s  club  are  still  in  gold  letters 
over  the  chimney, 
t Paradise  Lost,  iv.  750. 


countenance.  As  soon  as  we  sat  down,  he  • 
drank  to  the  bride’s  diversion  that  night ; and  I 
then  made  twenty  double  meanings  on  the  j 
word  thing.  We  are  the  best  bred  family,  for  i 

one  so  numerous,  in  this  kingdom  ; and  indeed  ! 

we  should  all  of  us  have  been  as  much  out  of 
countenance  as  the  bride,  but  that  we  were  re- 
lieved by  an  honest  rough  relation  of  ours  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  table,  who  is  a lieutenant  of 
marines.  The  soldier  and  sailor  had  good  plain 
sense,  and  saw  what  was  wrong  as  well  as  ano- 
ther ; he  had  a way  of  looking  at  his  plate  and 
speaking  aloud  in  an  inward  manner;  and  when- 
ever the  wag  mentioned  the  word  thing  or  the 
words  that  same,  the  lieutenant  in  that  voice 
cried,  ‘ Knock  him  down.’  The  merry  man, 
wondering,  angry,  and  looking  round,  was  the 
diversion  of  the  table.  When  he  offered  to  re-  : 
cover,  and  say,  ‘ To  the  bride’s  best  thoughts,’  ^ 

‘ Knock  him  down,’  says  the  lieutenant,  and  so 
on.  This  silly  humour  diverted,  and  saved  us 
from  the  fulsome  entertainment  of  an  ill-bred 
coxcomb ; and  the  bride  drank  the  lieutenant’s 
health.  We  returned  to  my  lodging,  and  Tran- 
quillus led  his  wife  to  her  apartment,  without 
the  ceremony  of  throwing  the  stocking.  * 

One  in  the  morning  of  the  8th  of  October,  1709. 

I was  this  night  looking  on  the  moon,  and 
find  by  certain  signs  in  that  luminary,  that  a 
certain  person  under  her  dominion,  who  has 
been  for  many  years  distempered,  will,  within 
a few  hours,  publish  a pamphlet,  wherein  he  j 
will  pretend  to  give  my  lucubrations  to  a wrong  ‘ 
person  ; and  I require  all  sober  disposed  persons  I 
to  avoid  meeting  the  said  lunatic,  or  giving  him 
any  credence  any  farther  than  pity  demands ; 
and  to  lock  up  the  said  person  wherever  they 
find  him,  keeping  him  from  pen,  ink,  and  paper. 

And  I hereby  prohibit  any  person  to  take  upon 
him  my  writings,  on  pain  of  being  sent  by  me 
into  Lethe  with  the  said  lunatic  and  all  his 
works. 


No.  80.]  Thursday,  October  13,  1709. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines 

nostri  est  farrago  li belli.  Juv.  Sat.  i.  85,86. 

Whatever  good  is  done,  whatever  ill j 

By  human  kind,  shall  this  collection  fill.  | 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  October  12.  ^ 

This  learned  board  has  complained  to  me  of  I 
the  exorbitant  price  of  late  years  put  upon  books,  1 
and  consequently  on  learning,  which  has  raised  j 
the  reward  demanded  by  learned  men  for  their 
advice  and  labour.  In  order  to  regulate  and  fix 
a standard  in  these  matters  ; divines,  physicians, 
and  lawyers,  have  sent  in  large  proposals,  which 
are  of  great  light  and  instruction.  From  the 
perusal  of  these  memorials,  I am  come  to  this 
immediate  resolution,  until  I have  leisure  to  treat  I 
the  matter  at  large,  viz.  In  divinity,  fathers  I 
shall  be  valued  according  to  their  antiquity;  i 
schoolmen  by  the  poimd  weight ; and  sermons  I 
by  their  goodness.  In  my  own  profession,  which  i 
is  mostly  physic,  authors  shall  be  rated  according  { 
to  their  language.  The  Greek  is  so  rarely  un- 


No.  80.] 


THE  TATLER. 


169 


derstood,  and  the  Englisli  so  well,  I judge  them 
of  no  value ; so  that  only  Latin  shall  bear  a price, 
and  that  too  according  to  its  purity,  and  as  it 
serves  best  for  prescription.  In  law,  the  value 
must  be  set  according  to  the  intricacy  and  ob- 
scurity  of  the  author,  and  blackness  of  the  let- 
ter; provided  always,  that  the  binding  be  of 
calflskin.  This  method  I shall  settle  also  with 
relation  to  all  other  writings  ; insomuch  that 
even  these  our  lucubrations,  though  hereafter 
printed  by  Aldus,  Elzevir,  or  Stephens,  shall 
not  advance  above  one  single  penny.* 

White's  Chocolate-house^  October  12. 

It  will  be  allowed  me,  that  I have  all  along 
showed  great  respect  in  matters  which  concern 
the  fair  sex ; but  the  inhumanity  with  which  the 
author  of  the  following  letter  has  been  used  is  not 
to  be  suffered. 

October  9. 

‘Sir, — Yesterday,  I had  the  misfortune  to  drop 
in  at  my  lady  Haughty’s  upon  her  visiting-day. 
When  I entered  the  room  where  she  receives 
company,  they  all  stood  up  indeed;  but  they 
stood  as  if  they  were  to  stare  at,  rather  than  to 
receive  me.  After  a long  pause,  a servant 
brought  a round  stool,  on  which  I sat  down  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  room,  in  the  presence  of 
no  less  than  twelve  persons,  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  lolling  in  elbow-chairs.  And,  to  com- 
plete my  disgrace,  my  mistress  was  of  the  so- 
ciety. I tried  to  compose  myself  in  vain,  not 
knowing  how  to  dispose  of  either  my  legs  or  arms, 
nor  how  to  shape  my  countenance  ; the  eyes  of 
the  whole  room  being  still  upon  me  in  a pro- 
found silence.  My  confusion  at  last  was  so 

freat,  that,  without  speaking  or  being  spoken  to, 
fled  for  it,  and  left  the  assembly  to  treat  me  at 
their  discretion.  A lecture  from  you  upon  these 
inhuman  distinctions  in  a free  nation,  will,  I 
doubt  not,  prevent  the  like  evil  for  the  future,  and 
make  it,  as  we  say,  as  cheap  sitting  as  standing. 

I am  with  the  greatest  respect.  Sir,  your  most 
humble,  and  most  obedient  servant,  J.  R.’ 

‘ P.  S.  I had  almost  forgot  to  inform  you  that 
a fair  young  lady  sat  in  an  armless  chair  upon 
my  right  hand,  with  manifest  discontent  in  her 
looks.’ 

Soon  after  the  receipt  of  this  epistle,  I heard 
a very  gentle  knock  at  my  door  : my  maid  went 
down,  and  brought  up  word,  ‘that  a tall,  lean, 
black  man,  well  dressed,  who  said  lie  had  not 
the  honour  to  be  acquainted  with  me,  desired 
to  be  admitted.’  I bid  her  show  him  up,  met 
him  at  my  charnber-door,  and  then  fell  back  a 
few  paces.  He  approached  me  with  great  re- 
spect, and  told  me,  with  a low  voice,  ‘ he  was 
the  gentleman  that  had  been  seated  upon  the 
round  stool.’  I immediately  recollected  that 
there  was  a joint  stool  in  my  chamber,  which  I 
was  afraid  he  might  take  for  an  instrument  of 
distinction,  and  therefore  winked  at  my  boy  to 
carry  it  into  my  closet.  I then  took  him  by  the 


* The  advance  of  one  penny  on  each  number  of  the 
lucubrations,  which  seems  to  be  meant  here,  just  double 
the  original  price  of  the  paper. 


hand,  and  led  him  to  the  upper  end  of  my  room, 
where  I placed  him  in  my  great  elbow-chair ; 
at  the  same  time  drawing  another  without  arms 
to  it,  for  myself  to  sit  by  him.  I then  asked 
him,  ‘ at  what  time  this  misfortune  befell  him  ?’ 
He  answered,  ‘ between  the  hours  of  seven  and 
eight  in  the  evening.  I further  demanded  of 
him,  what  he  had  ate  or  drunk  that  day  ? he 
replied,  ‘ nothing  but  a dish  of  water-gruel  with 
a tew  plumbs  in  it.’  In  the  next  place,  I felt 
his  pulse,  wliich  was  very  low  and  languishing. 
These  circumstances  confirmed  me  in  an 
opinion,  which  I had  entertained  upon  the  first 
reading  of  his  letter,  that  the  gentleman  was  far 
gone  in  the  spleen.  I therefore  advised  him  to 
rise  the  next  morning,  and  plunge  into  a cold- 
bath,  there  to  remain  under  water  until  he  was 
almost  drowned.  This  I ordered  him  to  repeat 
six  days  successively ; and  on  the  seventh  to  re- 
pair at  the  wonted  hour  to  my  lady  Haughty’s 
and  to  acquaint  me  afterwards  with  what  he 
shall  meet  with  there,  and  particularly  to  tell 
me,  whether  he  shall  think  they  stared  upon 
him  so  much  as  the  time  before.  The  gentle- 
man smiled  ; and  by  his  way  of  talking  to  me, 
showed  himself  a man  of  excellent  sense  in  all 
particulars,  unless  when  a cane-chair,  a round 
or  a joint  stool  were  spoken  of.  He  opened  his 
heart  to  me  at  the  same  time  concerning  several 
other  grievances ; sucli  as,  being  overlooked  in 
public  assemblies,  having  his  bows  unanswered, 
being  helped  last  at  table,  and  placed  at  the 
back  part  of  a coach;  with  many  other  dis- 
tresse.s,  which  have  witliered  his  countenance, 
and  worn  him  to  a skeleton.  Finding  him  a 
man  of  reason  I entered  into  the  bottom  of  his 
distemper.  ‘ Sir,’  said  I,  ‘ tliere  are  more  of 
your  constitution  in  this  island  of  Great  Britain 
than  in  any  other  part  of  the  world ; and  I beg 
the  favour  of  you  to  tell  me,  whether  you  do  not 
observe,  that  you  meet  with  most  affronts  in  rainy 
days  ?’  He  answered  candidly,  ‘ that  he  had 
long  observed,  that  people  were  less  saucy  in 
sunshine  than  in  cloudy  w^eather.’  Upon  which 
I told  him  plainly,  ‘ his  distemper  was  the 
spleen ; and  that  though  the  world  was  very  ill- 
natured,  it  was  not  so  bad  as  he  believed  it.’ 

I further  assured  him,  that  his  use  of  the  cold- 
bath,  with  a course  to  Steel  which  I should  pre- 
scribe him,  would  certainly  cure  most  of  his 
acquaintances  of  their  rudeness,  ill-behaviour, 
and  impertinence.’  My  patient  smiled,  and 
promised  to  observe  my  prescriptions,  not  for- 
getting to  give  me  an  account  of  their  operation. 
This  distemper  being  pretty  epidemical,  I shall 
for  the  benefit  of  mankind,  give  the  public  an 
account  of  the  progress  I make  in  the  cure  of  it. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  October  12. 

The  author  of  the  following  letter  behaves 
himself  so  ingenuously,  that  I cannot  defer  an- 
swering him  any  longer. 

October  6. 

‘ Honoured  Sir, — I have  lately  contracted  a 
very  honest  and  undissembled  claudication  in 
my  left  foot,  which  will  be  a double  affliction  to 
me,  if,  according  to  your  Taller  of  this  day,  it 
must  pass  upon  the  world  for  a piece  of  singu- 
larity and  affectation.  I must,  therefore,  hum- 


.170 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  81. 


bly  beg  leave  to  limp  along  the  streets  after  my 
own  way,  or  I shall  be  inevitably  ruined  in 
coach  hire.  As  soon  as  I am  tolerably  recover- 
ed, I promise  to  walk  as  upright  as  a ghost  in 
a tragedy,  being  not  of  a stature  to  spare  an 
inch  of  height  that  I can  any  way  pretend  to. 
I honour  your  lucubrations,  and  am,  with  the 
most  profound  submission,  honoured  Sir,  your 
most  dutiful  and  most  obedient  servant,  &c.’ 

Not  doubting  but  the  case  is  as  the  gentleman 
represents,  I do  hereby  order  Mr.  Morphew  to 
deliver  him  out  a licence,  upon  paying  his  fees, 
which  shall  empower  him  to  wear  a cane  until 
the  thirteenth  of  March  next ; five  months  be- 
ing the  most  I can  allow  for  a sprain. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house^  October  12. 

We  received  this  morning  a mail  from  Hol- 
land, which  brings  advice  that  the  siege  of 
Mons  is  carried  on  with  so  great  vigour  and 
bravery,  that  we  hope  very  suddenly  to  be 
masters  of  the  place ; all  things  necessary  being 
prepared  for  making  the  assault  on  the  horn- 
work  and  ravelin  of  the  attack  of  Bertamont, 
the  charge  began  with  the  fire  of  bombs  and 
grenadoes,  which  was  so  hot,  that  the  enemy 
quitted  their  post,  and  we  lodged  ourselves  on 
those  works  without  opposition.  During  this 
storm,  one  of  our  bombs  fell  into  a magazine  of 
the  enemy,  and  blew-  it  up.  There  are  advices, 
which  say  the  court  of  France  had  made  new 
offers  of  peace  to  the  confederates ; but  this  in- 
telligence w'ants  confirmation. 


No.  81.]  Saturday,  October  15,  1709. 

Hie  manus  ob  patriam  pngnando  vulnera  passi, 

Q,uique  pii  vates,  at  Plicebo  cligna  locuti ; 

Inventas  aut  qui  vitam  excoluere  per  artes, 

Q.uique  sui  memores  alios  fecere  meremlo. 

Virg.  vi.  6C0. 

Here  patriots  live,  who,  for  their  country’s  good, 

In  fighting  fields  were  prodigal  of  blood; 

Here  poets  worthy  their  inspiring  god. 

And  of  unblemished  life,  make  their  abode  : 

And  searching  wUs,  of  more  mechanic  parts. 

Who  graced  their  age  with  new-invented  arts  ; 

Those  who  to  worth  their  bounty  did  extend  ; 

And  those  who  knew  that  bounty  to  commend. 

Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apart?nent,  October  14. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  immortality ; that 
which  the  soul  really  enjoys  after  this  life,  and 
that  imaginary  existence  by  which  men  live  in 
their  fame  and  reputation.  The  best  and  great- 
est actions  have  proceeded  from  the  prospect  of 
the  one  or  the  other  of  these  ; but  my  design  is 
to  treat  only  of  those  who  have  chiefly  proposed 
to  themselves  the  latter,  as  the  principal  reward 
of  their  labours.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  I 
excluded  from  my  Tables  of  Fame  all  the  great 
founders  and  votaries  of  religion ; and  it  is  for 
this  reason  also,  that  I am  more  than  ordinary 
anxious  to  do  justice  to  the  persons  of  whom  I 
am  now  going  to  speak  ; for,  since  fame  was  the 
only  end  of  all  their  enterprises  and  studies,  a 
man  cannot  be  too  scrupulous  in  allotting  them 
tiieir  due  proportion  of  it.  It  was  this  con- 


sideration which  made  me  call  the  whole  body 
of  the  learned  to  my  assistance  ; to  many  of 
whom  I must  own  my  obligations  for  the  cata- 
logues of  illustrious  persons,  which  they  have 
sent  me  in  upon  this  occasion.  I yesterday  em- 
ployed  the  whole  afternoon  in  comparing  them 
with  each  other  ; which  made  so  strong  an  im- 
pression upon  my  imagination,  that  they  broke 
my  sleep  for  the  first  part  of  the  following  night, 
and  at  length  threw  me  into  a very  agreeable 
vision,  which  I shall  beg  leave  to  describe  in 
all  its  particulars. 

I dreamed  that  I was  conveyed  into  a wide 
and  boundless  plain,  that  w'as  covered  with  pro- 
digious multitudes  of  people,  which  no  man  could 
number.  In  the  midst  of  it  there  stood  a moun- 
tain, wuth  its  head  above  the  clouds.  The  sides 
were  extremely  steep,  and  of  such  a particular 
structure,  that  no  creature  which  was  not  made 
in  a human  figure  could  possibly  ascend  it.  On 
a sudden  there  was  heard  from  the  top  of  it  a 
sound  like  that  of  a trumpet ; but  so  exceeding 
sweet  and  harmonious,  that  it  filled  the  hearts 
of  those  who  heard  it  with  raptures,  and  gave  such 
high  and  delightful  sensations,  as  seemed  to  ani- 
mate and  raise  human  nature  above  itself.  This 
made  me  very  much  amazed  to  find  so  very  few 
in  that  innumerable  multitude,  who  had  ears  fine 
enough  to  hear,  or  relish  this  music  with  plea- 
sure : but  my  wonder  abated,  when,  upon  look- 
ing round  me,  I saw  most  of  them  attentive  to 
three  syrens,  cloathed  like  goddesses,  and  distin- 
guished by  the  names  of  Sloth,  Ignorance,  and 
Pleasure.  They  were  seated  on  three  rocks, 
amidst  a beautiful  variety  of  groves,  meadows, 
and  rivulets,  that  lay  on  the  borders  of  the  moun- 
tain. While  the  base  and  grovelling  multitude 
of  different  nations,  ranks,  and  ages  were  lis- 
tening to  these  delusive  deities,  those  of  a more 
erect  aspect,  and  exalted  spirit,  separated  them- 
selves from  the  rest,  and  marched  in  great  bo- 
dies toward  the  mountain  from  whence  Hhey 
heard  the  sound,  which  still  grew  sweeter,  the 
more  they  listened  to  it. 

On  a sudden,  methought  this  select  band 
sprang  forward,  with  a resolution  to  climb  the 
ascent,  and  follow  the  call  of  that  heavenly  mu- 
sic. Every  one  took  something  with  him  that 
he  thought  might  be  of  assistance  to  him  in  his 
march.  Several  had  their  swords  drawn,  some 
carried  rolls  of  paper  in  their  hands,  some  had 
compasses,  others  quadrants,  others  telescopes, 
and  others  pencils.  Some  had  laurels  on  their 
heads,  and  others  buskins  on  their  legs ; in 
short,  there  was  scarce  any  instrument  of  a me- 
chanic art,  or  liberal  science,  which  was  not 
made  use  of  on  this  occasion.  My  good  daemon, 
who  stood  at  my  right  hand  during  the  course 
of  this  whole  vision,  observing  in  me  a burning 
desire  to  join  that  glorious  company,  told  me, 

‘ he  highly  approved  that  generous  ardour  with 
which  I seemed  transported;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  advised  me  to  cover  my  face  with  a mask 
all  the  while  I was  to  labour  on  the  ascent.’  I 
took  his  counsel,  without  inquiring  into  his  rea- 
sons. The  whole  body  now  broke  into  different 
parties,  and  began  to  climb  the  precipice  by  ten 
thousand  different  paths.  Several  got  into  little 
alleys,  which  did  not  reach  far  up  the  hill,  be- 
fore they  ended,  and  led  no  farther  ; and  I ob- 


No.  81.] 


THE  TATLER. 


served,  tliat  most  of  the  artisans,  which  consi- 
derably diminished  our  number,  fell  into  these 
paths. 

We  left  another  considerable  body  of  adven- 
turers behind  us,  who  thought  they  liad  disco- 
vered by-ways  up  the  hill,  which  proved  so  very 
intricate  and  perplexed,  that,  after  having  ad- 
vanced in  them  a little,  they  were  quite  lost 
among  the  several  turns  and  windings;  and 
though  they  were  as  active  as  any  in  their  mo- 
tions, they  made  but  little  progress  in  the  ascent. 
These,  as  my  guide  informed  me,  were  men  of 
subtle  tempers,  and  puzzled  politics,  who  would 
supply  the  place  of  real  wisdom  with  cunning 
and  artifice.  Among  those  who  were  far  ad- 
vanced in  their  way,  there  were  some,  that  by 
one  false  step,  fell  backward,  and  lost  more 
ground  in  a moment  than  they  had  gained  for 
many  hours,  or  could  be  ever  able  to  recover.  We 
were  now  advanced  very  high,  and  observed 
that  all  the  different  paths  which  ran  about  the 
sides  of  the  mountain  began  to  meet  in  two 
great  roads ; which  insensibly  gathered  the 
whole  multitude  of  travellers  into  two  great  bo- 
dies. At  a little  distance  from  the  entrance  of 
each  road  there  stood  a hideous  phantom  that 
opposed  our  further  passage.  One  of  these  ap- 
paritions ha^-  his  right  hand  filled  with  darts, 
which  he  brandished  in  the  face  of  all  wlio  came 
up  that  way.  Crowds  ran  back  at  the  appear- 
ance of  it,  and  cried  out.  Death.  The  spectre 
that  guarded  the  other  road  was  Envy.  She 
was  not  armed  with  weapons  of  destruction,  like 
the  former ; but  by  dreadful  hissings,  noises  of 
reproach,  and  a horrid  distracted  laughter,  she 
appeared  more  frightful  than  Death  itself,  inso- 
much, that  abundance  of  our  company  were  dis- 
couraged from  passing  any  farther,  and  some 
appeared  ashamed  of  having  come  so  far.  As 
for  myself,  I must  confess,  my  heart  shrunk 
within  me  at  the  sight  of  these  ghastly  appear- 
ances ; but,  on  a sudden,  the  voice  of  the  trum- 
pet came  more  full  upon  us,  so  that  we  felt  a 
new  resolution  reviving  in  us ; and  in  proportion 
as  this  resolution  grew,  the  terrors  before  us 
seemed  to  vanish.  Most  of  the  company,  who 
had  swords  in  their  hands,  marched  on  with 
great  spirit,  and  an  air  of  defiance,  up  the  road 
that  was  commanded  by  Death ; while  others, 
who  had  thought  and  contemplation  in  their 
looks,  went  forward  in  a more  composed  manner 
up  the  road  possessed  by  Envy.  The  way  above 
these  apparitions  grew  smooth  and  uniform,  and 
was  so  delightful,  that  the  travellers  went  on 
with  pleasure,  and  in  a little  time  arrived  at  the 
top  ofthe  mountain.  They  here  began  to  breathe 
a delicious  kind  of  aether,  and  saw  all  the  fields 
about  them  covered  with  a kind  of  purple  light, 
that  made  them  reflect  with  satisfaction  on  their 
past  toils ; and  diffused  a secret  joy  through  the 
whole  assembly,  which  showed  itself  in  every 
look  and  feature.  In  the  midst  of  these  happy 
fields  there  stood  a palace  of  a very  glorious 
structure.  It  had  four  great  folding-doors,  that 
faced  the  four  several  quarters  of  the  world.  On 
the  top  of  it  was  enthroned  the  goddess  of  the 
mountain,  who  smiled  upon  her  votaries,  and 
sounded  the  silver  trumpet  which  had  called 
them  up,  and  cheered  them  in  their  passage  to 
her  palace.  They  had  now  formed  themselves 


into  several  divisions ; a band  of  historians  t 
their  stations  at  each  door,  according  to  th 
sons  whom  they  were  to  introdiice. 

On  a sudden,  the  trumpet,  whicli  had  hit! 
sounded  only  a march,  or  a point  of  war, 
swelled  all  its  notes  into  triumph  andexultati 
The  whole  fabric  shook,  and  the  doors  flew  ope 
The  first  who  stepped  forward  was  a beautifu 
and  blooming  hero,  and,  as  I heard  by  the  mur- 
murs round  me,  Alexander  the  Great.  He  was 
conducted  by  a crowd  of  historians.  The  per- 
son who  immediately  walked  before  him,  was 
remarkable  for  an  embroidered  garment,  v.'ho, 
not  being  well  acquainted  with  the  place,  was 
conducting  him  to  an  apartment  appointed  for 
the  reception  of  fabulous  heroes.  I’lie  name  of 
this  false  guide  was  Quintus  Curtius.  But  Ar- 
rian and  Plutarch,  who  knew  better  the  avenues 
of  this  palace,  conducted  him  into  the  great  hall, 
and  placed  him  at  the  upper  end  of  the  first 
table.  My  good  daemon,  that  I might  see  the 
whole  ceremony,  conveyed  me  to  a corner  of 
this  room,  where  I might  perceive  all  that  pass- 
ed, without  being  seen  myself.  The  next  who 
entered  was  a charming  virgin,  leading  in  a ve- 
nerable old  man  that  was  blind.  Under  her  left 
arm  she  bore  a harp,  and  on  her  head  a garland. 
Alexander,  who  was  very  well  acquainted  with 
Homer,  stood  up  at  his  entrance,  and  placed  him 
on  his  right  hand.  The  virgin,  who  it  seems 
was  one  of  the  nine  sisters  that  attended  on  the 
goddess  of  fame,  smiled  with  an  ineffable  grace 
at  their  meeting,  and  retired. 

Julius  Ctesar  was  now  coming  forward  ; and, 
though  most  of  the  historians  offered  their  ser- 
vice to  introduce  him,  he  left  them  at  the  door, 
and  would  have  no  conductor  but  himself. 

The  next  who  advanced,  was  a man  of  a 
homely  but  cheerful  aspect,  and  attended  by 
persons  of  greater  figure  than  any  that  appeared 
on  this  occasion.  Plato  was  on  his  right  hand, 
and  Xenophon  on  his  left.  He  bowed  to  Homer, 
and  sat  down  by  him.  It  was  expected  that 
Plato  would  himself  have  taken  a place  next  to 
his  master,  Socrates ; but  on  a sudden  there  v/as 
heard  a great  clamour  of  disputants  at  the  door, 
who  appeared  with  Aristotle  at  the  head  of  them. 
That  philosopher,  with  some  rudeness,  but  great 
strength  of  reason,  convinced  the  whole  table, 
that  a title  to  the  fifth  place  was  his  due,  and 
took  it  accordingly. 

He  had  scarce  sat  down,  w'hen  the  same 
beautiful  virgin  that  had  introduced  Homer, 
brought  in  another,  who  hung  back  at  the  en- 
trance, and  would  have  excused  himself,  had  not 
his  modesty  been  overcome  by  the  invitation  of 
all  who  sat  at  the  table.  His  guide  and  be- 
haviour  made  me  easily  conclude  it  was  Virgil. 
Cicero  next  appeared  and  took  his  place.  He 
had  inquired  at  the  door  for  one  Lucceius  to  in- 
troduce him  ; but,  not  finding  him  there,  he  con- 
tented himself  with  the  attendance  of  many  other 
writers,  who  all,  except  Sallust,  appeared  highly 
pleased  with  the  office. 

We  waited  some  time  in  expectation  of  the 
next  worthy,  who  came  in  with  a great  retinue 
of  historians  whose  names  I could  not  learn, 
most  of  them  being  natives  of  Carthage.  The 
person  thus  conducted,  who  was  Hannibal, 
seemed  much  disturbed,  and  could  not  forbear 


THE  TATLER. 


laining  to  the  board,  of  the  affronts  he  had 
with  among  the  Roman  historians,  ‘ who 
ipted,’  says  he,  ‘ to  carry  me  into  the  sub- 
aneous  apartment ; and,  perhaps,  would  have 
e it,  had  it  not  been  for  the  impartiality  of 
is  gentleman,’  pointing  to  Polybius,  ‘ who 
as  the  only  person,  except  my  own  country- 
that  was  willing  to  conduct  me  hither.’ 

The  Carthaginian  took  his  seat,  and  Pompey 
entered  with  great  dignity  in  his  own  person, 
and  preceded  by  several  historians.  Lucan  the 
poet  was  at  the  head  of  them,  who,  observing 
Homer  and  Virgil  at  the  table,  w’as  going  to  sit 
down  himself,  had  not  the  latter  whispered  him, 
that  whatever  pretence  he  might  otherwise  have 
had,  he  forfeited  his  claim  to  it,  by  coming  in  as 
one  of  the  historians.  Lucan  was  so  exasperated 
with  the  repulse,  that  he  muttered  something 
to  himself;  and  was  heard  to  say,  ‘ that  since  he 
could  not  have  a seat  among  them  himself,  he 
would  bring  in  one  who  alone  had  more  merit 
than  their  whole  assembly :’  upon  which  he 
went  to  the  door,  and  brought  in  Cato  of  Utica. 
That  great  man  approached  the  company  with 
such  an  air,  that  showed  he  contemned  the  ho- 
nour which  he  laid  a claim  to.  Observing  the 
seat  opposite  to  Caesar  was  vacant,  he  took  pos- 
session of  it,  and  spoke  two  or  three  smart  sen- 
tences upon  the  nature  of  precedency,  which, 
according  to  him,  consisted  not  in  place,  but  in 
intrinsic  merit : to  which  he  added,  ‘ that  the 
most  virtuous  man,  wherever  he  was  seated,  was 
always  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table.’  Socrates, 
who  had  a great  spirit  of  raillery  with  his  wis- 
dom, could  not  forbear  smiling  at  a virtue  which 
took  so  little  pains  to  make  itself  agreeable. 
Cicero  took  the  occasion  to  make  a long  dis- 
course in  praise  of  Cato,  which  he  uttered  with 
much  vehemence.  Caesar  answered  him  with  a 
great  deal  of  seeming  temper ; but,  as  I stood  at 
a great  distance  from  them,  I was  not  able  to 
hear  one  word  of  what  they  said.  But  I could 
not  forbear  taking  notice,  that,  in  all  the  dis- 
course which  passed  at  the  table,  a word  or  nod 
from  Homer  decided  the  controversy. 

After  a short  pause,  Augustus  appeared,  look- 
ing round  him  with  a serene  and  affable  coun- 
tenance upon  all  the  writers  of  his  age,  who 
strove  among  themselves  which  of  them  should 
show  him  the  greatest  marks  of  gratitude  and 
respect.  Virgil  rose  from  the  table  to  meet  him ; 
and  tiiough  he  was  an  acceptable  guest  to  all,  he 
appeared  more  such  to  the  learned  than  the  mi- 
litary worthies. 

The  next  man  astonished  the  whole  table  with 
his  appearance.  He  was  slow,  solemn,  and  si- 
lent in  his  behaviour,  and  wore  a raiment  cu- 
riously wrought  with  hieroglyphics.  As  he 
came  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  he  threw  back 
the  skirt  of  it,  and  discovered  a golden  thigh. 
Socrates,  at  the  sight  of  it,  declared  against 
keeping  company  with  any  who  were  not  made 
of  flesh  and  blood;  and,  therefore,  desired  Dio- 
genes the  Laertian  to  lead  him  to  the  apartment 
allotted  for  fabulous  heroes,  and  worthies  of  du- 
bious existence.  At  his  going  out,  he  told  them, 

‘ that  they  did  not  know  whom  they  dismissed  ; 
that  he  was  now  Pythagoras,  the  first  of  philo- 
sophers, and  that  formerly  he  had  been  a very 
brave  man  at  the  siege  of  Troy.’ — ‘ That  may  be 


[No.  82. 

very  true,’  said  Socrates  ; ‘ but  you  forget  that 
you  have  likewise  been  a very  great  harlot  in 
your  time.’  This  exclusion  made  -way  for  Ar- 
chimedes, who  came  forward  with  a scheme  of 
mathematical  figures  in  his  hand;  among  which 
I observed  a cone  and  a cylinder. 

Seeing  this  table  full,  I desired  my  guide,  for 
variety,  to  lead  me  to  the  fabulous  apartment,  the 
roof  of  which  was  painted  with  Gorgons,  Chi- 
moeras,  and  Centaurs,  with  many  other  em- 
blematical figures,  which  I wanted  both  time 
and  skill  to  unriddle.  The  first  table  was  al- 
most full : at  the  upper  end  sat  Hercules,  lean- 
ing an  arm  upon  his  club;  on  his  right  hand 
were  Achilles  and  Ulysses,  and  between  them 
^Eneas  ; on  his  left  were  Hector,  Theseus,  and 
Jason  : the  lower  end  had  Orpheus,  iEsop,  Pha- 
laris,  and  Musebus.  The  ushers  seemed  at  a 
loss  for  a twelfth  man,  when,  rnethought,  to  my 
great  joy  and  surprise,  I heard  some  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  tabic  mention  Isaac  Bickerstaff* ; but 
those  of  the  upper  end  received  it  with  disdain ; 
and  said,  ‘ if  they  must  have  a British  worthy, 
they  would  have  Robin  Hood.’  While  I w^as 
transported  with  the  honour  that  was  done  me, 
and  burning  with  envy  against  my  competitor, 
I was  awakened  by  the  noise  of  the  cannon 
which  were  then  fired  for  the  taking  of  Mons. 
I should  have  been  very  much  troubled  at  being 
thrown  out  of  so  pleasing  a vision  on  any  other 
occasion ; but  thought  it  an  agreeable  change, 
to  have  my  thouglits  diverted  from  the  greatest 
among  the  dead  and  fabulous  heroes,  to  the  most 
famous  among  the  real  and  the  living. 


No.  82.] 


Tuesday^  October  18,  1709. 


Ubi  idem  et  maximus  et  honcstissimus  amor  est,  ali, 
quando  prtestat  morte  jungi,  quam  vita  distralii. — Fal. 
Max. 

Where  there  is  the  greatest  and  most  honourable  love, 
it  is  sometimes  better  to  be  joined  in  death,  than  sepa- 
rated in  life. 

From  inyown  Apartment.,  October  17. 

After  the  mind  has  been  employed  on  con- 
templations  suitable  to  its  greatness,  it  is  unna- 
tural to  run  into  sudden  mirth  or  levity  ; but  we 
must  let  the  soul  subside,  as  it  rose,  by  proper 
degrees.  My  late  considerations  of  the  ancient 
heroes  impressed  a certain  gravity  upon  my 
mind,  which  is  much  above  the  little  gratifica- 
tion received  from  starts  of  humour  and  fancy, 
and  threw  me  into  a pleasing  sadness.  In  this 
state  of  thought  I have  been  looking  at  the  fire, 
and  in  a pensive  manner  reflecting  upon  the 
great  misfortunes  and  calamities  incident  to  hu- 
man life;  among  which  there  are  none  that 
touch  so  sensibly  as  those  which  befall  persons 
who  eminently  love,  and  meet  with  fatal  interrup- 
tions of  their  happiness  when  they  least  expect 
it.  The  piety  of  children  to  parents,  and  the  af- 
fection of  parents  to  their  children,  are  the  effects 
of  instinct ; but  the  affection  between  lovers  and 
friends  is  founded  on  reason  and  choice,  which 
has  always  made  me  think  the  sorrows  of  the 
latter  much  more  to  be  pitied  than  those  of  tlie 
former.  The  contemplation  of  distresses  of  this 
sort  softens  the  mind  of  man,  and  makes  tlie 


THE  TATLER. 


173 


No.  82.] 

heart  better.  It  extinguishes  the  seeds  of  envy 
and  ill-will  towards  mankind,  corrects  the  pride 
of  prosperity,  and  beats  down  all  that  fierceness 
and  insolence  which  are  apt  to  get  into  the 
minds  of  the  daring  and  fortunate. 

For  this  reason  the  wise  Athenians,  in  their 
theatrical  performances,  laid  before  the  eyes  of 
the  people  the  greatest  afflictions  which  could 
befall  human  life,  and  insensibly  polished  their 
tempers  by  such  representations.  Among  the 
moderns,  indeed,  there  has  arisen  a chimerical 
method  of  disposing  the  fortune  of  the  persons 
represented,  aecording  to  what  they  call  poetical 
justice ; and  letting  none  be  unhappy  but  those 
who  deserve  it.  In  such  cases  an  intelligent 
spectator,  if  he  is  concerned,  knows  he  ought  not 
to  be  so ; and  can  learn  nothing  from  such  a ten- 
derness, but  that  he  is  a weak  creature,  whose 
passions  cannot  follow  the  dictates  of  his  under- 
standing. It  is  very  natural,  when  one  is  got 
into  such  a way  of  thinking,  to  recollect  those 
examples  of  sorrow  which  have  made  the  strong- 
est impression  upon  our  imaginations.  An  in- 
stance or  two  of  such  you  will  give  me  leave  to 
communicate. 

A young  gentleman  and  lady  of  ancient  and 
honourable  houses  in  Cornwall  had,  from  their 
childhood,  entertained  for  each  other  a generous 
and  noble  passion,  which  had  been  long  opposed 
by  their  friends,  by  reason  of  the  inequality  of 
their  fortunes  ; but  their  constancy  to  each  other, 
and  obedience  to  those  on  whom  they  depended, 
wrought  so  much  upon  their  relations,  that  these 
celebrated  lovers  were  at  length  joined  in  mar- 
riage. Soon  after  their  nuptials,  the  bridegroom 
was  obliged  to  go  into  a foreign  country,  to  take 
care  of  a considerable  fortune,  which  was  left 
him  by  a relation,  and  came  very  opportunely  to 
improve  their  moderate  circumstances.  They 
received  the  congratulations  of  all  the  country 
on  this  occasion  ; and  I remember  it  was  a com- 
mon sentence  in  every  one’s  mouth,  ‘ You  see 
how  faithful  love  is  rewarded.’^ 

He  took  this  agreeable  voyage,  and  sent  home 
every  post  fresh  accounts  of  his  success  in  his 
affairs  abroad  ; but  at  last,  though  he  designed 
to  return  with  the  next  ship,  he  lamented, 
in  his  letters,  that  ‘ business  would  detain  him 
some  time  longer  from  home,’  because  he 
would  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  an  unexpect- 
ed arrival. 

The  young  lady,  after  the  heat  of  the  day, 
walked  every  evening  on  the  sea-shore,  near 
which  she  lived,  with  a familiar  friend,  her  hus- 
band’s kinswoman ; and  diverted  herself  with 
what  objects  they  met  there,  or  upon  discourses 
of  the  future  methods  of  life,  in  the  happy 
change  of  their  circumstances.  They  stood  one 
evening  on  the  shore  together  in  a perfect  tran- 
quillity, observing  the  setting  of  the  sun,  the 
calm  face  of  the  deep,  and  the  silent  heaving  of 


This  melanclioly  relation  concerning  these  Cornish 
lovers  seems  to  have  been  founded  on  a real  story,  not 
very  remote  from  the  original  date  of  the  paper.  The 
writer,  whoever  he  was,  affirms  that  he  remembered  ‘ a 
common  sentence  in  every  one’s  mouth’  on  the  occasion 
of  the  gentleman’s  succession  to  an  unexpected  fortune. 
The  reader  may  compare  this  with  Gay’s  much  admired 
relation  of  John  Hewitt  and  Sarah  Drew ; ‘ Pope’s 
Works,’  vol.  iv.  p.  9.  Load.  Ed.  1770. 


the  waves,  which  gently  rolled  towards  them, 
and  broke  at  their  feet ; when  at  a distance  her 
kinswoman  saw  something  float  on  the  waters, 
which  she  fancied  was  a chest ; and  with  a smile 
told  her,  ‘ she  saw  it  first,  and  if  it  came  ashore 
full  of  jewels,  she  had  a right  to  it.’  They  both 
fixed  their  eyes  upon  it,  and  entertained  them- 
selves  with  the  subject  of  the  wreck,  the  cousin 
still  asserting  her  right ; but  promising,  ‘ if  it 
was  a prize,  to  give  her  a very  rich  coral  for  the 
child  of  which  she  was  then  big,  provided  she 
might  be  god-mother.’  Their  mirth  soon  abated, 
when  they  observed,  upon  the  nearer  approach, 
that  it  was  a human  body.  The  young  lady,  who 
had  a heart  naturally  filled  with  pity  and  com- 
passion, made  many  melancholy  reflections  on 
the  occasion.  ‘ Who  knows,’  said  she,  ‘ but  this 
man  may  be  the  only  hope  and  heir  of  a wealthy 
house ; the  darling  of  indulgent  parents,  who 
are  now  in  impertinent  mirth,  and  pleasing 
themselves  with  the  thoughts  of  offering  him  a 
bride  they  have  got  ready  for  him  ? or,  may  he 
not  be  the  master  of  a family  that  wholly  depend- 
ed upon  his  life  ? There  may,  for  aught  we 
know,  be  half  a dozen  fatherless  children,  and  a 
tender  wife,  now  exposed  to  poverty  by  his  death. 
What  pleasure  might  he  have  promised  himself 
in  the  different  welcome  he  was  to  have  from 
her  and  them  ! But  let  us  go  away  ; it  is  a dread- 
ful sight ! The  best  offlee  we  can  do,  is  to  take 
care  that  the  poor  man,  whoever  he  is,  may  be 
decently  buried.’  She  turned  away,  when  a 
w’ave  threw  the  carcass  on  the  shore.  The 
kinswoman  immediately  shrieked  out,  ‘ Oh  my 
cousin  !’  and  fell  upon  the  ground.  The  unhappy 
wife  went  to  help  her  friend,  when  she  saw  her 
own  husband  at  her  feet,  and  dropped  in  a swoon 
upon  the  body.  An  old  woman,  who  had  been 
the  gentleman’s  nurse,  came  out  about  this  time 
to  call  the  ladies  in  to  supper,  and  found  her 
child,  as  she  always  called  him,  dead  on  the 
shore,  her  mistress  and  kinswoman  both  lying 
dead  by  him.  Her  loud  lamentations,  and  call- 
ing her  young  master  to  life,  soon  awaked  the 
friend  from  her  trance  ; but  the  wife  was  gone 
for  ever. 

When  the  family  and  neighbourhood  got  to- 
gether round  the  bodies,  no  one  asked  any 
question ; but  the  objects  before  them  told  the 
story 

Incidents  of  this  nature  are  the  more  moving 
when  they  are  drawn  by  persons  concerned  in 
the  catastrophe,  notwithstanding  they  are  often 
oppressed  beyond  the  power  of  giving  them  in 
a distinct  light,  except  we  gather  their  sorrow 
from  their  inability  to  speak  it. 

I have  two  original  letters,  written  both  on 
the  same  day,  which  arc  to  me  exquisite  in  their 
different  kinds.  The  occasion  was  this  : — A 
gentleman  who  had  courted  a most  agreeable 
young  woman,  and  won  her  heart,  obtained  also 
the  consent  of  her  father,  to  whom  she  was  an 
only  child.  The  old  man  had  a fancy  that  they 
should  be  married  in  the  same  church  where  he 
himself  was,  in  a village  in  Westmoreland,  and 
made  them  set  out  while  he  was  laid  up  with 
the  gout  at  London.  The  bridegroom  took  only 
his  man,  the  bride  her  maid  : they  had  the  most 
agreeable  journey  imaginable  to  the  place  of 


174 


THE  TATLER. 


marriage ; from  whence  the  bridegroom  writ  the 
following  letter  to  his  wife’s  father. 

March  18,  1672. 

‘ Sir, — After  a very  pleasant  journey  hither, 
we  are  preparing  for  the  happy  hour  in  which 
I am  to  be  your  son.  I assure  you  the  bride 
carries  it,  in  the  eye  of  the  vicar  who  married 
you,  much  beyond  her  mother ; though  he  says, 
your  open  sleeves,  pantaloons,  and  shoulder- 
knot,  made  a much  better  show  than  the  finical 
dress  I am  in.  However,  I am  contented  to  be 
the  second  fine  man  this  village  ever  saw,  and 
shall  make  it  very  merry  before  night,  because 
I shall  write  myself  from  thence,  your  most 
dutiful  son,  T.  D.’ 

‘ The  bride  gives  her  duty,  and  is  as  hand- 
some as  an  angel. 1 am  the  happiest  man 

breathing.’ 

The  villagers  were  assembling  about  the 
church,  and  the  happy  couple  took  a walk  in  a 
private  garden.  The  bridegroom’s  man  knew 
his  master  would  leave  the  place  on  a sudden 
after  the  wedding,  and,  seeing  him  draw  his 
pistols  the  night  before,  took  this  opportunity 
to  go  into  his  chamber  and  charge  them.  Upon 
their  return  from  the  garden,  they  went  into 
that  room ; and,  after  a little  fond  raillery  on 
the  subject  of  their  courtship,  the  lover  took  up 
a pistol,  which  he  knew  he  had  unloaded  the 
night  before,  and  presenting  it  to  her,  said,  with 
the  most  graceful  air,  whilst  she  looked  pleased 
at  his  agreeable  flattery ; ‘ Now,  madam,  repent 
of  all  those  cruelties  you  have  been  guilty  of  to 
me;  consider,  before  you  die,  how  often  you 
have  made  a poor  wretch  freeze  under  your 
casement ; you  shall  die,  you  tyrant,  you  shall 
die,  with  all  those  instruments  of  death  and 
destruction  about  you,  with  that  enchanting 
smile,  those  killing  ringlets  of  your  hair’ — 
‘ Give  fire  !’  said  she,  laughing.  He  did  so  : and 
shot  her  dead.  Who  can  speak  his  condition  ? 
but  he  bore  it  so  patiently  as  to  call  up  his  man. 
The  poor  wretch  entered,  and  his  master  locked 
the  door  upon  him.  ‘ Will,’  said  he,  ‘ did  you 
charge  these  pistols?’  He  answered,  ‘Yes.’ 
Upon  which  he  shot  him  dead  with  that  re- 
maining. After  this,  amidst  a thousand  broken 
sobs,  piercing  groans,  and  distracted  motions, 
he  writ  the  following  letter  to  the  father  of  his 
dead  mistress. 

‘ Sir, — I,  who  two  hours  ago  told  you  truly  I 
was  the  happiest  man  alive,  am  nov/  the  most 
miserable.  Your  daughter  lies  dead  at  my  feet, 
killed  by  my  hand,  through  a mistake  of  my 
man’s  charging  my  pistols  unknown  to  me. 
Him  have  I murdered  for  it.  Such  is  my  wed- 
ding day. 1 will  immediately  follow  my  wife 

to  her  grave;  but  before  I throw  myself  upon 
my  sword,  I command  my  distraction  so  far  as 
to  explain  my  story  to  you.  I fear  my  heart 
will  not  keep  together  until  I have  stabbed  it. 

Poor,  good  old  man ! Remember,  he  that 

killed  your  daughter  died  for  it.  In  the  article 
of  death  I give  you  my  thanks,  and  pray  for 
you,  though  I dare  not  for  myself.  If  it  be 
possible,  do  not  curse  me.’ 


[No.  83. 

No.  83.]  Thursday,  October  20,  1709. 

Senilis  stultitia  qu®  deliratio  appellari  solet,senum 
levium  est,  non  omnium.  M.  T.  Cic. 

That  which  is  usually  called  dotage,  is  not  the  foible 
of  all  old  men,  but  only  of  such  as  are  remarkable  for 
their  levity  and  inconstancy. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  19. 

It  is  my  frequent  practice  to  visit  places  of 
resort  in  this  town  where  I am  least  knowm,  to 
observe  what  reception  my  works  meet  with  in 
the  world,  and  what  good  effects  I may  promise 
myself  from  my  labours ; and  it  being  a privilege 
asserted  by  monsieur  Montaigne,  and  others 
of  vain-glorious  memory,  that  we  writers  of 
essays  may  talk  of  ourselves ; I take  the  liberty 
to  give  an  account  of  the  remarks  which  I find 
are  made  by  some  of  my  gentle  readers  upon 
these  my  dissertations. 

I happened  this  evening  to  fall  into  a coffee- 
house near  the  Exchange,  where  two  persons 
W'ere  reading  my  account  of  the  ‘Table  of  Fame.’ 

The  one  of  these  was  commenting  as  he  read, 
and  explaining  who  was  meant  by  this  and  the 
other  worthy  as  he  passed  on.  I observed  the 
person  over  against  him  wonderfully  intent  and 
satisfied  with  his  explanation.  When  he  came 
to  Julius  Caesar,  who  is  said  to  have  refused  any 
conductor  to  the  table  ; ‘ No,  no,’  said  he,  ‘ he  is 
in  the  right  of  it ; he  has  money  enough  to  be 
welcome  wherever  he  comes ;’  and  then  whis- 
pered,  he  means  a certain  colonel  of  the  train- 
bands.’  Upon  reading  that  Aristotle  made  his 
claim  with  some  rudeness,  but  great  strength 
of  reason  ; ‘ Who  can  that  be,  so  rough  and  so 
reasonable  ? It  must  be  some  whig,  I warrant 
you.  There  is  nothing  but  party  in  these  public 
papers.’  Where  Pythagoras  is  said  to  have  a 
golden  thigh,*  ‘ Ay,  ay,’  said  he,  ‘ he  has  money 
enough  in  his  breeches ; that  is  the  alderman 
of  our  ward,’  you  must  kno\v^  Whatever  he 
read,  I found  he  interpreted  from  his  own  way 
of  life  and  acquaintance.  I am  glad  my  readers 
can  construe  for  themselves  these  difficult  points; 
but,  for  the  benefit  of  posterity,  I design,  when 
I come  to  write  ni)’^  last  paper  of  this  kind,  to 
make  it  an  explanation  of  all  my  former.  In 
that  piece  you  shall  have  all  I have  commended, 
with  tiieir  proper  names.  The  faulty  characters 
must  be  left  as  they  are,  because  we  live  in  an 
age  wherein  vice  is  very  general,  and  virtue 
very  particular  ; for  which  reason  the  latter  only 
wants  explanation. 

But  I must  turn  my  present  discourse  to  what 
is  of  yet  greater  regard  to  me  than  the  care  of 
my  writings;  that  is  to  say,  the  preservation  of 
a lady’s  heart.  Little  did  I think  I should  ever 
have  business  of  this  kind  on  my  hands  more  ; 
but,  as  little  as  any  one  who  knows  me  would 
believe  it,  there  is  a lady  at  this  time  who  pro- 
fesses love  to  me.  Her  passion  and  good  hu- 
mour you  shall  have  in  her  own  words. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I had  formerly  a very 
good  opinion  of  myself;  but  it  is  now  withdrawn, 
and  I liave  placed  it  upon  you,  Mr.  Bickerstaff*, 
for  whom  I am  not  ashamed  to  declare  I have 


* Taller,  No.  81. 


No.  83.] 


THE  TATLER. 


175 


a very  great  passion  and  tenderness.  It  is  not 
for  your  face,  for  that  I never  saw : your  shape 
and  height  I am  equally  a stranger  to ; but  your 
understanding  charms  me,  and  1 am  lost  if  you 
do  not  dissemble  a little  love  for  me.  I am  not 
without  hopes;  because  I am  not  like  the  tawdry 
gay  things  that  are  fit  only  to  make  bone  lace. 
I am  neither  childish-young,  nor  beldam-old, 
but,  the  world  says,  a good  agreeable  woman. 

‘ Speak  peace  to  a troubled  heart,  troubled 
only  for  you;  and  in  your  next  paper  let  me 
find  your  thoughts  of  me. 

‘ Do  not  think  of  finding  out  who  I am ; for, 
notwithstanding  your  interest  in  daemons,  they 
cannot  help  you  either  to  my  name,  or  a sight 
of  my  face ; therefore,  do  not  let  them  deceive 
you. 

‘ I can  bear  no  discourse,  if  you  arc  not  the 
subject ; and,  believe  me,  I know  more  of  love 
than  you  do  of  astronomy. 

‘ Pray,  say  some  civil  things  in  return  to  my 
generosity,  and  you  shall  have  my  very  best  pen 
employed  to  thank  you,  and  I will  confirm  it. 
I am  your  admirer,  MARIA.’ 

There  is  something  wonderfully  pleasing  in 
the  favour  of  women  : and  this  letter  has  put 
me  in  so  good  a humour,  that  nothing  could 
displease  me  since  I received  it.  My  boy  breaks 
glasses  and  pipes  ; and  instead  of  giving  him  a 
knock  on  the  pate,  as  my  way  is,  for  I hate 
scolding  at  servants,  I only  say,  ‘ Ah,  Jack ! 
thou  hast  a head,  and  so  has  a pin,’  or  some 
such  merry  expression.  But,  alas ! how  am  I 
mortified  when  he  is  putting  on  my  fourth  pair 
of  stockings  on  these  poor  spindles  of  mine  ? 
‘ The  fair  one  understands  love  better  than  I 
.astronomy  ?’  I am  sure,  without  the  help  of 
that  art,  this  poor  meagre  trunk  of  mine  is  a 
very  ill  habitation  for  love.  She  is  pleased  to 
speak  civilly  of  my  sense,  but  Ingenium  male 
habitat  is  an  invincible  difficulty  in  cases  of 
this  nature.  I had  always,  indeed,  from  a pas- 
sion to  please  the  eyes  of  the  fair,  a great  plea- 
sure in  dress.  Add  to  this,  that  I have  writ 
songs  since  I was  sixty,  and  have  lived  with  all 
the  circumspection  of  an  old  beau,  as  I am. 
But  my  friend  Horace  has  very  well  said,  ‘ Every 
year  takes  something  from  us;  and  instructed 
me  to  form  my  pursuits  and  desires  according 
to  the  stage  of  my  life  ; therefore,  I have  no 
more  to  value  myself  upon,  than  that  I can  con- 
verse with  young  people  without  peevishness, 
or  wishing  myself  a moment  younger.  For 
which  reason,  when  I am  amongst  them,  I 
rather  moderate  than  interrupt  their  diversions. 
But  though  I have  this  complacency,  I must 
not  pretend  to  write  to  a Lady  civil  things,  as 
Maria  desires.  Time  was,  when  I could  have 
told  her,  ‘ I had  received  a letter  from  her  fair 
hands  ; and,  that  if  this  paper  trembled  as  she 
read  it,  it  then  best  expressed  its  author,  or 
some  other  gay  conceit.  Though  I never  saw 
her,  I could  have  told  her,  ‘ that  good  sense  and 
good  humour  smiled  in  her  eyes  : that  constancy 
and  good-nature  dwelt  in  her  heart : that  beauty 
and  good  breeding  appeared  in  all  her  actions.’ 
When  I was  five-and-twenty,  upon  sight  of  one 
syllable,  even  wrong  spelt,  by  a lady  I never 
saw  I could  tell  her,  '■  that  her  height  was  that 


which  was  fit  for  inviting  our  approach,  and 
commanding  our  respect ; that  a smile  sat  on 
her  lips,  which  prefaced  her  expressions  before 
she  uttered  them,  and  her  aspect  prevented  her 
speech.  All  she  could  say,  though  she  had  an 
infinite  deal  of  wit,  was  but  a repetition  of  what 
was  expressed  by  her  form  ; her  form ! which 
struck  her  beholders  with  ideas  more  moving 
and  forcible  than  ever  were  inspired  by  music, 
painting,  or  eloquence.’  At  this  rate  I panted 
in  those  days  ; but,  ah  ! sixty-three  ! I am  very 
sorry  I can  only  return  the  agreeable  Maria  a 
passion  expressed  rather  from  the  head  than  the 
heart. 

Dear  Madam, — You  have  already  seen  the 
best  of  me,  and  I so  passionately  love  you,  that 
I desire  we  may  never  meet.  If  you  will  ex- 
amine your  heart,  you  will  find  that  you  join  the 
man  with  the  philosopher  : and  if  you  have  that 
kind  opinion  of  my  sense  as  you  pretend,  I 
question  not  you  add  to  it  complexion,  air,  and 
shape  : but,  dear  Molly,  a man  in  his  grand  cli- 
macteric is  of  no  sex.  Be  a good  girl ; and  con- 
duct yourself  with  honour  and  virtue,  when  you 
love  one  younger  than  myself.  I am,  with  the 
greatest  tenderness,  your  innocent  lover. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  October  19. 

There  is  nothing  more  common  than  the 
weakness  mentioned  in  the  following  epistle ; and 
I believe  there  is  hardly  a man  living  who  has 
not  been  more  or  less  injured  by  it. 

‘ Land’s-End,  October  12. 

‘ Sir, — I have  left  the  town  some  time  ; and 
much  the  sooner,  for  not  having  had  the  advan- 
tage, when  I lived  there,  of  so  good  a pilot  as  you 
are  to  the  present  age.  Your  cautions  to  the 
young  men  against  the  vices  of  the  town  are 
very  well : but  there  is  one  not  less  needful, 
which  I think  you  have  omitted.  I had  from 
the  Rough  Diamond  (a  gentleman  so  called  from 
an  honest  blunt  wit  he  had)  not  long  since  dead, 
tliis  observation,  That  a young  man  must  be  at 
least  three  or  four  years  in  London  before  he 
dares  say.  No. 

‘ You  will  easily  see  the  truth  and  force  of 
this  observation ; for,  I believe  more  people  are 
drawn  away  against  their  inclinations,  thanwfith 
them.  A young  man  is  afraid  to  deny  any  body 
going  to  a tavern  to  dinner  ; or,  after  being 
gorged  there,  to  repeat  the  same  with  another 
company  at  supper,  or  to  drink  excessively,  if 
desired,  or  go  to  any  other  place,  or  commit  any 
other  extravagancy  proposed.  The  fear  of  being 
thought  covetous,  to  have  no  money,  or  to  be 
under  the  dominion  or  fear  of  his  parents  and 
friends,  hinder  him  from  the  free  exercise  of  his 
understanding,  and  affirming  boldly  the  true 
reason,  which  is,  his  real  dislike  of  what  is  de- 
sired. If  you  could  cure  this  slavish  facility,  it 
would  save  abundance  at  their  first  entrance 
into  the  world. — I am,  sir,  yours, 

‘ SOLOMON  AFTER  WIT.’ 

This  epistle  has  given  an  occasion  to  a trea- 
tise on  this  subject,  wherein  I shall  lay  down 
rules  when  a young  stripling  is  to  say.  No  ; and 
a young  virgin.  Yes. 


176 


THE  TATLER. 


N.  B.  For  the  publication  of  this  discourse,  I 
wait  only  for  subscriptions  from  the  under  g^ra- 
duates  of  each  university,  and  the  young  ladies 
in  the  boarding-schools  of  Hackney  and  Chelsea. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house^  October  19. 

Letters  from  the  Hague,  of  the  twenty-fifth 
of  October,  N.  S.  advise,  that  the  garrison  of 
Moris  marched  out  on  the  twenty-third  instant, 
and  a garrison  of  the  allies  marched  into  the 
town.  All  the  forces  in  the  field,  both  of  the 
enemy  and  the  confederates,  are  preparing  to 
withdraw  into  winter-quarters. 


No.  84.]  Saturday^  October  22, 1709. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  21. 

I HAVE  received  a letter  subscribed  A.  B. 
wherein  it  has  been  represented  to  me  as  an 
enormity,  that  there  are  more  than  ordinary 
crowds  of  women  at  the  Old  Baily  when  a rape 
is  to  be  tried.  But  by  Mr.  A.  B.’s  favour,  I can- 
not tell  who  are  so  much  concerned  in  that  part 
of  the  law  as  the  sex  he  mentions,  they  being 
the  only  persons  liable  to  such  insults.  Nor, 
indeed,  do  I think  it  more  unreasonable  that 
they  should  be  inquisitive  on  such  occasions  than 
men  of  honour,  when  one  is  tried  for  killing  ano- 
ther in  a duel.  It  is  very  natural  to  inquire  how 
the  fatal  pass  was  made,  that  we  may  the  better 
defend  ourselves  when  we  come  to  be  attacked. 
Several  eminent  ladies  appeared  lately  at  the 
court  of  justice  on  such  an  occasion,  and,  with 
great  patience  and  attention,  staid  the  whole 
trials  of  two  persons  for  the  above-said  crime. 
The  law  to  me,  indeed,  seems  a little  defective 
in  this  point ; and  it  is  a very  great  hardship, 
that  this  crime,  which  is  committed  by  men 
only,  should  have  men  only  on  their  jury.  I 
humbly,  therefore,  propose,  that  on  future  trials 
of  this  sort,  half  of  the  twelve  may  be  women  ; 
and  those  such  whose  faces  are  well  known  to 
have  taken  notes,  or  may  be  supposed  to  remem- 
ber what  happened  in  former  trials  in  the  same 
place.  There  is  the  learned  Androgyne,  that 
would  make  a good  fore-woman  of  the  pannel, 
who,  by  long  attendance,  understands  as  much 
law  and  anatomy  as  is  necessary  in  this  case. 
Until  this  is  taken  care  of,  I am  humbly  of  opi- 
nion, it  would  be  much  more  expedient  that  the 
fair  were  wholly  absent ; for  to  what  end  can  it 
be  that  they  should  be  present  at  such  examina- 
tions, when  they  can  only  be  perplexed  with  a 
fellow-feeling  for  the  injured,  without  any  power 
to  avenge  their  sufferings  ? It  is  an  unnecessary 
pain  which  the  fair  ones  give  themselves  on 
these  occasions.  I have  known  a young  wo- 
man shriek  out  at  some  parts  of  the  evidence ; 
and  have  frequently  observed,  that  when  the 
proof  grew  particular  and  strong,  there  has  been 
such  a universal  flutter  of  fans,  that  one  would 
think  the  whole  female  audience  were  falling 
into  fits.  Nor,  indeed,  can  I see  how  men  them- 
selves can  be  wholly  unmoved  at  such  tragical 
relations. 

In  short,  I must  tell  my  female  readers,  and 
they  may  take  an  old  man’s  word  for  it,  that 


[No.  84.  I 

there  is  nothing  in  woman  so  graceful  and  be- 
coming as  modesty.  It  adds  charms  to  their 
beauty,  and  gives  a new  softness  to  their  sex. 
Without  it,  simplicity  and  innocence  appear 
rude  ; reading  and  good  sense,  masculine  ; wit 
and  humour,  lascivious.  This  is  so  necessary  a 
qualification  for  pleasing,  that  the  loose  part  of 
womankind,  whose  study  it  is  to  ensnare  men’s 
hearts,  never  fail  to  support  the  appearance  of 
what  they  know  is  so  essential  to  that  end ; and 
I have  heard  it  reported  by  the  young  fellows 
in  my  time  as  a maxim  of  the  celebrated  madam 
Bennet,^  that  a young  wench,  though  never  so 
beautiful,  was  not  worth  her  board  when  she 
was  past  her  blushing.  This  discourse  natu- 
rally brings  into  my  thoughts  a letter  I have  re- 
ceived from  the  virtuous  lady  Whittlestick,  on 
the  subject  of  Lucretia. 

From  my  tea-table,  Oct.  17. 

‘ Cousin  Isaac, — I read  your  Tatler  of  Satur- 
day last,  and  was  surprised  to  see  you  so  partial 
to  your  own  sex,  as  to  think  none  of  ours  w’orthy 
to  sit  at  your  first  table  ; for  sure  you  cannot  but 
own  Lucretia  as  famous  as  any  you  have’  placed  j 
there,  who  first  parted  with  her  virtue,  and  af- 
terwards with  her  life,  to  preserve  her  fame.’ 

Mrs.  Biddy  Twig  has  written  me  a letter  to 
the  same  purpose ; but,  in  answer  to  both  my 
pretty  correspondents  and  kinswomen,  I must 
tell  them,  that  although  I know  Lucretia  would 
have  made  a very  graceful  figure  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  table,  I did  not  think  it  proper  to  place 
her  there  because  I knew  she  would  not  care  for 
being  in  the  company  of  so  many  men  without 
her  husband.  At  the  same  time,  I must  own, 
that  Tarquin  himself  was  not  a greater  lover  and 
admirer  of  Lucretia  than  I myself  am  in  an  i 
honest  way.  When  my  sister  Jenny  was  in  her 
sampler,  I made  her  get  the  whole  story  without 
book,  and  tell  it  me  in  needle-work.  This  illus- 
trious lady  stands  up  in^history  as  the  glory  of 
her  own  sex,  and  the  reproach  of  ours ; and  the 
circumstances  under  which  she  fell  were  so  very 
particular,  that  they  seem  to  make  adultery  and 
murder  meritorious.  She  was  a woman  of  such 
transcendant  virtue,  that  her  beauty,  which  was 
the  greatest  of  the  age  and  country  in  which 
she  lived,  and  is  generally  celebrated  as  the 
highest  of  praise  in  other  wmmen,  is  never  men- 
tioned as  a part  of  her  character.  But  it  would 
be  declaiming  to  dwell  upon  so  celebrated  a 
story,  which  I mentioned  only  in  respect  to  my 
kinswoman ; and  to  make  reparation  for  the 
omission  they  complain  of,  do  further  promise 
them,  that  if  they  can  furnish  me  with  instances 
to  fill  it,  there  shall  be  a small  tea-table  set  apart 
in  my  Palace  of  Fame  for  the  reception  of  aU  of 
her  character. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  October  21. 

I was  this  evening  communicating  my  design  i 
of  producing  obscure  merit  into  public  view ; i 

and  proposed  to  the  learned,  that  they  would  f 

please  to  assist  me  in  the  wwk.  For  the  same  t 
end  I publish  my  intention  to  the  w’orld  that  all  ) 


* A notorious  bawd  in  the  reign  of  Cliarles  II.  called 
Mistress,  and  Madam  and  Mother  Bennet. 


THE  TATLER. 


177 


Tio.  85.] 


men  of  liberal  thoughts  may  know  they  have  an 
opportunity  of  doing  justice  to  such  worthy  per- 
sons as  have  come  within  their  respective  ob- 
servation, and  who,  by  misfortune,  modesty,  or 
want  of  proper  writers  to  recommend  them, 
have  escaped  the  notice  of  the  rest  of  mankind. 
If,  therefore,  any  one  can  bring  any  tale  or  ti- 
dings of  illustrious  persons,  or  glorious  actions, 
that  are  not  commonly  known,  he  is  desired  to 
send  an  account  thereof  to  me,  at  J.  Morphew’s, 
and  they  shall  have  justice  done  them.  At  the 
same  time  that  I have  this  concern  for  men  and 
things  that  deserve  reputation,  and  have  it  not, 
I am  resolved  to  examine  into  the  claims  of 
such  ancients  and  moderns  as  are  in  possession 
of  it,  with  a design  to  displace  them,  in  case  I 
find  their  titles  defective.  The  first  whose  me- 
rits I shall  inquire  into,  are  some  merry  gentle- 
men of  the  French  nation,  who  have  written 
very  advantageous  histories  of  their  exploits  in 
war,  love,  and  politics,  under  the  title  of  Me- 
moirs. I am  afraid  I shall  find  several  of  these 
gentlemen  tardy,  because  I hear  of  them  in  no 
writings  but  their  own.  To  read  the  narrative  of 
one  of  these  authors,  you  would  fancy  that  there 
was  not  an  action  in  a whole  campaign  which 
he  did  not  contrive  or  execute  ; yet,  if  you  con- 
sult the  history  or  gazettes  of  those  times,  you 
do  not  find  him  so  much  as  at  the  head  of  a party 
from  one  end  of  the  summer  to  the  other.  But 
it  is  the  way  of  these  great  men,  when  they  lie 
behind  their  lines,  and  are  in  a time  ofinaction, 
as  they  call  it,  to  pass  away  their  time  in  writing 
their  exploits.  By  this  means,  several  who  are 
either  unknown  or  despised  in  the  present  age, 
will  be  famous  in  the  next,  unless  a sudden  stop 
be  put  to  such  pernicious  practices.  There  are 
others  of  that  gay  people,  who,  as  I am  inform- 
ed, will  live  half  a year  together  in  a garret,  and 
write  a history  of  their  intrigues  in  the  court  of 
France.  As  for  politicians,  they  do  not  abound 
with  that  species  of  men  so  much  as  we  ; but  as 
ours  are  not  so  famous  for  writing,  as  for  ex- 
temporary dissertations  in  coffee-houses,  they 
are  more  annoyed  with  memoirs  of  this  nature 
also  than  we  are.  The  most  immediate  remedy 
that  I can  apply  to  prevent  this  growing  evil,  is. 
That  I do  hereby  give  notice  to  all  booksellers 
and  translators  whatsoever,  that  the  word  Me- 
moir is  French  for  a novel ; and  to  require  of 
them  that  they  sell  and  translate  it  accordingly. 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  October  21. 


Coming  into  this  place  to  night,  I met  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  who,  a little  after  the  restoration, 
writ  an  epigram  with  some  applause,  which  he 
has  lived  upon  ever  since ; and  by  virtue  of  it, 
has  been  a constant  frequenter  of  this  coffee- 
house for  forty  years.  He  took  me  aside,  and 
with  a great  deal  of  friendship  told  me  he  was 
glad  to  see  me  alive,  ‘ for,’  said  he,  ‘ Mr.  Bicker- 


staff,  I am  sorry  to  find  you  have  raised  many 
enemies  by  your  lucubrations.  There  are,  in- 
deed, some,’  says  he,  ‘ whose  enmity  is  the 
greatest  honour  they  can  show  a man  ; but  have 
you  lived  to  these  years,  and  do  not  know  that 
the  ready  way  to  disoblige  is  to  give  advice  ? 
you  may  endeavour  to  guard  your  children,  as 
you  call  them  ; but — ’ He  was  going  on ; but 

z 


I found  the  disagreeableness  of  giving  advice 
without  being  asked,  by  my  own  impatience  of 
what  he  was  about  to  say : in  a word,  I begged 
him  to  give  me  the  hearing  of  a short  fable.’ 

‘ A gentleman,’  says  I,  ‘ who  was  one  day 
slumbering  in  an  arbour,  was  on  a sudden 
awakened  by  the  gentle  biting  of  a lizard,  a little 
animal  remarkable  for  its  love  to  mankind.  He 
threw  it  from  his  hand  with  some  indignation, 
and  was  rising  up  to  kill  it,  when  he  saw  a huge 
venomous  serpent  sliding  towards  him  on  the 
other  side,  which  he  soon  destroyed ; reflecting 
afterwards  with  gratitude  upon  his  friend  that 
.saved  him,  and  with  anger  against  himself,  that 
had  shown  so  little  sense  of  a good  office.’ 


No.  85.]  Tuesday,  October  25,  1709. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  24. 

Mv  brother  Tranquillus,  who  is  a man  of 
business,  came  to  me  this  morning  into  my 
study,  and  after  very  many  civil  expressions  in 
return  for  what  good  offices  I had  done  him, 
told  me,  ‘ he  desired  to  carry  his  wife,  my  sister, 
that  very  morning  to  his  own  house.’  I readily 
told  him,  ‘ I would  wait  upon  him,’  without  ask- 
ing why  he  was  so  impatient  to  rob  us  of  his  good 
company.  He  went  out  of  my  chamber,  and  I 
thought  seemed  to  have  a little  heaviness  upon 
him,  which  gave  me  some  disquiet.  Soon  after, 
my  sister  came  to  me,  with  a very  matron-like 
air,  and  most  sedate  satisfaction  in  her  looks, 
which  spoke  her  very  much  at  ease;  but  the 
traces  of  her  countenance  seemed  to  discover 
that  she  had  been  lately  in  a passion,  and  that 
air  of  content  to  flow  from  a certain  triumph 
upon  some  advantage  obtained.  She  no  sooner 
sat  down  by  me,  but  I perceived  she  was  one  of 
those  ladies  who  begin  to  be  managers  within 
the  time  of  their  being  brides.  Without  letting 
her  speak,  which  I saw  she  had  a mighty  incli- 
nation to  do,  I said,  ‘ Here  has  been  your  hus- 
band, who  tells  me  he  has  a mind  to  go  home 
this  very  morning,  and  I have  consented  to  it.’ 
‘ It  is  well,’  said  she,  ‘ for  you  must  know — ’ 
‘ Nay,  Jenny,’  said  I,  ‘I  beg  your  pardon, for  it  is 
you  must  know — You  are  to  understand, ‘that 
now  is  the  time  to  fix  or  alienate  your  husband’s 
heart  for  ever ; and  I fear  you  have  been  a little 
indiscreet  in  your  expressions  or  behaviour  to- 
wards him,  even  here  in  my  house.’  ‘ There 
has,’  says  she,  ‘ been  some  words : but  I will  be 
judged  by  you  if  he  was  not  in  the  wrong : nay, 
I need  not  be  judged  by  any  body,  for  he  gave 
it  up  himself,  and  said  not  a word  when  he  saw 
me  grow  passionate,  but,  “ Madam,  you  are 
perfectly  in  the  right  of  it:”  as  you  shall 
judge — ’ ‘Nay,  madam,’  said  I,  ‘I  am  judge 
already,  and  tell  you,  that  ymu  are  perfectly  in 
the  wrong  of  it;  for  if  it  was  a matter  of 
importance,  I know  he  has  better  sense  than 
you ; if  a trifle,  you  know  what  I told  you  on 
your  wedding-day,  that  you  were  to  be  above 
little  provocations.’ — She  knows  very  well  I can 
be  sour  upon  occasion,  therefore  gave  me  leave 
to  go  on. 

‘ Sister,’  said  I,  ‘ I will  net  enter  into  the  dis- 


178 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  85. 


pute  between  you,  which  I find  his  prudence 
put  an  end  to  before  it  came  to  extremity  ; but 
charge  you  to  have  a care  of  the  first  quarrel, 
as  you  tender  your  happiness ; for  then  it  is  that 
the  mind  will  reflectharshly  upon  every  circum- 
stance that  has  ever  passed  between  }'ou.  If 
such  an  accident  is  ever  to  happen,  which  I 
hope  never  will,  be  sure  to  keep  to  the  circum- 
stance before  you  ; make  no  allusions  to  what  is 
passed,  or  conclusions  referring  to  what  is  to 
come  : do  not  show  a hoard  of  matter  for  dissen- 
sion in  your  breast ; but,  if  it  is  necessary,  lay 
before  him  the  thing  as  you  understand  it,  can- 
didly, wuthout  being  ashamed  of  acknowledging 
an  error,  or  proud  of  being  in  the  right.  If  a 
young  couple  be  not  careful  in  this  point,  they 
will  get  into  a habit  of  wrangling  ; and  when  to 
displease  is  thought  of  no  consequence,  to  please 
is  always  of  as  little  moment.  There  is  a play, 
Jenny,  I have  formerly  been  at  w’hen  I w'as  a 
student : we  got  into  a dark  corner  with  a por- 
ringer of  brandy,  and  threw  raisins  into  it, 
then  set  it  on  fire.  My  chamber-fellow  and  I 
diverted  ourselves  w’ith  the  sport  of  venturing 
our  fingers  for  the  raisins ; and  the  wantonness 
of  the  thing  was,  to  see  each  other  look  like  a 
daemon,  as  we  burnt  ourselves,  and  snatched 
out  the  fruit.  This  fantastical  mirth  was  called 
snapdragon.  You  may  go  into  many  a family, 
where  you  see  the  man  and  wife  at  this  sport : 
every  w’ord  at  their  table  alludes  to  some  pas- 
sage between  themselves ; and  you  see  by  the 
paleness  and  emotion  in  their  countenances, 
that  it  is  for  your  sake,  and  not  their  own,  that 
they  forbear  playing  out  the  whole  game  in 
burning  each  other’s  fingers.  In  this  case,  the 
whole  purpose  of  life  is  inverted,  and  the  ambi- 
tion turns  upon  a certain  contention,  who  shall 
contradict  best,  and  not  upon  an  inclination  to 
excel  in  kindness  and  good  offices.  Therefore, 
dear  Jenny,  remember  me,  and  avoid  snap- 
dragon.’ 

‘ I thank  you  brother,’  said  she,  ‘ but  you  do 
not  know  how  he  loves  me ; I find  I can  do  any 
thing  with  him.’ — ‘ If  you  can  so,  why  should 
you  desire  to  do  any  thing  but  please  him  ? but 
I have  a word  or  two  more  before  you  go  out 
of  the  room ; for  I see  you  do  not  like  the  sub- 
ject I am  upon  : let  nothing  provoke  you  to  fall 
upon  an  imperfection  he  cannot  help  ; for,  if  he 
has  a resenting  spirit,  he  will  think  your  aver- 
sion as  immoveable  as  the  imperfection  with 
which  you  upbraid  him.  But  above  all,  dear 
Jenny,  be  careful  of  one  thing  and  you  will  be 
something  more  than  woman ; that  is,  a levity 
you  are  almost  all  guilty  of,  which  is,  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  your  power  to  give  pain.  It  is  even 
in  a mistress  an  argument  of  meanness  of  spirit, 
but  in  a wife  it  is  injustice  and  ingratitude. 
When  a sensible  man  once  observes  this  in  a 
woman,  he  must  have  a very  great  or  very  little 
spirit  to  overlook  it.  A woman  ought,  therefore, 
to  consider  very  often,  how  few  men  there  are 
who  will  regard  a meditated  oflfence  as  a weak- 
ness  of  temper.’ 

I was  going  on  in  my  confabulation,  when 
Tranquillus  entered.  She  cast  all  her  eyes 
upon  him  with  much  shame  and  confusion, 
mixed  with  great  complacency  and  love,  and 
went  up  to  him.  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and 


looked  so  many  soft  tilings  at  one  glance,  that  1 
I could  see  he  was  glad  I had  been  talking  to  ; 
her,  sorry  she  had  been  troubled,  and  angry  at 
liimself  that  he  could  not  disguise  the  concern 
he  was  in  an  hour  before.  After  which,  he  says 
to  me,  with  an  air  awkward  enough,  but  me- 
thought  not  unbecoming  ‘ I have  altered  my 
mind,  brother ; we  will  live  upon  you  a day  or 
two  longer.’  I replied,  ‘ That  is  what  I have 
been  persuading  Jenny  to  ask  of  you,  but  she 
is  resolved  never  to  contradict  your  inclination, 
and  refused  me.’ 

We  w’ere  going  on  in  that  way  which  one 
hardly  knows  how  to  express ; as  when  two 
people  mean  the  same  thing  in  a nice  case,  but 
come  at  it  by  talking  as  distantly  from  it  as  they 
can ; when  very  opportunely  came  in  upon  us 
an  honest  inconsiderable  fellow.  Tim  Dapper,* 
a gentleman  well  known  to  us  both.  Tim  is 
one  of  those  who  are  very  necessary,  by  being 
very  inconsiderable.  Tim  dropped  in  at  an  inci- 
dent, w’hen  we  knew  not  how  to  fall  into  either 
a grave  or  a merry  way.  My  sister  took  this 
occasion  to  make  off,  and  Dapper  gave  us  an  j 

account  of  all  the  company  he  had  been  in  to-  I 

day,  who  v.’as,  and  who  was  not  at  home,  where  I 

he  visited.  This  Tim  is  the  head  of  a species  : I 

he  is  a little  out  of  his  element  in  this  town  ; 
but  he  is  a relation  of  Tranquillus,  and  his 
neighbour  in  the  country,  which  is  the  true 
place  of  residence  for  this  species.  The  habit 
of  a Dapper,  when  he  is  at  home,  is  a light 
broad  cloth,  with  calamanco  or  red  waistcoat 
and  breeches  ; and  it  is  remarkable,  that  their 
wigs  seldom  hide  the  collar  of  their  coats.  They 
have  alv.*a3*s  a peculiar  spring  in  their  arms,  a 
wriggle  in  their  bodies,  and  a trip  in  their  gait.  j 

All  which  motions  they  express  at  once  in  their  i 

drinking,  bowing,  or  saluting  ladies ; for  a dis-  I 

tant  imitation  of  a forward  fop,  and  a resolution  # 

to  overtop  him  in  his  way,  are  the  distinguish- 
ing marks  of  a Dapper.  These  under-charac- 
ters of  men,  are  parts  of  the  sociable  world  by 
no  means  to  be  neglected : they  are  like  pegs 
in  a building ; they  make  no  figure  in  it,  but 
hold  the  structure  together,  and  are  as  absolutely  i 

necessary  as  the  pillars  and  columns.  I am  sure  j 

w'e  found  it  so  this  morning;  for  Tranquillus  I 

and  I should,  perhaps,  have  looked  cold  at  each  ^ 

other  the  whole  day,  but  Dapper  fell  in  with  his 
brisk  way,  shook  us  both  by  the  hand,  rallied 
the  bride,  mistook  the  acceptance  he  met  with 
amongst  us  for  extraordinary  perfection  in  him- 
self, and  heartily  pleased,  and  was  pleased,  all 
the  while  he  staid.  His  company  left  us  all  in  ^ 
good  humour,  and  we  were  not  such  fools  as  to  ^ 
let  it  sink,  before  we  confirmed  it  by  great 
cheerfulness  and  openness  in  our  carriage  the 
whole  evening. 

White's  Chocolate-house.,  October  24. 

I have  been  this  evening  to  visit  a lady  who 
is  a relation  of  the  enamoured  Cynthio,  and 
there  heard  the  melancholy  news  of  his  death. 

I was  in  hopes,  that  fox-hunting  and  October 


* The  following  account  of  Tim  Dapper  seems  to  be 
given  as  a true  picture  of  the  character  and  dress  of  a 
country  beau  or  smart  in  1709. 


No.  86.1 


THE  TATLER. 


179 


would  have  recovered  him  from  his  unhappy 
passion.  He  went  into  the  country  with  a de- 
sign to  leave  behind  him  all  thoughts  of  Clarissa; 
but  he  found  that  place  only  more  convenient 
to  think  of  her  without  interruption.  The 
country  gentlemen  were  very  much  puzzled 
upon  his  case,  and  never  finding  him  merry  or 
loud  in  their  company,  took  him  for  a Roman 
Catholic,  and  immediately  upon  his  death  seized 
his  French  valet-de-chambre  for  a priest ; and 
it  is  generally  thought  in  the  country,  it  will 
go  hard  with  him  next  session.  Poor  Cynthio 
never  held  up  his  head  after  having  received  a 
letter  of  Clarissa’s  marriage.  The  lady  who 
gave  me  this  account,  being  far  gone  in  poetry 
and  romance,  told  me,  ‘ if  I would  give  her  an 
epitaph,  she  would  take  care  to  have  it  placed 
on  his  tomb ; which  she  herself  had  devised  in 
the  following  manner.  It  is  to  be  made  of  black 
marble,  and  every  corner  to  be  crowned  v.^ith 
weeping  cupids.  Their  quivers  are  to  be  hung 
up  upon  two  tall  cypress-trees  which  are  to 
grovz  on  each  side  on  the  monument,  and  their 
arrows  to  be  laid  in  a great  heap,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a funeral  pile,  on  which  is  to  lie  the 
body  of  the  deceased.  On  the  top  of  each 
cypress  is  to  stand  the  figure  of  a moaning 
turtle-dove.  On  the  uppermost  part  of  the 
monument,  the  goddess,  to  whom  these  birds 
are  sacred,  is  to  sit  in  a dejected  posture,  as 
weeping  for  the  death  of  her  votary.’  I need 
not  tell  you  this  lady’s  head  is  a little  turned : 
however,  to  be  rid  of  importunities,  I promised 
her  an  epitaph,  and  told  her  I would  take  for 
my  pattern  that  of  Don  Alonzo,  who  was  no 
less  famous  in  his  age  than  Cynthio  is  in  ours. 

The  Epitaph."^ 

Here  lies  Don  Alonzo, 

Slain  by  a wound  received  under 
his  left  pap ; 

the  orifice  of  which  was  so 
small,  no  surgeon  could 
discover  it. 

Reader ; 

if  thou  wouldst  avoid  so  strange 
a death, 

look  not  upon  Lucinda’s  eyes. 


No.  86.]  Thursday^  October  27,  1709. 


From  my  own  Apartment^  October  25. 

When  I came  home  last  night,  my  servant 
delivered  me  the  following  letter  : 

‘ October  24. 

* Sir, — I have  orders  from  sir  Harry  Quick- 
set,  of  Staffordshire,  baronet,  to  acquaint  you, 
that  his  honour  sir  Harry  himself,  sir  Giles 
Wheelbarrow,  knight,  Thomas  Rentfree,  es- 
quire, justice  of  the  quorum,  Andrew  Windmill, 
esquire,  and  Mr.  Nicholas  Doubt,  of  the  Inner 
Temple,  sir  Harry’s  grandson,  will  wait  upon 


* This  is  a quotation  from  a letter  of  Sir  John  Suck- 
ling. See  his  Works,  vol.  1.  p.  143.  edit.  Davies. 


you  at  the  hour  of  nine  to-morrow  morning, 
being  Tuesday  the  twenty-fifth  of  October,  upon 
business  which  sir  Harry  will  impart  to  you  by 
word  of  mouth.  I thought  it  proper  to  acquaint 
you  before-hand  so  many  persons  of  quality 
came,  that  you  might  not  be  surprised  therewith. 
Which  concludes,  though  by  many  years’  ab- 
sence  since  I saw  you  at  Stafford,  unknown, 
Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘JOHN  THRIFTY.’ 

I received  this  message  with  less  surprise 
than  I believe  Mr.  Thrifty  imagined ; for  I 
knew  the  good  company  too  well  to  feel  any 
palpitations  at  their  approach  ; but  I was  in  very 
great  concern  how  I should  adjust  the  cere  mo- 
nial,  and  demean  myself  to  all  these  great  men, 
who  perhaps  had  not  seen  any  thing  above 
themselves  for  these  twenty  years  last  past.  I 
am  sure  that  is  the  case  of  sir  Harry.  Besides 
which,  I was  sensible  that  there  was  a great 
point  in  adjusting  my  behaviour  to  the  simple 
squire,  so  as  to  give  him  satisfaction,  and  not 
disoblige  the  justice  of  the  quorum. 

The  hour  of  nine  was  come  this  morning, 
and  I had  no  sooner  set  chairs,  by  the  stev/ard’s 
letter,  and  fixed  my  tea-equipage,  but  I heard 
a knock  at  my  door,  which  was  opened,  but  no 
one  entered  ; after  which  followed  a long  silence, 
which  was  broke  at  last  by,  ‘ Sir,  I beg  your 
pardon ; I think  I know  better  :’  and  another 
voice,  ‘ nay,  good  sir  Giles — ’ I looked  out  from 
my  window,  and  saw  the  good  company  all 
with  their  hats  off,  and  arms  spread,  offering 
the  door  to  each  other.  After  many  offers, 
they  entered  with  much  solemnity,  in  the  order 
Mr.  Thrifty  was  so  kind  as  to  name  them  to  me. 
But  they  are  now  got  to  my  chamber  door,  and 
I saw  my  old  friend  sir  Harry  enter.  I met 
him  with  all  the  respect  due  to  so  reverend  a 
vegetable ; for,  you  are  to  know,  that  is  my 
sense  of  a person  who  remains  idle  in  the  same 
place  for  half  a century.  I got^him  with  great 
success  into  his  chair  by  the  fire,  without  throw- 
ing down  any  of  my  cups.  The  knight-bachelor 
told  me  ‘ he  had  a great  respect  for  my  whole 
family,  and  would,  with  my  leave,  place  himself 
next  to  sir  Harry,  at  whose  right  hand  he  had 
sat  at  every  quarter  sessions  these  thirty  years, 
unless  he  was  sick.’  The  steward  in  the  rear 
whispered  the  young  Templar,  ‘ That  is  true,  to 
my  knowledge.’  1 had  the  misfortune,  as  they 
stood  cheek-by-jowl,  to  desire  the  squire  to  sit 
down  before  the  justice  of  the  quorum,  to  the  no 
small  satisfaction  of  the  former,  and  resentment 
of  the  latter.  But  I saw  my  error  too  late,  and 
got  them  as  soon  as  I could  into  their  seats. 

‘ Well,’  said  I,  ‘gentlemen,  after  I have  told  you 
how  glad  I am  of  this  great  honour,  I am  to 
desire  you  to  drink  a dish  of  tea.’  They  answered 
one  and  all,  ‘that  they  never  drank  tea  in  a 
morning.’ — ‘ Not  in  a morning  !’  said  I,  staring 
round  me.  Upon  which  the  pert  jackanapes, 
Nic  Doubt,  tipped  me  the  wink,  and  put  out  his 
tongue  at  his  grandfather.  Here  followed  a 
profound  silence,  when  the  steward  in  his  boots 
and  whip  proposed,  ‘ that  we  should  adjourn  to 
some  public-house,  where  every  body  might 
call  for  what  they  pleased,  and  enter  upon  the 


180 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  86. 


business.’  We  all  stood  up  in  an  instant,  and 
sir  Harry  filed  off  from  the  left,  very  discreetly, 
countermarching  behind  the  chairs  tov/ards  the 
door.  After  him,  sir  Giles  in  the  same  manner. 
The  simple,  squire  made  a sudden  start  to  follow  : 
but  the  justice  of  the  quorum  whipped  between 
upon  the  stand  of  the  stairs.  A maid,  going 
up  with  coals,  made  us  halt,  and  put  us  into 
such  confusion,  that  we  stood  all  in  a heap, 
without  any  visible  possibility  of  recovering  our 
order  ; for  the  young  jackanapes  seemed  to  make 
a jest  of  this  matter,  and  had  so  contrived,  by 
pressing  amongst  us,  under  pretence  of  making 
way,  that  his  grandfather  was  got  into  the 
middle,  and  he  knew  nobody  was  of  quality  to 
stir  a step,  until  sir  Harry  moved  first.  We  were 
fixed  in  this  perplexity  for  some  time,  until  we 
heard  a very  loud  noise  in  the  street ; and  sir 
Harry  asking  what  it  was,  T,  to  make  them 
move,  said,  ‘ it  w^as  fire.’  Upon  this,  all  ran 
down  as  fast  as  they  could,  without  order  or 
ceremony,  until  we  got  into  the  street,  wdiere 
we  drew  up  in  very  good  order,  and  filed  off 
down  Sheer-lane  ; the  impertinent  templar  driv- 
ing us  before  him,  as  in  a string,  and  pointing 
to  his  acquaintance  wd)o  passed  by. 

I must  confess.  Hove  to  use  people  according 
to  their  owm  sense  of  good  breeding,  and  there- 
fore whipped  in  between  the  justice  and  the 
simple  squire.  He  could  not  properly  take  this 
ill ; but  I overheard  him  whisper  the  steward, 

‘ that  he  thought  it  hard,  that  a common  con- 
jurer should  take  place  of  him,  though  an  elder 
squire.’  In  this  order  we  marched  down  Sheer- 
lane,  at  the  upper  end  of  which  I lodge.  When 
we  came  to  Temple-bar,  sir  Harry  and  sir  Giles 
got  over  ; but  a run  of  the  coaches  kept  the  rest 
of  us  on  this  side  of  the  street ; however,  we  all 
at  last  landed,  and  drew  up  in  very  good  order 
before  Ben  Tooke’s  shop,  who  favoured  our 
rallying  w’ith  great  humanity  ; from  whence 
we  proceeded  again,  until  we  came  to  Dick’s 
coffee-house,  where  I designed  to  carry  them. 
Here  we  were  at  our  old  difficulty,  and  took  up 
the  street  upon  the  same  ceremony.  We  pro- 
ceeded through  the  entry,  and  were  so  neces- 
sarily kept  in  order  by  the  situation,  that  we 
were  now  got  into  the  coffee-house  itself,  where, 
as  soon  as  we  arrived,  we  repeated  our  civilities 
to  each  other ; after  which  we  marched  up  to 
the  high  table,  which  has  an  ascent  to  it  in- 
closed in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  whole 
house  was  alarmed  at  this  entry,  made  up  of 
persons  of  so  much  state  and  rusticity.  Sir 
Harry  called  for  a mug  of  ale  and  Dyer’s  Letter. 
The  boy  brought  the  ale  in  an  instant;  but 
said,  ‘they  did  not  take  in  the  Letter.’  ‘No,’  says 
sir  Harry,  ‘ then  take  back  your  mug  ; we  are 
like  indeed  to  have  good  liquor  at  this  house  !’ 
Here  the  templar  tipped  me  a second  wink, 
and,  if  I had  not  looked  very  grave  upon  him, 

I found  he  was  disposed  to  be  very  familiar 
with  me.  In  short,  I observed,  after  a long  pause, 
that  the  gentlemen  did  not  care  to  enter  upon 
business  until  after  their  morning  draught,  for 
which  reason  I called  for  a bottle  of  mum ; and 
finding  that  had  no  effect  upon  them,  I ordered 
a second,  and  a,  third,  after  which  sir  Harry 
reached  over  to  me,  and  told  me  in  a low  voice, 


‘ that  the  place  was  too  public  for  business ; but. 
he  would  call  upon  me  again  to  morrow  morning 
at  my  own  lodgings,  and  bring  some  friends 
with  him.’ 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  October  26. 

Though  this  place  is  frequented  by  a more 
mixed  company  than  it  used  to  be  formerly ; 
yet  you  meet  very  often  some  whom  one  can- 
not leave  without  being  the  better  for  their  con- 
versation. A gentleman  this  evening,  in  a 
dictating  manner,  talked,  I thought,  very  pleas- 
ingly in  praise  of  modesty,  in  the  midst  of  ten 
or  twelve  libertines,  upon  whom  it  seemed  to 
have  had  a good  effect.  He  represented  it  as 
the  certain  indication  of  a great  and  noble 
spirit.  ‘ Modesty,’  said  he,  ‘ is  the  virtue  which 
makes  men  prefer  the  public  to  their  private 
interest,  the  guide  of  every  honest  undertaking, 
and  the  great  guardian  of  innocence.  It  makes 
men  amiable  to  their  friends,  and  respected  by 
their  very  enemies.  In  all  places,  and  on  all 
occasions,  it  attracts  benevolence,  and  demands 
approbation.’ 

One  might  give  instances,  out  of  antiquity, 
of  the  irresistible  force  of  this  quality  in  great 
minds  ; Cicereius,  and  Cneius  Scipio,  the  son  of 
the  great  Africanus,  were  competitors  for  the 
office  of  praetor.  The  crowd  followed  Cicereius, 
and  left  Scipio  unattended.  Cicereius  saw  this 
with  much  concern  ; and  desiring  an  audience 
of  the  people,  he  descended  from  the  place  where 
the  candidates  were  to  sit,  in  the  eye  of  the 
multitude  ; pleaded  for  his  adversary  ; and,  with 
an  ingenuous  modesty,  which  it  is  impossible  to 
feign,  represented  to  them,  ‘ how  much  it  was 
to  their  dishonour,  that  a virtuous  son  cf  Afri- 
canus should  not  be  preferred  to  him,  or  any 
other  man  whatsoever.’  This  immediately 
gained  the  election  for  Scipio ; but  all  the  com- 
pliments and  congratulations  upon  it  were  made 
to  Cicereius.  It  is  easier  in  this  case  to  sajr 
who  had  the  office,  than  the  honour.  There  is 
no  occurrence  in  life  where  this  quality  is  not 
more  ornamental  than  any  other.  After  the 
battle  of  Pharsalia,  Pompey  marching  towards 
Larissus,  the  whole  people  of  that  place  came 
out  in  procession  to  do  him  honour.  He  thanked 
the  magistrates  for  their  respect  to  him ; but 
desired  them  ‘ to  perform  these  ceremonies  to 
the  conqueror.’  This  gallant  submission  to  his 
fortune,  and  disdain  of  making  any  appearance 
but  like  Pompey,  was  owing  to  his  modesty, 
which  would  not  permit  him  to  be  so  disingenu- 
ous, as  to  give  himself  the  air  of  prosperity, 
when  he  was  in  the  contrary  condition. 

This  I say  of  modesty,  as  it  is  the  virtue 
which  preserves  a decorum  in  the  general 
course  of  our  life ; but,  considering  it  also  as  it 
regards  our  mere  bodies,  it  is  the  certain  cha- 
racter of  a great  mind.  It  is  memorable  of  the 
mighty  Caesar,  that  when  he  was  murdered  in 
the  Capitol,  at  the  very  moment  in  which  he 
expired  he  gathered  his  robe  about  him,  that 
he  might  fall  in  a decent  posture.  In  this 
manner,  says  my  author,  he  went  off,  not  like 
a man  that  departed  out  of  life,  but  a deity  that 
returned  to  his  abode. 


THE  TATLER. 


181 


No.  87.] 

No.  87.]  Saturday^  October  29,  1709. 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  October  28. 

There  is  nothing  which  I contemplate  with 
greater  pleasure  than  the  dignity  of  human  na- 
ture, which  often  shows  itself  in  all  conditions 
of  life.  For,  notwithstanding  the  degeneracy 
and  meanness  that  is  crept  into  it,  there  are  a 
thousand  occasions  in  which  it  breaks  through 
its  original  corruption,  and  shows  what  it  once 
was,  and  what  it  will  be  hereafter.  I consider 
the  soul  of  man  as  the  ruin  of  a glorious  pile  of 
building  ; where,  amidst  great  heaps  of  rubbish, 
you  meet  with  noble  fragments  of  sculpture, 
broken  pillars  and  obelisks,  and  a magnificence 
in  confusion.  Virtue  and  wisdom  are  continu- 
ally employed  in  clearing  the  ruins,  removing 
these  disorderly  heaps,  recovering  the  noble 
pieces  that  lie  buried  under  them,  and  adjusting 
them  as  well  as  possible  according  to  their  an- 
cient symmetry  and  beauty.  A happy  educa- 
tion, conversation  with  the  finest  spirits,  looking 
abroad  into  the  works  of  nature,  and  observa- 
tions upon  mankind,  are  the  great  assistances 
to  this  necessary  and  glorious  work.  But  even 
among  those  who  have  never  had  the  hap- 
piness of  any  of  these  advantages,  there  are 
sometimes  such  exertions  of  the  greatness  that 
is  natural  to  the  mind  of  man,  as  show  capaci- 
ties and  abilities,  which  only  want  these  acci- 
dental helps  to  fetch  them  out,  and  show  them 
in  a proper  light.  A plebeian  soul  is  still  the 
ruin  of  this  glorious  edifice,  though  encumbered 
with  all  its  rubbish.  This  reflection  rose  in  me 
from  a letter  which  my  servant  dropped  as  he 
was  dressing  me,  and  which  he  told  me  was 
communicated  to  him,  as  he  is  an  acquaintance 
of  some  of  the  persons  mentioned  in  it.  The 
epistle  is  from  one  serjeant  Hall  of  the  foot- 
guards.  It  is  directed ; ‘ To  serjeant  Cabe,  in 
the  Coldstream  regiment  of  foot-guards,  at  the 
Red-lettice,  in  the  Butcher-row,  near  Temple- 
bar.’ 

I was  so  pleased  with  several  touches  in  it, 
that  I could  not  forbear  showing  it  to  a cluster 
of  critics,  who,  instead  of  considering  it  in  the 
light  I have  done,  examined  it  by  the  rules  of 
epistolary  writing.  For  as  these  gentlemen  are 
seldom  men  of  any  great  genius,  they  work  alto- 
gether by  mechanical  rules,  and  are  able  to  dis- 
cover no  beauties  that  are  not  pointed  out  by 
Bouhours  and  Rapin.  The  letter  is  as  follows  : 

From  the  camp  before  Mons,  September  26. 

‘Comrade, — I received  yours,  and  am  glad 
yourself  and  your  wife  are  in  good  health,  with 
all  the  rest  of  my  friends.  Our  battalion  suffer- 
ed more  than  I could  wish  in  the  action.  But 
who  can  withstand  fate  ? Poor  Richard  Steven- 
son had  his  fate  with  a great  many  more.  He 
was  killed  dead  before  we  entered  the  trenches. 
We  had  above  two  hundred  of  our  battalion  kill- 
ed and  wounded.  We  lost  ten  serjeants,  six  are 
as  followeth : Jennings,  Castles,  Roach,  Sher- 
ring,  Meyrick,  and  my  son  Smith.  The  rest 
are  not  your  acquaintance.  I have  received  a 
very  bad  shot  in  my  head  myself,  but  am  in 
hopes,  and  please  God,  I shall  recover.  I conti- 
nue in  the  field,  and  lie  at  my  colonel’s  quarters. 


Arthur  is  very  well ; but  I can  give  you  no  ac- 
count of  Elms  ; he  was  in  the  hospital  before  I 
came  into  the  field.  I will  not  pretend  to  give 
you  an  account  of  the  battle,  knowing  you  have 
a better  in  the  prints.  Pray  give  my  service  to 
Mrs.  Cook  and  her  daughter,  to  Mr.  Stoffet  and 
his  wife,  and  to  Mr.  Lyver,  and  Thomas  Hogs- 
don,  and  to  Mr.  Ragdell,  and  to  all  my  friends 
and  acquaintance  in  general  who  do  ask  after 
me.  My  love  to  Mrs.  Stevenson.  I am  sorry 
for  the  sending  such  ill  news.  Her  husband 
was  gathering  a little  money  together  to  send 
to  his  wife,  and  put  it  into  my  hands.  I have 
seven  shillings  and  three  pence,  which  I shall 
take  care  to  send  her.  Wishing  your  wife  a 
safe  delivery,  and  both  of  you  all  happiness, 
rest  your  assured  friend  and  comrade, 

‘JOHN  HALL. 

‘ We  had  but  an  indifferent  breakfast ; but  the 
mounseers  never  had  such  a dinner  in  all  their 
lives. 

‘ My  kind  love  to  my  comrade  Hinton,  and 
Mrs,  Morgan,  and  to  John  Brown  and  his  wife. 
I sent  two  shillings,  and  Stevenson  sixpence,  to 
drink  with  you  at  Mr.  Cook’s  ; but  I have  heard 
nothing  from  him.  It  was  by  Mr.  Edgar. 

‘ Corporal  Hartwell  desires  to  be  remembered 
to  you,  and  desires  you  to  inquire  of  Edgar, 
what  is  become  of  his  wife  Pegg ; and  when  you 
write,  to  send  word  in  your  letter  what  trade  she 
drives. 

‘We  have  here  very  bad  weather,  which  I 
doubt  will  be  a hindrance  to  the  siege ; but  I 
am  in  hopes  we  shall  be  masters  of  the  town  in 
a little  time,  and  then,  I believe,  we  shall  go  to 
garrison.’ 

I saw  the  critics  prepared  to  nibble  at  my  let- 
ter ; therefore  examined  it  myself,  partly  in  their 
way,  and  partly  my  own.  This  is,  said  I,  truly 
a letter,  and  an  honest  representation  of  that 
cheerful  heart  which  accompanies  the  poor  sol- 
dier in  his  warfare.  Is  not  there  in  this  all  the 
topic  of  submitting  to  our  destiny  as  well  dis- 
cussed as  if  a greater  man  had  been  placed,  like 
Brutus,  in  his  tent  at  midnight,  reflecting  on  all 
the  occurrences  of  past  life,  and  saying  fine 
things  on  Being  itself?  What  serjeant  Hall 
knows  of  the  matter  is,  that  he  wishes  there  had 
not  been  so  many  killed ; and  he  had  himself  a 
very  bad  shot  in  the  head,  and  should  recover  if 
it  pleased  God.  But  be  that  as  it  will,  he  takes 
care,- like  a man  of  honour,  as  he  certainly  is,  to 
let  the  widow  Stevenson  know,  that  he  had  seven 
and  threepence  for  her,  and  that,  if  he  lives,  he 
is  sure  he  shall  go  into  garrison  at  last.  I doubt 
not  but  all  the  good  company  at  the  Red-lettice 
drank  his  health  with  as  much  real  esteem  as 
we  do  of  any  of  our  friends.  All  that  I am  con- 
cerned for  is,  that  Mrs.  Peggy  Hartwell  may  be 
offended  at  showing  this  letter,  because  her  con- 
duct in  Mr.  Hartwell’s  absence  is  a little  in- 
quired into.  But  I could  not  sink  that  circum- 
stance, because  you  critics  would  have  lost  one 
of  the  parts  which  I doubt  not  but  you  have  much 
to  say  upon,  whether  the  familiar  way  is  well 
hit  in  this  style  or  not  ? As  for  myself,  I take 
a very  particular  satisfaction  in  seeing  any  let- 
ter that  is  fit  only  for  those  to  read  who  are  con- 
cerned in  it,  but  especially  on  such  a subject. 


182 


THE  TATLER. 


If  we  consider  the  heap  of  an  army,  utterly 
out  of  all  prospect  of  rising  and  preferment,  as 
they  certainly  are,  and  such  great  things  exe- 
cuted by  them,  it  is  hard  to  account  for  the  mo- 
tive of  their  gallantry.  But  to  me,  who  was  a 
cadet  at  the  battle  of  Coldstream  in  Scotland, 
when  Monk  charged  at  the  head  of  the  regiment, 
now  called  Coldstream,  from  the  victory  of  that 
day  ; I remember  it  as  well  as  if  it  were  yester- 
day, I stood  on  the  left  of  old  West,  who  I be- 
lieve is  now  at  Chelsea  ; I say,  to  me,  who  know 
very  well  this  part  of  mankind,  I take  the  gal- 
lantry of  private  soldiers  to  proceed  from  the 
same,  if  not  from  a nobler  impulse  than  that  of 
gentlemen  and  officers.  They  have  the  same 
taste  of  being  acceptable  to  their  friends,  and  go 
through  the  difficulties  of  that  profession  by  the 
same  irresistible  charm  of  fellowship,  and  the 
communication  of  joys  and  sorrows,  which 
quickens  the  relish  of  pleasure,  and  abates  the 
anguish  of  pain.  Add  to  this,  that  they  have 
the  same  regard  to  fame,  though  they  do  not 
expect  so  great  a share  as  men  above  them  hope 
for  ; but  I will  engage  serjeant  Hall  would  die 
ten  thousand  deaths,  rather  than  a word  should 
be  spoken  at  the  Red-lettice,  or  any  part  of  the 
Butcher-row,  in  prejudice  to  his  courage  or  ho- 
nesty. If  you  will  have  my  opinion,  then,  of  the 
Serjeant’s  letter,  I pronounce  the  style  to  be 
mixed,  but  truly  epistolary  ; the  sentiment  relat- 
ing to  his  own  wound  is  in  the  sublime  ; the 
postscript  of  Pegg  Hartwell,  in  the  gay  ; and  the 
whole,  the  picture  of  the  bravest  sort  of  men, 
that  is  to  say,  a man  of  great  courage  and  small 
hopes. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  October  28. 

When  I came  home  this  evening,  I found, 
after  many  attempts  to  vary  my  thoughts,  that 
my  head  still  ran  upon  the  subject  of  the  dis- 
course to-night  at  Will’s.  I fell,  therefore,  into 
the  amusement  of  proportioning  the  glory  of  a 
battle  among  the  whole  army,  and  dividing  it 
into  shares,  according  to  the  method  of  the  mil- 
lion lottery.  In  this  bank  of  fame,  by  an  exact 
calculation,  and  the  rules  of  political  arithmetic, 
I have  allotted  ten  hundred  thousand  shares ; 
five  hundred  thousand  of  which  is  the  due  of  the 
general,  two  hundred  thousand  I assign  to  the 
general  officers,  and  two  hundred  thousand 
more  to  all  the  commissioned  officers,  from  co- 
lonels to  ensigns  ; the  remaining  hundred  thou- 
sand must  be  distributed  among  the  non-com- 
missioned officers  and  private  men : according 
to  which  computation,  I find  serjeant  Hall  is  to 
have  one  share  and  a fraction  of  two-fifths. 
When  I was  a boy  at  Oxford,  there  was,  among 
the  antiquities  near  the  theatre,  a great  stone, 
on  which  were  engraven  the  names  of  all  who 
fell  in  the  battle  of  Marathon.  The  generous 
and  knowing  people  of  Athens  understood  the 
force  of  the  desire  of  glory,  and  would  not  let 
the  meanest  soldier  perish  in  oblivion.  Were 
the  natural  impulse  of  the  British  nation  ani- 
mated Muth  such  monuments,  what  man  would 
be  so  mean,  as  not  to  hazard  his  life  for  his  ten 
hundred  thousandth  part  of  the  honour  in  such 
a day  as  that  of  Blenheim  or  Blaregnies  ? 


[No.  88. 

No.  88.]  Tuesday^  November  1,  1709. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  October  31. 

I HAVE  lately  received  a letter  from  a friend 
in  the  country,  wherein  he  acquaints  me,  ‘ that 
two  or  three  men  of  the  town  are  got  among 
them,  and  have  brought  down  particular  words 
and  phrases,  which  were  never  before  in  those 
parts.’  He  mentions  in  particular  the  words 
Gunner  and  Gunster,  which  my  correspondent 
observes,  they  make  use  of,  when  any  thing  has 
been  related  that  is  strange  and  surprising  ; and, 
therefore,  desires  I would  explain  those  terms, 
as  I have  many  others,  for  the  information  of 
such  as  live  at  a distance  from  this  town  and 
court,  which  he  calls  the  great  mints  of  lan- 
guage. His  letter  is  dated  from  York  : and,  if 
he  tells  me  truth,  a word  in  its  ordinary  circula- 
tion  does  not  reach  that  city  within  the  space  of 
five  years  after  it  is  first  stamped.  I cannot  say 
how  long  these  words  have  been  current  in  town, 
but  I shall  now  take  care  to  send  them  down  by 
the  next  post. 

I must,  in  the  first  place,  observe,  that  the 
words  Gunner  and  Gunster*  are  not  to  be  used 
promiscuously ; for  a Gunner,  properly  speak- 
ing, is  not  a Gunster ; nor  is  a Gunster,  vice 
versa,  a Gunner.  They  both,  indeed,  are  derived 
from  the  word  gun,  and  so  far  they  agree.  But 
as  a gun  is  remarkable  for  its  destroying  at  a 
distance,  or  for  the  report  it  makes,  which  is  apt 
to  startle  all  its  hearers,  those  who  recount 
strange  accidents  and  circumstances,  which 
have  no  manner  of  foundation  in  truth,  when 
they  design  to  do  mischief,  are  comprehended, 
under  the  appellation  of  Gunners;  but  when 
they  endeavour  only  to  surprise  and  entertain, 
they  are  distinguished  by  the  name  of  Gun- 
sters.  Gunners,  therefore,  are  the  pest  of  so- 
ciety, but  the  Gunsters  often  the  diversion.  The 
Gunner  is  destructive,  and  hated ; the  Gunster 
innocent,  and  laughed  at.  The  first  is  prejudi- 
cial to  others,  the  other  only  to  himself. 

This  being  premised,  I must,  in  the  next 
place,  subdivide  the  Gunner  into  several  branch- 
es : all,  or  the  chief  of  which  are,  I think,  as 
follows  : 

First,  the  Bombadier. 

Secondly,  the  Miner. 

Thirdly,  the  Squib. 

Fourthly,  the  Serpent. 

And,  First,  of  the  first.  The  Bombadier 
tosses  his  balls  sometimes  into  the  midst  of  a 
city,  with  a design  to  fill  all  around  him  with 
terror  and  combustion.  He  has  been  sometimes 
known  to  drop  a bomb  in  a senate-house,  and  to 
scatter  a panic  over  a nation.  But  his  chief  aim 
is  at  several  eminent  stations,  which  he  looks 
upon  as  the  fairest  marks,  and  uses  all  his  skill 
to  do  execution  upon  those  who  possess  them. 
Every  man  so  situated,  let  his  merit  be  never  so 
great,  is  sure  to  undergo  a bombardment.  It  is 
further  observed,  that  the  only  way  to  be  out  of 


* A \vriter  in  the  Examiner,  having,  about  three  j^ears 
after  this,  used  the  expression  of  Gunsters,  adds  the  fol- 
lowing marginal  note, 

‘ A whiggish  cant  word  for  liars.’ 


THE  TATLER. 


183 


No.  88.] 

dang’cr  from  the  bursting  of  a bomb,  is  to  lie 
prostrate  on  the  ground ; a posture  too  abject  for 
generous  spirits. 

Secondly,  the  Miner. 

As  tlie  bombadier  levels  his  mischief  at  na- 
tions and  cities,  the  Miner  busies  himself  in 
ruining  and  overturning  private  houses  and  par- 
ticular persons.  He  often  acts  as  a spy,  in  dis- 
covering the  secret  avenues  and  unguarded 
accesses  of  families,  where,  after  he  has  made  his 
proper  discoveries  and  dispositions,  he  sets  sud- 
den fire  to  his  train,  that  blows  up  families,  scat- 
ters friends,  separates  lovers,  disperses  kindred, 
and  shakes  a whole  neighbourhood. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  that  several  females  are  great 
proficients  in  this  way  of  engineering.  The 
marks  by  which  they  are  to  be  known,  are,  a 
wonderful  solicitude  for  the  reputation  of  their 
friends,  and  a more  than  ordinary  concern  for 
the  good  of  their  neighbours.  There  is  also  in 
them  something  so  very  like  religion,  as  may 
deceive  the  vulgar  ; but  if  you  look  upon  it  more 
nearly,  you  see  on  it  such  a cast  of  censorious- 
ness, as  discovers  it  to  be  nothing  but  hypocrisy. 
Cleornilla  is  a great  instance  of  a female  Miner; 
but,  as  my  design  is  to  expose  only  the  incorrigi- 
ble, let  her  be  silent  for  the  future,  and  I shall 
be  so  too. 

Thirdly,  the  Squib. 

The  Squibs  are  those  who,  in  the  common 
phrase  of  the  word,  are  called  libellers,  lampoon- 
ers, and  pamphleteers.  Their  fire-works  are 
made  up  in  paper  ; and  it  is  observed,  that  they 
mix  abundance  of  charcoal  in  their  powder,  that 
they  may  be  sure  to  blacken  where  they  cannot 
singe.  These  are  observed  to  give  a consterna- 
tion and  disturbance  only  to  weak  minds ; which, 
according  to  the  proverb,  are  always  ‘more 
afraid  than  hurt.’ 

Fourthly,  Serpents. 

The  serpents  are  a.  petty  kind  of  Gunners, 
more  pernicious  than  any  of  the  rest.  They 
make  use  of  a sort  of  white  powder,  that  goes  off 
without  any  violent  crack,  but  gives  a gentle 
sound  much  like  that  oi' a whisper  ; and  is  more 
destructive  in  all  parts  of  life,  than  any  of  the 
materials  made  use  of  by  any  of  the  fraternity. 

Come  we  now  to  the  Gunsters. 

This  race  of  engineers  deals  altogether  in 
wind-guns,  which,  by  recoiling,  often  knock 
down  those  who  discharge  them,  without  hurt- 
ing any  body  else  ; and,  according  to  the  various 
compressions  of  the  air,  make  such  strange 
squeaks,  cracks,  pops,  and  bounces,  as  it  is  im- 
possible to  hear  without  laughing.  It  is  ob- 
servable, however,  that  there  is  a disposition  in 
a Gunster  to  become  a Gunner ; and  though 
their  proper  instruments  are  only  loaded  with 
wind,  they  often,  out  of  wantonness,  fire  a bomb, 
or  spring  a mine,  out  of  their  natural  inclination 
to  engineering ; by  which  means  they  do  mis- 
chief when  they  do  not  design  it,  and  have  their 
bones  broken  when  they  do  not  deserve  it. 

This  sort  of  engineers  are  the  most  unac- 
countable race  of  men  in  the  world.  Some  of 
them  have  received  above  a hundred  wounds, 
and  yet  have  not  a scar  in  their  bodie^;  some 
have  debauched  multitudes  of  women,  \\mo  have 
died  maids.  You  may  be  with  them  from  morn- 
ing until  night,  and  the  next  day  they  shall  tell 


you  a thousand  adventures  that  happened  when 
you  were  with  them,  which  you  know  nothing 
of.  They  have  a quality  of  having  been  present 
at  every  thing  they  hear  related;  and  never 
heal'd  a man  commended,  who  was  not  their  in- 
timate acquaintance,  if  not  their  kinsman. 

I hope  these  notes  may  serve  as  a rough 
draught  for  a new  establishment  of  engineers, 
which  I shall  hereafter  fill  up  with  proper  per- 
sons,  according  to  my  own  observations  on  their 
conduct,  having  already  had  one  recommended 
to  me  for  the  general  of  my  artillery.  But  that, 
and  all  the  other  posts,  I intend  to  keep  open 
until  I cari  inform  myself  of  the  candidates ; 
having  resolved  in  this  case  to  depend  no  more 
upon  their  friends’  word,  than  I would  upon  their 
own- 

From  my  own  Apartment^  October  31. 

* I was  this  morning  awakened  by  a sudden 
shake  of  the  house ; and  as  soon  as  I had  got  a 
little  out  of  my  consternation,  I felt  another, 
which  was  followed  by  two  or  three  repetitions 
of  the  same  convulsion.  I got  up  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible, girt  on  my  rapier,  and  snatched  up  my  hat, 
when  my  landlady  came  up  to  me,  and  told  me, 

‘ that  the  gentlewoman  of  the  next  house  begged 
me  to  step  thither,  for  that  a lodger  she  had 
taken  in  was  run  mad  ; and  she  desired  my  ad- 
vice,’ as  indeed  every  body  in  the  whole  lane 
does  upon  important  occasions.  I am  not,  like 
some  artists,  saucy  because  I can  be  beneficial, 
but  went  immediately.  Our  neighbour  told  us, 
‘ she  had  the  day  before  let  her  second  floor  to  a 
very  genteel  youngish  man,  who  told  her  he 
kept  extraordinary  good  hours,  and  was  gene- 
rally at  home  most  part  of  the  morning  and 
evening  at  study;  but  that  this  morning  he  had 
for  an  hour  together  made  this  extravagant  noise 
which  we  then  heard.’  I w^ent  up  stairs  with 
my  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  my  rapier,  and  ap- 
preached  this  new  lodger’s  door.  I looked  in  at 
the  key-hole,  and  there  I saw  a well-made  man 
look  with  great  attention  on  a book,  and,  on  a 
sudden,  jump  into  the  air  so  high,  that  his  head 
almost  touched  the  ceiling.  He  came  down  safe 
on  his  right  foot,  and  again  flew  up,  alighting  on 
his  left;  then  looked  again  at  his  book,  and, 
holding  out  his  right  leg,  put  it  into  such  a qui- 
vering motion,  that  I thought  he  would  have 
shaken  it  off.  He  used  the  left  after  the  same 
manner,  when,  on  a sudden,  to  my  great  surprise, 
he  stooped  himself  incredibly  low,  and  turned 
gently  on  his  toes.  After  this  circular  motion, 
he  continued  bent  in  that  humble  posture  for 
some  time,  looking  on  his  book.  After  this  he 
recovered  himself  with  a sudden  spring,  and  flew 
round  the  room  in  all  the  violence  and  disorder 
imaginable,  until  he  made  a full  pause  for  want 
of  breath.  In  this  interim  my  woman  asked, 

‘ what  I thought.’  I whispered,  ‘ that  I thought 
this  learned  person  an  enthusiast,  who  possibly 
had  his  first  education  in  the  Peripatetic  way, 
wfliich  was  a sect  of  philosophers  w'ho  always 
studied  when  walking.’  But,  observing  him 
much  out  of  breath,  I thought  it  the  best  time 
to  master  him  if  he  were  disordered,  and  knock- 


* The  remainder  of  this  paper  was  written  by  Addison. 


184 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  89, 


ed  at  his  door.  I was  surprised  to  find  him  open 
it,  and  say  with  great  civility  and  good  mien, 
‘ that  he  hoped  he  had  not  disturbed  us.’  I be- 
lieved him  in  a lucid  interval,  and  desired  ‘ he 
would  please  to  let  me  see  his  book.’  He  did  so, 
smiling.  I could  not  make  any  thing  of  it,  and, 
therefore,  asked  ‘ in  what  language  it  was  writ.’ 
He  said,  ‘ it  was  one  he  studied  with  great  ap- 
plication ; but  it  was  his  profession  to  teach  it, 
and  could  not  communicate  his  knowledge  with- 
out a consideration.’  I answered  ‘ that  I hoped 
he  would  hereafter  keep  his  thoughts  to  himself, 
for  his  meditation  this  morning  had  cost  me 
three  colfee-dishes,  and  a clean  pipe.’  He  seemed 
concerned  at  that,  and  told  me  ‘he  was  a dancing- 
master,  and  had  been  reading  a dance  or  two 
before  he  went  out,  which  had  been  written  by 
one  who  taught  at  an  academy  in  France.’*  He 
observed  me  at  a stand,  and  went  on  to  inform 
me,  ‘that  now  articulate  motions,  as  well  as 
sounds,  were  expressed  by  proper  characters  ; 
and  that  there  is  nothing  so  common,  as  to  com- 
municate a dance  by  a letter.’  I besought  him 
hereafter  to  meditate  in  a ground-room,  for  that 
otherwise  it  would  be  impossible  for  an  artist  of 
any  other  kind  to  live  near  him  ; and  that  I 
was  sure  several  of  his  thoughts,  this  morning, 
would  have  shaken  my  spectacles  off  my  nose, 
had  I been  myself  at  study. 

I then  took  my  leave  of  this  virtuoso,  and  re- 
turned to  my  chamber,  meditating  on  the  va- 
rious occupations  of  rational  creatures. 


No.  89.]  Thursday,  November  3, 1709. 

Rura  milii  placeant,  liguique  in  vallibiis  amnes, 

Fliimina  aniein  sylvasque  inglorius 

Firg.  Georg,  ii.  485. 

My  next  desire  is,  void  of  care  and  strife, 

To  lead  a soft,  secure,  inglorious  life  : 

A country  cottage  near  a crystal  flood, 

A winding  valley,  and  a lofty  wood.  Dryden. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  November '2. 

I HAVE  received  this  short  epistle  from  an  un- 
known hand. 

‘ Sir, — I have  no  more  to  trouble  you  with, 
than  to  desire  you  would  in  your  next  help  me 
to  some  answer  to  the  enclosed  concerning 
yourself.  In  the  mean  time  I congratulate  you 
upon  the  increase  of  your  fame,  which  you  see 
has  extended  itself  beyond  the  bills  of  mortality. 

‘Sir, — That  the  country  is  barren  of  news  has 
been  the  excuse,  time  out  of  mind,  for  dropping 
a correspondence  with  our  friends  in  London  ; as 
if  it  were  impossible,  out  of  a coffee-house,  to 
write  an  agreeable  letter.  I am  too  ingenuous 
to  endeavour  at  the  covering  of  my  negligence 
with  so  common  an  excuse.  Doubtless,  amongst 
friends,  bred,  as  we  have  been,  to  the  knowledge 
of  books  as  well  as  men,  a letter  dated  from  a 
garden,  a grotto,  a fountain,  a wood,  a meadow, 
or  the  banks  of  a river,  may  be  more  entertain- 


*  Thoinet  Aibeau,  a dancing-master  at  Paris,  is  here 
justly  celebrated,  as  the  real  inventor  of  the  art  of  writ- 
ing dances  in  characters,  termed  orchesography,  from 
two  Greek  words,  a dance,  and  I write. 


ing  than  one  from  Tom’s,  Will’s,  White’s,  or  St. 
James’s.  I promise,  therefore,  to  be  frequent 
for  the  future  in  my  rural  dates  to  you.  Bu4 
for  fear  you  should,  from  what  I have  said,  be 
induced  to  believe  I shun  the  commerce  of  men, 
I must  inform  you,  that  there  is  a fresh  topic  of 
discourse  lately  arisen  amongst  the  ingenious  in 
our  part  of  the  world,  and  is  become  the  more 
fashionable  for  the  ladies  giving  into  it.  This 
we  owe  to  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  who  is  very  much 
censured  by  some,  and  as  much  justified  by 
others.  Some  criticise  his  style,  his  humour, 
and  his  matter  ; others  admire  the  whole  man. 
Some  pretend,  from  the  informations  of  their 
friends  in  town,  to  decypher  the  author  ; and 
others  confess  they  are  lost  in  their  guesses. 
For  my  part  I must  own  myself  a professed  ad- 
mirer of  the  paper,  and  desire  you  to  send  me  a 
complete  set,  together  with  your  thoughts  of  the 
squire  and  his  lucubrations.’ 

There  is'  no  pleasure  like  that  of  receiving 
praise  from  the  praise-worthy  ; and  I own  it  a 
very  solid  happiness,  that  these  my  lucubrations 
are  approved  of  by  a person  of  so  fine  a taste  as 
the  author  of  this  letter,  who  is  capable  of  en- 
joying the  world  in  the  simplicity  of  its  natural 
beauties.  This  pastoral  letter,  if  I may  so  call 
it,  must  be  written  by  a man  who  carries  his 
entertainment  wherever  he  goes,  and  is,  un- 
doubtedly, one  of  those  happy  men  who  appear 
far  otherwise  to  the  vulgar.  I dare  say  he  is 
not  envied  by  the  vicious,  the  vain,  the  frolic, 
and  the  loud ; but  is  continually  blessed  with 
that  strong  and  serious  delight,  which  flows 
from  a well-taught  and  liberal  mind.  With 
great  respect  to  country  sports,  I may  say,  this 
gentleman  could  pass  his  time  agreeably,  if 
there  were  not  a hare  or  a fox  in  his  county. 
That  calm  and  elegant  satisfaction  which  the 
vulgar  call  melancholy,  is  the  true  and  proper 
delight  of  men  of  knowledge  and  virtue.  What 
we  take  for  diversion,  which  is  a kind  of  for- 
getting ourselves,  is  but  a mean  way  of  enter- 
tainment, in  comparison  of  that  which  is  con- 
sidering, knowing,  and  enjoying  ourselves.  The 
pleasures  of  ordinary  people  are  in  their  pas- 
sions ; but  the  seat  of  this  delight  is  in  the  rea 
son  and  understanding.  Such  a frame  of  mind 
raises  that  sweet  enthusiasm,  which  warms  the 
imagination  at  the  sight  of  every  work  of  na- 
ture, and  turns  all  round  you  into  picture  and 
landscape.  I shall  be  ever  proud  of  advices  from 
this  gentleman  ; for  I profess  writing  news  from 
the  learned,  as  well  as  the  busy  world. 

As  for  my  labours,  which  he  is  pleased  to 
inquire  after,  if  they  can  but  wear  one  imper 
tinence  out  of  human  life,  destroy  a single  vice, 
or  give  a morning’s  cheerfulness  to  an  honest 
mind  ; in  short,  if  the  world  can  be  but  one 
virtue  the  better,  or  in  any  degree  less  vicious, 
or  receive  from  them  the  smallest  addition  to 
their  innocent  diversions,  I shall  not  think  nay 
pains,  or  indeed  my  life,  to  have  been  spent  in 
vain. 

Thus  far  as  to  my  studies.  It  w'ill  be  ex- 
pected I should,  in  the  next  place,  give  some 
aceount  of  my  life.  I shall,  therefore,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  the  present  age,  and  the  benefit 
of  posterity,  present  the  world  with  the  follow- 
ing abridgment  of  it. 


THE  TATLER. 


185 


No.  90.] 

It  is  remarkable,  that  I was  bred  by  hand, 
and  ate  nothing  but  milk  until  I v;as  a twelve- 
month  old ; from  which  time,  to  the  eighth  year 
of  my  age,  1 was  observed  to  delight  in  pudding 
and  potatoes  ; and  indeed  I retain  a benevolence 
for  that  sort  of  food  to  this  day.  I do  not  re- 
member that  I distinguished  myself  in  any 
thing  at  those  years,  but  by  my  great  skill  at 
taw,  for  which  I was  so  barbarously  used,  that 
it  has  ever  since  given  me  an  aversion  to  gam- 
ing. In  my  twelfth  year,  I suffered  very  much 
for  two  or  three  false  concords.*  At  fifteen  I 
was  sent  to  the  university,  and  staid  there  for 
some  time;  but  a drum  passing  by,  being  a 
lover  of  music,  I enlisted  myself  for  a soldier. 
As  years  came  on,  I began  to  examine  things, 
and  grew  discontented  at  the  times.  This  made 
me  quit  the  sword,  and  take  to  the  study  of  the 
occult  sciences,  in  which  I was  so  wrapped  up, 
that  Oliver  Cromwell  had  been  buried  and 
taken  up  again,  five  years  before  I heard  he 
was  dead.  This  gave  me  first  the  reputation 
of  a conjurer,  which  has  been  of  great  advantage 
to  me  ever  since,  and  kept  me  out  of  all  public 
employments.  The  greater  part  of  my  latter 
years  has  been  divided  between  Dick’s  coffee- 
house, the  Trumpet  in  Sheer-lane,  and  my  own 
lodgings. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  2. 

The  evil  of  unseasonable  visits  has  been  com- 
plained of  to  me  with  much  vehemence  by  per- 
sons of  both  sexes  ; and  I am  desired  to  consider 
this  very  important  circumstance,  that  men  may 
know  how  to  regulate  their  conduct  in  an  affair 
which  concerns  no  less  than  life  itself.  For,  to 
a rational  creature,  it  is  almost  the  same  cruelty 
to  attack  his  life  by  robbing  him  of  so  many 
moments  of  his  time,  or  so  many  drops  of  his 
blood.  The  author  of  the  following  letter  has  a 
just  delicacy  in  this  point,  and  hath  put  it  into 
a very  good  light: 

October  29. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I am  very  much  afflicted 
with  the  gravel,  which  makes  me  sick  and 
peevish.  I desire  to  know  of  you,  if  it  be  rea- 
sonable that  any  of  my  acquaintance  should 
take  advantage  over  me  at  this  time,  and  afflict 
me  with  long  visits,  because  they  are  idle,  and 
I am  confined.  Pray,  sir,  reform  the  town  in 
this  matter.  Men  never  consider  whether  the 
sick  person  be  disposed  for  company,  but  make 
their  visits  to  humour  themselves.  You  may 
talk  upon  this  topic,  so  as  to  oblige  all  persons 
afflicted  with  chronical  distempers,  among 
which  I reckon  visits.  Do  not  think  me  a sour 
man,  for  I love  conversation  and  my  friends ; 
but  I think  one’s  most  intimate  friend  may  be 


* Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esq.  declares,  that  he  was  63  in 
1709,  he  was  born,  therefore,  m 1648  ; he  could  only  be 
18  in  1661,  when  the  body  of  Cromwell  was  exposed. 
Yet  he  was  sent  to  the  university  at  1.5  then  he  was 
a soldier,  a cadet  at  the  battle  ‘of  Coldstream ; after- 
vvards  he  took  to  the  study  of  the  occult  sciences,  and 
did  not  hear  of  Cromwell's  fate  till  five  years  after  it 
happened.  Kept  out  of  all  public  employments,  the 
preater  part  of  his  latter  years  was  divided  between 
Dick’s  coftee-house,  a tavern,  or  ale-house,  and  his  own 
ob.scure  lodgings  in  Sheer-lane.  How  was  such  a man 
qualified  to  decide  on  all  subjects  private  and  public  ? 


too  familiar,  and  that  there  are  such  things  as 
unseasonable  wit,  and  painful  mirth.’ 

It  is  with  some  so  hard  a thing  to  employ 
their  time,  that  it  is  a great  good  ibrtune  when 
tliey  have  a friend  indisposed,  that  they  may  be 
punctual  in  perplexing  him,  when  he  is  re- 
covered enough  to  be  in  that  state  which  cannot 
be  called  sickness  or  health  ; when  he  is  too 
well  to  deny  company,  and  too  ill  to  receive 
them.  It  is  no  uncommon  case,  if  a man  is  of 
any  figure  or  power  in  the  world,  to  be  con- 
gratulated into  a relapse. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  November  2. 

I was  very  well  pleased  this  evening,  to  hear 
a gentleman  express  a very  becoming  indigna- 
tion against  a practice,  which  I myself  have 
been  very  much  offended  at.  ‘ There  is  no- 
thing,’ said  he,  ‘more  ridiculous,  than  for  an 
actor  to  insert  words  of  his  own  in  the  part  he 
is  to  act,  so  that  it  is  impossible  to  see  the  poet 
for  the  player.  You  will  have  Penkethman 
and  Bullock  helping  out  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
It  puts  me  in  mind,’  continued  he,  ‘ of  a collec- 
tion of  antique  statues  which  I once  saw  in  a 
gentleman’s  possession,  wlio  employed  a neigh- 
bouring stone-cutter  to  add  noses,  ears,  arms, 
or  legs,  to  the  maimed  works  of  Phidias  or 
Praxiteles.  You  may  be  sure,  this  addition  dis- 
figured the  statues  much  more  than  time  had. 
I remember  Venus,  that,  by  the  nose  he  had 
given  her,  looked  like  mother  Shipton  ; and  a 
Mercury,  with  a pair  of  legs  that  seemed  very 
much  swelled  with  the  dropsy.’ 

I thought  the  gentleman’s  observations  very 
proper,  and  he  told  me  I had  improved  his 
thought,  in  mentioning  on  this  occasion  those 
wise  commentators  who  had  filled  up  the  he- 
mistichs  of  Virgil  ;*  particularly  that  notable 
poet,  who,  to  make  the  A3neid  more  perfect, 
carried  on  the  story  to  Lavinia’s  wedding.f 
If  the  proper  officer  will  not  condescend  to  take 
notice  of  these  absurdities,  I shall  myself,  as  a 
censor  of  the  people,  animadvert  upon  such 
proceedings. 


No.  90.]  Saturday,  November  5, 1709. 

Amoto  queeramus  seria  ludo. 

Hor.  i.  Sat.  1.  27. 

Let  us  now 

With  graver  air  our  serious  theme  pursue, 

And  yet  preserve  our  moral  full  in  vieM^ 

Francis. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  November  4. 

The  passion  of  love  happened  to  be  the  sub- 
ject of  discourse  between  two  or  three  of  us  at 
the  table  of  the  poets  this  evening ; and,  among 


* A gentleman  of  distinction  in  Aquitain,  called  by 
the  writer  on  whose  authority  this  note  is  given,  Joan- 
nes de  Peyrarede.  filled  up  the  hemistichs,  or  half  verses, 
in  the  A3neid  of  Virgil. 

t Mapheus  Vesriiis,  a native  of  Lodi,  who  died  in 
1453,  added  a Xlllth  book  to  the  jEneid,  which  gives  an- 
account  in  Latin  of  the  burial  of  Turnus,  and  of  the 
marriage  of  Aeneas  to  Lavirda 


186 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  90. 


if 


other  observations,  it  was  remarked,  ‘ that  the 
same  sentiments  on  this  passion  had  run  through 
all  languages  and  nations.’  Memmius,  who 
has  a very  good  taste,  fell  into  a little  sort  of 
dissertation  on  this  occasion.  ‘ It  is,’  said  he, 
‘ remarkable,  that  no  passion  has  been  treated, 
by  all  who  have  touched  upon  it,  with  the  same 
bent  of  design  but  this.  The  poets,  the  mo- 
ralists, the  painters,  in  all  tlieir  descriptions, 
allegories,  and  pictures,  have  represented  it  as 
a soft  torment,  a bitter  sweet,  a pleasing  pain, 
or  an  agreeable  distress ; and  have  only  ex- 
pressed the  same  thought  in  a different  manner.’ 

The  joining  of  pleasure  and  pain  together  in 
such  devices,  seems  to  me  the  only  pointed 
thought  I ever  read  which  is  natural,  and  it 
must  have  proceeded  from  its  being  the  uni- 
versal sense  and  experience  of  mankind,  that 
they  have  all  spoken  of  it  in  the  same  manner. 
I have,  in  my  ovrn  reading,  remarked  a hun- 
dred and  three  epigrams,  fifty  odes,  and  ninety- 
one  sentences,  tending  to  this  sole  purpose. 

It  is  certain,  there  is  no  other  passion  which 
does  produce  such  contrary  effects  in  so  great 
a degree.  But  this  may  be  said  for  love,  that 
if  you  strike  it  out  of  the  soul,  life  woUld  be  in- 
sipid, and  our  being  but  half-animated.  Hu- 
man nature  would  sink  into  deadness  and  le- 
thargy, if  not  quickened  with  some  active 
principle ; and,  as  for  all  others,  whether  am- 
bition, envy,  or  avarice,  which  are  apt  to  pos- 
sess the  mind  in  the  absence  of  this  passion,  it 
must  be  allowed  that  they  have  greater  pains, 
without  the  compensation  of  such  exquisite 
pleasures  as  those  we  find  in  love.  The  great 
skill  is  to  heighten  the  satisfactions,  and  deaden 
the  sorrows  of  it ; which  has  been  the  end  of 
many  of  my  labours,  and  shall  continue  to  be 
so,  for  the  service  of  the  world  in  general,  and 
in  particular  of  the  fair  sex,  who  are  always 
the  best  or  the  worst  part  of  it.  It  is  pity  that 
a passion,  which  has  in  it  a capacity  of  making 
life  happy,  should  not  be  cultivated  to  the  ut- 
most advantage.  Reason,  prudence,  and  good- 
nature, rightly  applied,  can  thoroughly  accom- 
plish this  great  end,  provided  they  have  always 
a real  and  constant  love  to  v.mrk  upon.  But 
this  subject  I sliall  treat  more  at  large  in  the 
history  of  my  married  sister,  and,  in  the  mean 
time,  shall  conclude  my  reflection  on  the  pains 
and  pleasures  which  attend  this  passion,  with 
one  of  the  finest  allegories  which  I think  I have 
ever  read.  It  is  invented  by  the  divine  Plato, 
and,  to  show  the  opinion  he  himself  had  of  it, 
ascribed  by  him  to  his  admired  Socrates,  whom 
he  represents  as  discoursing  with  his  friends, 
and  giving  the  history  of  Love  in  the  following 
manner.* 

‘ At  the  birth  of  Beauty,’  says  he,  ‘ there  was 
a great  feast  made,  and  many  guests  invited. 
Among  the  rest,  was  the  god  Plenty,  who  was 
the  son  of  the  goddess  Prudence,  and  inherited 
many  of  his  mother’s  virtues.  After  a full  en- 
tertainment, he  retired  into  the  garden  of  Jupi- 
ter, which  was  hung  with  a great  variety  of 
ambrosial  fruits,  and  seems  to  have  been  a very 
proper  retreat  for  such  a guest.  In  the  mean 
time,  an  unhappy  female  called  Poverty,  having 


* Platonis  Opsra  Rasilcs',  155G.  p.  1?7.  foiio. 


heard  of  this  great  feast,  repaired  to  it  in  hopes 
of  finding  relief.  The  first  place  she  lights  upon 
was  Jupiter’s  garden,  which  generally  stands 
open  to  people  of  all  conditions.  Poverty  enters, 
and  by  chance  finds  the  god  Plenty  asleep  in  it. 
She  was  imm.ediately  fired  with  his  charms, 
laid  herself  down  by  his  side,  and  managed 
matters  so  well,  that  she  conceived  a child  by 
him.  The  world  was  very  much  in  suspense 
upon  the  occasion,  and  could  not  imagine  to 
themselves  what  would  be  the  nature  of  an  in- 
fant that  was  to  have  its  original  from  two  such 
parents.  At  the  last,  the  child  appears ; and 
who  should  it  be  but  Love.  This  infant  grew 
up,  and  proved  in  all  his  behaviour,  what  he 
really  was,  a compound  of  opposite  beings.  As 
he  is  the  son  of  Plenty,  who  was  the  offspring 
of  Prudence,  he  is  suMile,  intriguing,  full  of 
stratagems  and  devices  ; as  the  son  of  Poverty, 
he  is  fawning,  begging,  serenading,  delighting 
to  lie  at  a threshold,  or  beneath  a window.  By 
the  father,  he  is  audacious,  full  of  hopes,  con- 
scious of  merit,  and  therefore  quick  of  resent- 
ment. By  the  mother,  he  is  do.ubtful,  timorous, 
mean-spirited,  fearful  of  offending,  and  abject 
in  submissions.  In  the  same  hour  you  may 
see  him  transported  with  raptures,  talking  of 
immortal  pleasures,  and  appearing  satisfied  as 
a god  ; and  immediately  after,  as  the  mortal  mo- 
ther prevails  in  his  composition,  you  behold  him 
pining,  languishing,  despairing,  dying.’ 

I have  been  always  wonderfully  delighted  with 
fables,  allegories,  and  the  like  inventions,  which 
the  politest  and  the  best  instructors  of  man- 
kind have  always  made  use  of.  They  take  off 
from  the  severity  of  instruction,  and  enforce  it 
at  the  same  time  that  they  conceal  it.  The 
supposing  Love  to  be  conceived  immediately 
after  the  birth  of  Beauty ; the  parentage  of 
Plenty  ; and  the  inconsistency  of  this  passion 
with  itself  so  naturally  derived  to  it,  are  great 
master-strokes  in  this  fable  ; and  if  they  fell  into 
good  hands,  might  furnish  out  a more  pleasing 
canto  than  any  in  Spencer. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  4. 

I came  home  this  evening  in  a very  pensive 
mood  ; and,  to  divert  me,  took  up  a volume  of 
Shakspeare,  where  I chanced  to  cast  my  eye 
upon  a part  in  the  tragedy  of  Richard  the  Third, 
Avhich  filled  my  mind  with  a very  agreeable 
horror.  It  was  the  scene  in  which  that  bold 
but  wicked  prince  is  represented  as  sleeping  in 
his  tent,  the  night  before  the  battle  in  which  he 
fell.  The  poet  takes  that  occasion  to  set  before 
him,  in  a vision,  a terrible  assembly  of  appari- 
tions, the  ghosts  of  all  those  innocent  persons 
whom  he  is  said  to  have  murdered.  Prince 
Edward,  Henry  VI.,  the  duke  of  Clarence,  Ri- 
vers, Cray,  and  Vaughan  ; lord  Hastings,  the 
two  young  princes,  sons  to  Edward  IV.  his  own 
wife,  and  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  rise  up  in 
their  blood  before  him,  beginning  their  speeches 
with  that  dreadful  salutation,  ‘ Let  me  sit  heavy 
on  thy  soul  to-morrow;’  and  concluding  with 
that  dismal  sentence,  ‘ Despair  and  die.’  This 
inspires  the  tyrant  with  a dream  of  his  past 
guilt,  and  of  the  approaching  vengeance.  He 
anticipates  the  fatal  day  of  Bosworth,  fancies 


No.  91.] 


THE  TATLER. 


187 


himself  dismounted,  weltering  in  his  own  blood  ; 
and  in  the  agonies  of  despair,  before  he  is 
thoroughly  awake,  starts  up  with  the  following 
speech  : 

‘ Give  me  another  horse— Bind  np  my  wounds ! 

Have  mercy,  Jesu — Soft ! 1 did  but  dream. 

Oh!  coward  conscience ! how  dost  thou  afflict  me? 

The  lights  burn  blue  ! is  it  not  dead  midnight  ? 

Cold  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh  : 

AVhat  do  I fear  ? myself!’  &c. 

A scene  written  with  so  great  strength  of 
imagination  indisposed  me  from  further  read- 
ing, and  threw  me  into  a deep  contemplation. 
I began  to  reflect  upon  the  different  ends  of 
good  and  bad  kings  ; and  as  this  was  the  birth- 
day of  our  late  renowned  monarch,*  I could  not 
forbear  thinking  on  the  departure  of  that  excel- 
lent prince,  whose  life  was  crowned  with  glory, 
and  his  death  with  peace.  I let  my  mind  go 
so  far  into  this  thought,  as  to  imagine  to  my- 
self what  might  have  been  the  vision  of  his  de- 
parting slumbers.  He  might  have  seen  con- 
federate kings  applauding  him  in  different  lan- 
guages ; slaves  that  had  been  bound  in  fetters 
lifting  up  their  hands,  and  blessing  him  ; and 
the  persecuted  in  their  several  forms  of  worship 
imploring  comfort  on  his  last  moments.  The 
reflection  upon  this  excellent  prince’s  mortality 
had  been  a very  melancholy  entertainment  to 
me,  had  I not  been  relieved  by  the  consideration 
of  the  glorious  reign  which  succeeds  it. 

We  now  see  as  great  a virtue  as  ever  was  on 
the  British  throne,  surrounded  with  all  the 
beauty  of  success.  Our  nation  may  not  only 
boast  of  a long  series  of  great,  regular,  and 
well-laid  designs,  but  also  of  triumphs  and  vic- 
tories ; while  we  have  the  happiness  to  see  our 
sovereign  exercise  that  true  policy  which  tends 
to  make  a kingdom  great  and  happy,  and  at  the 
same  time  enjoy  the  good  and  glorious  effect 
of  it. 


No.  91.]  Tuesday^  November  8,  1709. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  November  7. 

I WAS  very  much  surprised  this  evening  with 
a visit  from  one  of  the  top  Toasts  of  the  town, 
who  came  privately  in  a chair,  and  bolted  into 
my  room,  while  I was  reading  a chapter  of 
Agrippa  upon  the  occult  sciences;  but,  as  she 
entered  with  all  the  air  and  bloom  that  nature 
ever  bestowed  on  woman,  I threw  down  the 
conjurer,  and  met  the  charmer.  I had  no 
sooner  placed  her  at  my  right  hand  by  the  fire, 
but  she  opened  to  me  the  reason  of  her  visit. 
‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,’  said  the  fine  creature,  ‘ I have 
been  your  correspondent  some  time,  tliough  I 
never  saw  you  before ; I have  writ  by  the  name 
of  Maria.  You  have  told  me,  you  were  too  far 
gone  in  life  to  think  of  love.  Therefore,  I am 
answered  as  to  the  passion  I spoke  of ; and,’ 
continued  she,  smiling,  ‘ I will  not  stay  until 
you  grow  young  again,  as  you  men  never  fail 
to  do  in  your  dotage ; but  am  come  to  consult 
you  about  disposing  of  myself  to  another.  My 
person  you  see ; my  fortune  is  very  considerable; 

* TCiiiff  William  lit. 


but  I am  at  present  under  much  perplexity  how 
to  act  in  a great  conjuncture.  I have  two  lov- 
ers, Crassus  and  Lorio  : Crassus  is  prodigiously 
rich,  but  has  no  one  distinguishing  quality ; 
though  at  the  same  time,  he  is  not  remarkable 
on  the  defective  side.  Lorio  has  travelled,  is 
well  bred,  pleasant  in  discourse,  discreet  in  his 
conduct,  agreeable  in  his  person ; and  wfith  all 
this,  he  has  a competency  of  fortune  without 
superfluity.  When  I consider  Lorio,  my  mind 
is  filled  with  an  idea  of  the  great  satisfactions 
of  a pleasant  conversation.  When  I think  of 
Crassus,  my  equipage,  numerous  servants,  gay 
liveries,  and  various  dresses,  are  opposed  to  the 
charms  of  his  rival.  In  a word,  when  I cast 
my  eyes  upon  Lorio,  I forget  and  despise  for- 
tune ; when  I behold  Crassus,  I think  only  of 
pleasing  my  vanity,  and  enjoying  an  uncon- 
trolled expence  in  all  the  pleasures  of  life  except 
love.’  She  paused  here. 

‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘ I am  confident  you  have 
not  stated  your  case  with  sincerity,  and  that 
there  is  some  secret  pang  which  you  have  con- 
cealed from  me  : for  I see  by  your  aspect  the 
generosity  of  your  mind  ; and  that  open  ingenu- 
ous air  lets  me  know,  that  you  have  too  great  a 
sense  of  the  generous  passion  of  love,  to  prefer 
the  ostentation  of  life  in  the  arms  of  Crassus,  to 
the  entertainments  and  conveniences  of  it  in 
the  company  of  your  beloved  Lorio  ; for  so  he  is 
indeed,  madam  ; you  speak  his  name  with  a dif- 
ferent aecent  from  the  rest  of  your  discourse. 
The  idea  his  image  raises  in  you  gives  new  life 
to  your  features,  and  new  grace  to  your  speech. 
Nay,  blush  not,  madam;  there  is  no  dishonour 
in  loving  a man  of  merit ; I assure  you  I am 
grieved  at  this  dallying  with  yourself,  when  you 
put  another  in  competition  with  him,  for  no 
other  reason  but  superior  wealth.’ — ‘To  tell  you, 
then,’ said  she,  ‘the  bottom  of  my  heart,  there 
is  Clotilda  lies  by,  and  plants  herself  in  the  way 
of  Crassus,  and  I am  confident  will  snap  him  if 
I refuse  him.  I cannot  bear  to  think  that  she 
will  shine  above  me.  When  our  coaches  meet, 
to  see  her  chariot  hung  behind  with /ou?- /oof- 
mew,  and  mine  with  but  two : her’s  powdered^ 
gay,  and  saucy,  kept  only  for  show  ; mine,  a 
couple  of  careful  rogues  that  are  good  for  some- 
thing ; I own,  I cannot  bear  that  Clotilda  should 
be  in  all  the  pride  and  wantonness  of  wealth,  and 
I only  in  the  ease  and  affluence  of  it. 

Here  I interrupted:  ‘Well,  madam,  now  I 
see  your  whole  affliction ; you  could  be  happy 
but  that  you  fear  another  would  be  happier. 
Or  rather,  you  could  be  solidly  happy,  but  that 
another  is  to  be  happy  in  appearance.  Tliis  is 
an  evil  which  you  must  get  over,  or  never  know 
happiness.  We  will  put  the  case,  madam,  that 
you  married  Crassus,  and  she  Lorio.’  She  an- 
swered, ‘ Speak  not  of  it.  I could  tear  her  eyes 
out  at  the  mention  of  it.’ — ‘ Well,  then  I pro- 
nounce Lorio  to  be  the  man ; but  I must  tell  you 
that  what  we  call  settling  in  the  world,  is,  in  a 
kind,  leaving  it ; and  you  must  at  once  resolve 
to  keep  your  thoughts  of  happiness  within  the 
reach  of  your  fortune,  and  not  measure  it  by 
comparison  with  others. — But  indeed,  madam, 
when  I behold  that  beauteous  form  of  yours,  and 
consider  the  generality  of  your  sex,  as  to  their 
disposal  of  themselves  in  marriage,  or  their 


188 


THE  TATLER. 


parents  doing  it  for  them  without  their  own  ap- 
probation, I cannot  but  look  upon  all  such 
matches  as  the  most  impudent  prostitutions. 
Do  but  observe,  when  you  are  at  a play,  the 
familiar  wenches  that  sit  laughing  among  the 
men.  These  appear  detestable  to  you  in  the 
boxes.  Each  of  them  would  give  up  her  person 
for  a guinea ; and  some  of  you  would  take  the 
worst  there  for  life  for  twenty  thousand.  If  so, 
how  do  you  differ  but  in  price  ? As  to  the  cir- 
cumstance of  marriage,  I take  that  to  be  hardly 
an  alteration  of  the  case  ; for  wedlock  is  but  a 
more  solemn  prostitution,  where  there  is  not  a 
union  of  minds.  You  would  hardly  believe  it, 
but  there  have  been  designs  even  upon  me. 

‘ A neighbour  in  this  very  lane,  who  knows 
I have,  by  leading  a very  wary  life,  laid  up  a 
little  money,  had  a great  mind  to  marry  me  to 
his  daughter.  I was  frequently  invited  to  their 
table  : the  girl  was  always  very  pleasant  and 
agreeable.  After  dinner,  miss  Molly  would  be 
sure  to  fill  my  pipe  for  me,  and  put  more  sugar 
than  ordinary  into  my  coffee  ; for  she  was  sure 
I was  good-natured.  If  I chanced  to  hem,  the 
mother  would  applaud  my  vigour  ; and  has  often 
said  on  that  occasion,  “ I wonder,  I\Ir.  Bicker- 
staff,  you  do  not  marry;  I am  sure  you  would 
have  children.”  Things  went  so  far,  that  my 
mistress  presented  me  with  a wrous^ht  night-cap 
and  a laced  band  of  her  own  working.  I began 
to  think  of  it  in  earnest ; but  one  day,  having 
an  occasion  to  ride  to  Islington,  as  two  or  three 
people  were  lifting  me  upon  my  pad,  I spied  her 
at  a convenient  distance  laughing  at  her  lover, 
with  a parcel  of  romps  of  her  acquaintance. 
One  of  them,  who  I suppose  had  the  same  de- 
sign upon  me,  told  me  she  said,  ‘ Do  you  see 
how  briskly  my  old  gentleman  mounts  V This 
made  me  cut  off  my  amour,  and  to  reflect  with 
myself,  that  no  married  life  could  be  so  unhappy, 
as  where  the  wife  proposes  no  other  advantage 
from  her  husband,  than  that  of  making  herself 
fine,  and  keeping  her  out  of  the  dirt.’ 

My  fair  client  burst  out  a-laughing  at  the  ac- 
count I gave  her  of  my  escape,  and  went  away 
seemingly  convinced  of  the  reasonableness  of 
my  discourse  to  her. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  my  maid  brought 
up  the  following  epistle,  which,  by  the  style, 
and  the  description  she  gave  of  the  person,  I 
suppose  w'as  left  by  Nick  Doubt.  ‘ Hark  you,’ 
said  he,  ‘ girl,  tell  old  Basket-hilt,  I would  have 
him  answer  it  by  the  first  opportunity.’  What 
he  says  is  this. 

‘Isaac — You  seem  a very  honest  fellow; 
therefore,  pray  tell  me.  did  not  you  write  that 
letter  in  praise  of  the  squire  and  his  lucubra- 
tions yourself,’  &c. 

The  greatest  plague  of  coxcombs  is,  that 
they  often  break  upon  you  with  an  impertinent 
piece  of  good  sense,  as  this  jackanapes  has  hit 
me  in  a right  place  enough.  I must  confess,  I 
am  as  likely  to  play  such  a trick  as  another  ; 
but  that  letter  he  speaks  of  was  really  genuine. 
When  I first  set  up,  I thought  it  fair  enough  to 
let  myself  know  from  all  parts,  that  my  works 
were  wonderfully  inquired  for,  and  were  be- 
come the  diversion  as  well  as  instruction,  of  all 
choice  spirits  in  every  county  of  Great  Britain. 


[No.  91. 

I do  not  doubt  but  the  more  intelligent  of  my 
readers  found  it,  before  this  jackanapes,  I can 
call  him  no  better,  took  upon  him  to  observe 
upon  my  style  and  my  basket-hilt.  A very 
pleasant  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  told 
me  one  day  a story  of  this  kind  of  falsehood 
and  vanity  in  an  author. 

Msevius  showed  him  a paper  of  verses,  which 
lie  said  he  had  received  tliat  morning  by  the 
penny-post  from  an  unknown  hand.  My  friend 
admired  them  extremely.  ‘ Sir,’ said  lie,  ‘ this 
must  come  from  a man  that  is  eminent:  you 
see  fire,  life,  and  spirit,  run  through  tJie  whole, 
and  at  the  same  time  a correctness,  which  shows 
he  is  used  to  writing.  Pray,  sir,  read  them  over 
again.’  He  begins  again,  title  and  all ; ‘ To 
Maevius,  on  his  incomparable  poems.’  The  se- 
cond reading  was  performed  with  much  more 
vehemence  and  action  than  the  former ; after 
which,  rny  friend  fell  into  downright  raptures — 
‘ Why,  they  are  truly  sublime  ! there  is  energy 
in  this  line ! description  in  that ! Why  ! it  is 
the  thing  itself!  tliis  is  perfect  picture  !’  Meb- 
vius  could  bear  no  more;  but,  ‘ Faith,’  says  he, 
‘ Ned,  to  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  I writ  them 
mj'self.’ 

There  goes  just  such  another  story  of  the 
same  paternal  tenderness  in  Bavius,  an  ingeni- 
ous contemporary  of  mine,  who  had  writ  several 
comedies,  which  were  rejected  by  the  players. 
This,  my  friend  Bavius  took  for  envy,  and 
therefore  prevailed  upon  a gentleman  to  go  with 
him  to  the  play-house,  and  gave  him  a new  play 
of  liis,  desiring  he  would  personate  the  author, 
and  read  it,  to  baffle  the  spite  of  the  actors.  The 
friend  consented,  and  to  reading  they  went. 
They  had  not  gone  over  three  similes,  before 
Roscius  the  player  made  the  acting  author  stop, 
and  desired  to  know,  ‘wdiat  he  meant  by  such  a 
rapture  ? and  how  it  came  to  pass,  that  in  this 
condition  of  the  lover,  instead  of  acting  accord- 
ing to  his  circumstances,  he  spent  his  time  in 
considering  what  his  state  was  like  ?’ — ‘ That 
is  very  true,’  says  the  mock  author  ; ‘ I believe 
we  had  as  good  strike  these  lines  out.’ — ‘ By 
your  leave,’  says  Bavius,  ‘ you  shall  not  spoil 
your  play,  you  are  too  modest ; those  very  lines, 
for  aught  I know,  are  as  good  as  any  in  your 
play,  and  they  shall  stand.’  Well,  they  go  on, 
and  the  particle  ‘ and’  stood  unfortunately  at  the 
end  of  a verse,  and  was  made  to  rhyme  to  the 
word  ‘stand.’  This,  Roscius  excepted  against. 
The  new  poet  gave  up  that  too,  and  said,  ‘ he 
would  not  dispute  for  a monosyllable.’ — ‘ For  a 
monosyllable,’  says  the  real  author,  ‘ I can  as- 
sure you,  a monosyllable  may  be  of  as  great 
force  as  a word  of  ten  syllables.  I tell  you,  sir, 
“ and”  is  the  connection  of  the  matter  in  that 
place ; without  that  wmrd,  you  may  put  all  that 
follows  into  any  other  play  as  well  as  this.  Be- 
sides, if  you  leave  it  out,  it  will  look  as  if  you 
had  put  it  in  only  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme.’ 
Roscius  persisted,  assuring  the  gentleman,  ‘ that 
it  was  impossible  to  speak  it,  but  the  “and” 
must  be  lost,  so  it  might  as  well  be  blotted  out.’ 
Bavius  snatched  his  play  out  of  their  hands, 
said,  ‘ they  were  both  blockheads,’  and  went  off; 
repeating  a couplet,  because  he  would  not  make 
his  exit  irregularly.  A witty  man  of  these 
days  compared  this  true  and  feigned  poet  to  the 


No.  92.] 


THE  TATLER. 


189 


contending  mothers  before  Solomon ; the  true 
one  was  easily  discovered  from  the  pretender, 
by  refusing  to  see  his  offspring  dissected. 


No.  92.]  Tuesday,  November  10,  1709. 

Falsus  honor  juvat,  et  mendax  infamia  tenet 

Quern  nisi  mendosum  et  mendacein  ? 

Hor.  i.  Ep.  xvi. 

False  praise  can  please,  and  calumny  affright, 

None  but  the  vicious  and  the  hypocrite. 

R.  Wynne. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  November  9. 

I KNOW  no  manner  of  speaking  so  offensive 
as  that  of  giving  praise,  and  closing  it  with  an 
exception ; which  proceeds  (where  men  do  not 
do  it  to  introduce  malice,  and  make  calumny 
more  effectual)  from  the  common  error  of  con- 
sidering man  as  a perfect  creature.  But,  if  we 
rightly  examine  things,  we  shall  find  that  there 
is  a sort  of  economy  in  providence, that  one  shall 
excel  where  another  is  defective,  in  order  to 
make  men  more  useful  to  each  other,  and  mix 
them  in  society.  This  man  having  this  talent, 
and  that  man  another,  is  as  necessary  in  con- 
versation, as  one  professing  one  trade,  and  ano- 
ther another,  is  beneficial  in  commerce.  The 
happiest  climate  does  not  produce  all  things  ; 
and  it  was  so  ordered,  that  one  part  of  the  earth 
should  want  the  product  of  another,  for  uniting 
mankind  in  a general  correspondence  and  good 
understanding.  It  is,  therefore,  want  of  good 
sense  as  well  as  good  nature,  to  say  Simplieius 
has  a better  judgment,  but  not  so  much  wit  as 
Latius ; for  that  these  have  not  each  other’s  ca- 
pacities is  no  more  a diminution  to  either  than 
if  you  should  say,  Simplicius  is  not  Latius,  or 
Latius  not  Simplicius.  The  heathen  world  had 
so  little  notion  that  perfection  was  to  be  expected 
amongst  men,  that  among  them  any  one  qual- 
ity or  endowment  in  an  heroic  degree  made  a 
god.  Hercules  had  strength  ; but  it  was  never 
objected  to  him  that  he  wanted  wit.  Apollo 
presided  over  wit,  and  it  was  never  asked 
whether  he  had  strength.  We  hear  no  excep- 
tions against  the  beauty  of  Minerva,  or  the  wis- 
dom of  Venus.  These  wise  heathens  were  glad 
to  immortalize  any  one  serviceable  gift,  and 
overlook  all  imperfections  in  the  person  who 
had  it  But  with  us  it  is  far  otherwise,  for  we 
reject  many  eminent  virtues,  if  they  are  ac- 
companied with  one  apparent  weakness.  The 
reflecting  after  this  manner  made  me  account 
for  the  strange  delight  men  take  in  reading 
lampoons  and  scandal,  with  which  the  age 
abounds,  and  of  which  I receive  frequent  com- 
plaints. Upon  mature  consideration,  I find  it  is 
principally  for  this  reason,  that  the  worst  of 
mankind,  the  libellers,  receive  so  much  en- 
couragement  in  the  world.  The  low  race  of  men 
take  a secret  pleasure  in  finding  an  eminent 
character  levelled  to  their  condition  by  a report 
of  its  defects  ; and  keep  themselves  in  counte- 
nance, though  they  are  excelled  in  a thousand 
virtues,  if  they  believe  they  have  in  common 
with  a great  person  any  one  fault.  The  libeller 
falls  in  with  this  humour,  and  gratifies  this  base- 


ness of  temper,  which  is  naturally  an  enemy  to 
extraordinary  merit.  It  is  from  this,  that  libel 
and  satire  are  promiscuously  joined  together  in 
tlie  notions  of  the  vulgar,  though  the  satirist  and 
libeller  differ  as  much  as  the  magistrate  and 
the  murderer.  In  the  consideration  of  human 
life,  the  satirist  never  falls  upon  persons  who 
are  not  glaringly  faulty,  and  the  libeller  on  none 
but  who  are  conspicuously  commendable.  Were 
I to  expose  any  vice  in  a good  or  great  man,  it 
should  certainly  be  by  correcting  it  in  some 
one  where  that  crime  was  the  most  distinguish- 
ing part  of  the  character  ; as  pages  are  chastised 
for  the  admonition  of  princes.^  When  it  is  per- 
formed otherwise,  the  vieious  are  kept  in  credit, 
by  placing  men  of  merit  in  the  same  accusation. 
But  all  the  pasquils,  lampoons,  and  libels  we 
meet  with  now-a-days  are  a sort  of  playing  with 
the  four-and-twenty  letters,  and  throwing  them 
into  names  and  characters,  without  sense,  truth, 
or  wit.  In  this  case,  I am  in  great  perplexity 
to  know  whom  they  mean,  and  should  be  in  dis- 
tress  for  those  they  abuse,  if  I did  not  see  their 
judgment  and  ingenuity  in  tliose  they  commend. 
This  is  the  true  way  of  examining  a libel;  and 
when  men  consider,  that  no  one  man  living 
thinks  the  better  of  their  heroes  and  patrons  for 
the  panegyric  given  them,  none  can  think  them- 
selves lessened  by  their  invective.  The  hero  or 
patron  in  a libel  is  but  a scavenger  to  carry  off 
the  dirt,  and  by  that  very  employment  is  the 
filthiest  creature  in  the  street.  Dedications 
and  panegyrics  are  frequently  ridiculous,  let 
them  be  addressed  where  they  will ; but  at  the 
front,  or  in  the  body  of  a libel,  to  commend  a 
man,  is  saying  to  the  persons  applauded,  ‘ My 
Lord,  or  Sir,  I have  pulled  down  all  men  that 
the  rest  of  the  world  think  great  and  honourable, 
and  here  is  a clear  stage  ; you  may,  as  you 
please  be  valiant  or  wise  ; you  may  choose  to 
be  on  the  military  or  civil  list ; for  there  is  no 
one  brave  who  commands,  or  just  who  has  power. 
You  may  rule  the  world  now  it  is  empty,  which 
exploded  you  when  it  w'as  full : I have  knocked 
out  the  brains  of  all  whom  mankind  thought 
good  for  any  thing ; and  I doubt  not  but  you 
will  regard  that  invention,  which  found  out 
the  only  expedient  to  make  your  lordship,  or 
your  worship,  of  any  consideration.’ 

Had  I the  honour  to  be  in  a libel,  and  had  es- 
caped the  approbation  of  the  author,  I should 
look  upon  it  exactly  in  this  manner.  But 
though  it  is  a thing  thus  perfectly  indifferent 
who  is  exalted  or  debased  in  such  performances, 
yet  it  is  not  so  with  relation  to  the  authors  of 
them  ; therefore,  I shall,  for  the  good  of  my 
country,  hereafter,  take  upon  me  to  punish 
these  wretches.  What  is  already  passed  may 
die  away  according  to  its  nature,  and  continue 
in  its  present  oblivion ; but,  for  the  future,  I 
shall  take  notice  of  such  enemies  to  honour  and 
virtue,  and  preserve  them  to  immortal  infamy. 
Their  names  shall  give  fresh  offence  many 
ages  hence,  and  be  detested  a thousand  years 
after  the  commission  of  their  crime.  It  shall 


* This  alludes  to  a practice,  Ion?  prevalent  in  England, 
of  whipping  the  royal  children  by  proxy.  The  curious 
may  find  an  account  of  this  custom,  in  sir  John  Haw- 
kin’s  Hist,  of  Music. 


190 


THE  TATLER. 


not  avail,  that  these  children  of  infamy  publish 
their  works  under  feigned  names ; or  under 
none  at  all ; for  I am  so  perfectly  well  acquainted 
with  the  styles  of  all  my  contemporaries,  that  I 
shall  not  fail  of  doing  them  justice,  with  their 
proper  names,  and  at  their  full  length.  Let 
those  miscreants,  therefore,  enjoy  their  present 
act  of  oblivion,  and  take  care  how  they  offend 
hereafter. 

But,  to  avert  our  eyes  from  such  objects,  it  is, 
methinks,  but  requisite  to  settle  our  opinion  in 
the  case  of  praise  and  blame.  I believe,  the  only 
true  way  to  cure  that  sensibility  of  reproach, 
which  is  a common  weakness  with  the  most 
virtuous  men,  is  to  fix  their  regard  firmly  upon 
only  what  is  strictly  true,  in  relation  to  their 
advantage,  as  well  as  diminution.  For,  if  I am 
pleased  with  commendation  which  I do  not  de- 
serve, I shall,  from  the  same  temper,  be  concerned 
at  scandal  I do  not  deserve.  But  he  that  can 
think  of  false  applause  with  as  much  contempt, 
as  false  detraction,  will  certainly  be  prepared 
for  all  adventures,  and  will  become  all  occasions. 

‘ Undeserved  praise  can  please  only  those  who 
want  merit,  and  undeserved  reproach  frighten 
only  those  who  want  sincerity.’*  I have  thought 
of  this  with  so  much  attention,  that  I fancy 
there  can  be  no  other  method  in  nature  found 
for  the  cure  of  that  delicacy  which  gives  good 
men  pain  under  calumny,  but  placing  satisfac- 
tion no  where  but  in  a just  sense  of  their  own 
integrity,  without  regard  to  the  opinion  of  others. 
If  we  have  not  such  a foundation  as  this,  there 
is  no  help  against  scandal  but  being  in  obscurity, 
which  to  noble  minds  is  not  being  at  all.  The 
truth  of  it  is,  this  love  of  praise  dwells  most  in 
great  and  heroic  spirits ; and  those  who  best  de- 
serve it  have  generally  the  most  exquisite  relish 
of  it.  Methinks  I see  the  renowned  Alexander, 
after  a painful  and  laborious  march  amidst  the 
heats  of  a parched  soil  and  a burning  climate, 
sitting  over  the  head  of  a fountain,  and,  after  a 
draught  of  water,  pronounce  that  memorable 
saying,  ‘ Oh  ! Athenians  ! How  much  do  I suffer 
that  you  may  speak  well  of  me  ?’  The  Atheni- 
ans were  at  that  time  the  learned  of  the  world, 
and  their  libels  against  Alexander  were  written, 
as  he  was  a professed  enemy  of  their  state.  But 
how  monstrous  would  such  invectives  have  ap- 
peared in  Macedonians ! 

As  love  of  reputation  is  a darling  passion  in 
great  men,  so  the  defence  of  them  in  this  par. 
ticular  is  the  business  of  every  man  of  honour 
and  honesty.  We  should  run  on  such  an  occa- 
sion, as  if  a public  building  was  on  fire,  to  their 
relief ; and  all  who  spread  or  publish  such  de- 
testable pieces  as  traduce  their  merit,  should  be 
used  like  incendiaries.  It  is  the  common  cause 
of  our  country  to  support  the  reputation  of  those 
who  preserve  it  against  invaders ; and  every  man 
is  attacked  in  the  person  of  that  neighbour  who 
deserves  well  of  him. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  Novemler  9. 

The  chat  I had  to-day  at  White’s  about  fame 
and  scandal,  put  me  in  mind  of  a person  who 
lias  often  writ  to  me  unregarded,  and  has  a 


[No.  93. 

very  moderate  ambition  in  this  particular.  His 
name,  it  seems,  is  Charles  Lillie,  and  he  recom- 
mends himself  to  my  observation  as  one  that 
sold  snuff,  next  door  to  the  Fountain  tavern,  in 
the  Strand,  and  was  burnt  out  when  he  began  to 
have  a reputation  in  his  way. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I suppose,  through  a 
hurry  of  business,  you  have  either  forgot  me,  or 
lost  my  last  of  this  nature,  which  was  to  beg 
the  favour  of  being  advantageously  exposed  in 
your  paper,  chiefly  for  the  reputation  of  snuflT. 
Be  pleased  to  pardon  this  trouble  from.  Sir,  your 
very  humble  servant,  C.  L. 

‘ I am  a perfumer,  at  the  corner  of  Beaufort- 
buildings,  in  the  Strand.’ 

This  same  Charles  leaves  it  to  me  to  say  what 
I will  of  him ; and  I am  not  a little  pleased  with 
the  ingenious  manner  of  his  address.  Taking 
snuff  is  what  I have  declared  against ; but,  as 
his  holiness  the  pope  allows  whoring  for  the 
taxes  raised  by  the  ladies  of  pleasure ; so  I,  to 
repair  the  loss  of  an  unhappy  trader,  indulge  all 
persons  in  that  custom  who  buy  of  Charles. 
There  is  something  so  particular  in  the  request 
of  the  man,  that  I shall  send  for  him  before  me, 
and  I believe  I shall  find  he  has  a genius  for 
bawbles.  If  so,  I shall,  for  aught  I know,  at 
his  shop,  give  licensed  canes  to  those  who  are 
really  lame,  and  tubes  to  those  who  are  imfeign- 
edly  short-sighted ; and  forbid  all  others  to  vend 
the  same. 


No.  93.]  Saturday,  November  12,  1709. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  November  11. 

The  French  humour  of  writing  epistles,  and 
publishing  their  fulsome  compliments  to  each 
other,  is  a thing  I frequently  complain  of  in  this 
place.  It  is,  methinks,  from  the  prevalence  of 
this  silly  custom,  that  there  is  so  little  instruc- 
tion in  the  conversation  of  our  distant  friends. 
For  which  reason,  during  the  whole  course  of 
my  life,  I have  desired  my  acquaintance,  when 
they  write  to  me,  rather  to  say  something  which 
should  make  me  wish  my’self  with  them,  than 
make  me  compliments  that  they  wished  them- 
selves with  me.  By  this  means,  I have  by  me 
a collection  of  letters  from  most  parts  of  the 
world,  which  are  as  naturally  of  the  growth  of 
the  place,  as  any  herb,  tree,  or  plant,  of  the  soil. 
This  I take  to  be  the  proper  use  of  an  epistolary 
commerce.  To  desire  to  know  how  Damon 
goes  on  with  his  courtship  to  Sylvia,  or  how  the 
wine  tastes  at  the-  Old  Devil,  are  thread-bare 
subjects,  and  cold  treats,  which  our  absent 
friends  might  have  given  us  without  going  out 
of  town  for  them.  A friend  of  mine,  who  went 
to  travel,  used  me  far  otherwise ; for  he  gave  me 
a prospect  of  the  place,  or  an  account  of  the 
people,  from  every  country  through  v.'hich  he 
passed.  Among  others  which  I was  looking 
over  this  evening,  I am  not  a little  delighted 
with  this  which  follows  : 

‘ Dear  Sir, — I believe  this  is  the  first  letter 
that  was  ever  sent  you  from  the  middle  region. 


* A translation  of  the  motto  prefixed  to  the  paper. 


No.  93.J 


THE  TATLER. 


191 


where  I am  at  this  present  writing.  Not  to  keep 
you  in  suspense,  it  conies  to  you  from  the  top 
of  the  highest  mountain  in  Switzerland,  where 
I am  now  shivering  among  the  eternal  frosts 
and  snows.  I can  scarce  forbear  dating  it  in 
December,  though  they  call  it  the  first  of  August 
at  the  bottom  of  the  mountain.  I assure  you  I 
can  hardly  keep  my  ink  from  freezing  in  the 
middle  of  the  dog-days.  I am  here  entertained 
with  the  prettiest  variety  of  snow-prospects  that 
you  can  imagine ; and  have  several  pits  of  it 
before  me,  that  are  very  near  as  old  as  the 
mountain  itself ; for  in  this  country,  it  is  as  last- 
ing as  marble.  I am  now  upon  a spot  of  it, 
which  they  tell  me  fell  about  the  reign  of  Char- 
lemagne, or  king  Pepin.  The  inhabitants  of 
the  country  are  as  great  curiosities  as  the  coun- 
try itself.  They  generally  hire  themselves  out 
in  their  youth,  and  if  they  are  musket-proof 
until  about  fifty,  they  bring  home  the  money  they 
have  got,  and  the  limbs  they  have  left,  to  pass 
the  rest  of  their  time  among  their  native  moun- 
tains. One  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  place,  who 
is  come  off  v/ith  the  loss  of  an  eye  only,  told  me, 
by  way  of  boast,  that  there  were  now  seven 
wooden  legs  in  his  family  ; and  that,  for  these 
four  generations,  there  had  not  been  one  in  his 
line  that  carried  a whole  body  with  him  to  the 
grave.  I believe  you  will  think  the  style  of  this 
letter  a little  extraordinary  : but  the  Rehearsal* 
will  tell  you,  that  people  in  clouds  must  not  be 
confined  to  speak  sense ; and  I hope  we  that 
are  above  them  may  claim  the  same  privilege. 
Wherever  I am,  I shall  always  be,  Sir,  your 
most  obedient,  most  humble  servant.’ 

I think  they  ought,  in  those  parts  where  the 
materials  are  so  easy  to  wmrk,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  durable,  when  any  of  their  heroes  come 
home  from  the  wars,  to  erect  his  statue  in  snow 
upon  the  mountains,  there  to  remain  from 
generation  to  generation. 

A gentleman  who  is  apt  to  expatiate  upon 
any  hint,  took  this  occasion  to  deliver  his  opin- 
ion upon  our  ordinary  method  of  sending  young 
gentlemen  to  travel  for  their  education.  ‘ It  is 
certain,’  said  he,  ‘ if  gentlemen  travel  at  an  age 
proper  for  them,  during  the  course  of  their 
voyages,  their  accounts  to  their  friends,  and, 
after  their  return,  their  discourse  and  conversa- 
tions will  have  in  them  something  above  what 
we  can  meet  with,  from  those  who  have  not  had 
those  advantages.’  At  the  same  time,  it  is  to 
be  observed,  that  every  temper  and  genius  is  not 
qualified  for  this  way  of  improvement.  Men 
may  change  their  climate,  but  they  cannot  their 
nature.  A man  that  goes  out  a fool,  cannot  ride 
or  sail  himself  into  common  sense.  Therefore, 
let  me  but  walk  over  London-bridge  with  a 
young  man,  and  I will  tell  you  infallibly  whether 
going  over  the  Rialto  at  Venice  will  make  him 
wiser. 

It  is  not  to  be  imagined  how  many  I have 
saved  in  my  time  from  banishment,  by  letting 
their  parents  know  they  were  good  for  nothing. 
But  this  is  to  be  done  with  much  tenderness. 
There  is  my  cousin  Harry  has  a son,  who  is  the 
dullest  mortal  that  ever  was  born  into  our  house ; 


he  had  got  his  trunk  and  his  books  all  packed 
up  to  be  transported  into  foreign  parts,  for  no 
reason  but  because  the  boy  never  talked  ; and 
his  father  said,  he  wanted  to  know  the  world. 
I could  not  say  to  a fond  parent  that  the  boy 
was  dull ; but  looked  grave,  and  told  him,  ‘ the 
youth  was  very  thoughtful,  and  I feared  he 
might  have  some  doubts  about  religion,  with 
which  it  was  not  proper  to  go  into  Roman 
catholic  countries.’  He  is  accordingly  kept 
here  until  he  declares  himself  upon  some  points, 
which  I am  sure  he  will  never  think  of.  By 
this  means  I have  prevented  the  dishonour  of 
having  a fool  of  our  house  laughed  at  in  all 
parts  of  Europe.  He  is  now  with  his  father 
upon  his  own  estate,  and  he  has  sent  to  me  to 
get  him  a wife,  which  I shall  do  with  all  con- 
venient speed  ; but  it  shall  be  such  a one  whose 
good-nature  shall  hide  his  faults,  and  good  sense 
supply  them.  The  truth  of  it  is,  that  race  is  of 
the  true  British  kind.  They  are  of  our  country  , 
only ; it  hurts  them  to  transplant  them,  and  they 
are  destroyed  if  you  pretend  to  improve  them. 
Men  of  this  solid  make  are  not  to  be  hurried  up 
and  down  the  world,  for,  if  I may  so  speak,  they 
are  naturally  at  their  wit’s  end ; and  it  is  an 
impertinent  part  to  disturb  their  repose,  that 
they  may  give  you  only  a history  of  their  bodily 
occurrences,  which  is  all  they  are  capable  of 
observing.  Harry  had  an  elder  brother,  who 
was  tried  in  this  way ; I remember  all  he  could 
talk  of  at  his  return  was,  ‘ That  he  had  like  to 
have  been  drowned  at  such  a place  ; he  fell  out 
of  a chaise  at  another ; he  had  a better  stomach 
when  he  moved  northward  than  when  he  turned 
his  course  to  the  parts  in  the  south,  and  so  forth. 
It  is,  therefore,  very  much  to  be  considered, 
what  sense  a person  has  of  things  when  he  is 
setting  out ; and,  if  he  then  knows  none  of  his 
friends  and  acquaintance  but  by  their  clothes 
and  faces,  it  is  my  humble  opinion,  that  he  stay 
at  home.  His  parents  should  take  care  to  marry 
him,  and  see  what  they  can  get  out  of  him  that 
way  ; for  there  is  a certain  sort  of  men,  who  are 
no  otherwise  to  be  regarded  but  as  they  descend 
from  men  of  consequence,  and  may  beget  valua- 
ble successors  ; and,  if  we  consider  that  men 
are  to  be  esteemed  only  as  they  are  useful,  while 
a stupid  wretch  is  at  the  head  of  a great  family, 
we  may  say,  the  race  is  suspended,  as  properly 
as  when  it  is  all  gone,  we  say  it  is  extinct. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  II. 

I had  several  hints  and  advertisements  from 
unknown  hands,  that  some,  who  are  enemies  to 
my  labours,  design  to  demand  the  fashionable 
way  of  satisfaction  for  the  disturbance  my  lucu- 
brations have  given  them.  I confess,  as  things 
now  stand,  I do  not  know  how  to  deny  such  in- 
viters,  and  am  preparing  myself  accordingly. 

I have  bought  pumps  and  files,  and  am  every 
morning  practising  in  my  chamber.  My  neigh- 
bour the  dancing-master,  has  demanded  of  me, 

‘ why  I take  this  liberty,  since  I would  not  allow 
it  him  ?’  but  I answered,  ‘ his  was  an  act  of  an 
indifferent  nature,  and  mine  of  necessity.’  My 
late  treatises  against  duels  have  so  far  disobliged 
the  fraternity  of  the  noble  science  of  defence, 
that  I can  get  none  of  them  to  sliow  me  so 


* A comedy  written  by  the  duke  of  Buckingham. 


192 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  94 


much  as  one  pass.  I am,  therefore,  obliged  to 
learn  my  book ; and  have,  accordingly,  several 
volumes,  wherein  all  the  postures  are  exactly 
delineated.  I must  confess,  I am  shy  of  letting 
people  see  me  at  this  exercise,  because  of  my 
flannel  waistcoat,  and  my  spectacles,  which  I 
am  tbrced  to  fix  on,  the  better  to  observe  the 
posture  of  the  enemy. 

I have  upon  my  chamber  walls  drawn  at  full 
length  the  figures  of  all  sorts  of  men,  from  eight 
feet  to  three  teet  two  inches.  Within  this  height, 
I take  it,  that  all  the  fighting  men  of  Great 
Britain  are  comprehended.  But,  as  I push,  I 
make  allowances  for  my  being  of  a lank  and 
spare  body,  and  have  chalked  out  in  every  figure 
my  own  dimensions  ; for  I scorn  to  rob  any 
man  of  his  life  by  taking  advantage  of  his 
breadth  : therefore,  I press  purely  in  a line  down 
from  his  nose,  and  take  no  more  of  him  to  as- 
sault than  he  has  of  me : for,  to  speak  impar- 
tially, if  a lean  fellow  wounds  a fat  one  in  any 
part  to  the  right  or  left,  whether  it  be  in  carte 
or  in  tierce,  beyond  the  dimensions  of  the  said 
lean  fellow’s  own  breadth,  1 take  it  to  be  murder, 
and  such  a murder  as  is  below  a gentlenam  to 
commit.  As  I am  spare,  I am  also  very  tall, 
and  behave  myself  with  relation  to  that  advan- 
tage with  the  same  punctilio ; and  I am  ready 
to  stoop  or  stand,  according  to  the  stature  of  my 
adversary.  I must  confess,  I have  had  great 
success  this  morning,  and  have  hit  every  figure 
round  the  room  in  a mortal  part,  without  re- 
ceiving the  least  hurt,  except  a little  scratch  by 
falling  on  my  face,  in  pushing  at  one  at  the 
lower  end  of  my  chamber ; but  I recovered  so 
quick,  and  jumped  so  nimbly  into  my  guard, 
that  if  he  had  been  alive,  he  could  not  have  hurt 
me.  It  is  confessed  I have  written  against  duels 
with  some  warmth ; but  in  all  my  discourses  I 
have  not  ever  said  that  I knew  how  a gentleman 
could  avoid  a duel  if  he  were  provoked  to  it ; 
and,  since  that  custom  is  now  become  a law%  I 
know  nothing  but  the  legislative  power,  with 
new  animadversions  upon  it,  can  put  us  in  a 
capacity  of  denying  challenges,  though  we  were 
afterwards  hanged  for  it.  But  no  more  of  this 
at  present.  As  things  stand,  I shall  put  un  no 
more  affronts;  and  I shall  be  so  far  from  taking 
ill  words,  that  I will  not  take  ill  looks.  I,  there- 
fore, warn  all  hot  young  fellows  not  to  look 
hereafter  more  terrible  than  their  neighbours ; for, 
if  they  stare  at  me  with  their  hats  cocked  higher 
than  other  people,  I will  not  bear  it.  Nay,  I 
give  warning  to  all  people  in  general  to  look 
kindly  at  me,  for  I will  bear  no  frowns,  even 
from  ladies ; and  if  any  woman  pretends  to  look 
scornfully  at  me,  I shall  demand  satisfaction  of 
the  next  of  kin  of  the  masculine  gender. 


No.  94.]  Tuesday,  November  15,  1709. 

Si  non  errasset,  fecerrat  ille  minus.  Mart.  i.  22. 
Had  he  not  erred,  his  glory  had  been  less. 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  November  14. 

That  which  we  call  gallantry  to  women,  seem^ 
to  be  the  heroic  virtue  of  private  persons;  and 


there  never  breathed  one  man,  who  did  not,  in 
that  part  of  his  days  wherein  he  was  recom- 
mending himself  to  his  mistress,  do  something 
beyond  his  ordinary  course  of  file.  As  this  has 
a very  great  effect  even  upon  the  most  slow  and 
common  men  ; so,  upon  such  as  it  finds  qualified 
with  virtue  and  merit,  it  shines  out  in  propor- 
tionable degrees  of  excellence.  It  gives  new 
grace  to  the  most  eminent  accomplishments; 
and  he,  who  of  himself  has  either  wit,  wisdom,, 
or  valour,  exerts  each  of  these  noble  endowments, 
when  he  becomes  a lover,  with  a certain  beauty 
of  action  above  what  was  ever  observed  in  him 
before  ; and  all  who  are  without  any  one  of  these 
qualities  are  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  rabble  of 
mankind. 

I was  talking  after  this  manner  in  a corner 
of  this  place  with  an  old  acquaintance,  who, 
taking  me  by  the  hand,  said,  ‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, 
your  discourse  recalls  to  my  mind  a story,  which 
I have  longed  to  tell  you  ever  since  I read  that 
article  wherein  you  desire  your  friends  to  give 
you  accounts  of  obscure  merit.’  The  story  I 
had  of  him  is  literally  true,  and  well  known  to 
be  so  in  the  country  wherein  the  circumstances 
were  transacted.  He  acquainted  me  with  the 
names  of  the  persons  concerned,  which  I shall 
change  into  feigned  ones  ; there  being  a respect 
due  to  their  families  that  are  still  in  being,  as 
well  as  that  the  names  themselves  would  not  be 
so  familiar  to  an  English  ear.  The  adventure 
really  happened  in  Denmark  ; and  if  I can  re- 
member all  the  passages,  I doubt  not  but  it  will 
be  as  moving  to  my  readers  as  it  was  to  me. 

Clarinda  and  Chloe,  two  very  fine  women, 
were  bred  up  sisters  in  the  family  of  Romeo, 
who  was  the  father  of  Chloe,  and  the  guardian 
of  Clarinda.  Philander,  a young  gentleman  of 
a good  person,  and  charming  conversation,  be- 
ing a friend  of  old  Romeo,  frequented  his  house, 
and  by  that  means  was  much  in  conversation 
with  the  young  ladies,  though  still  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  father  and  the  guardian.  The 
ladies  both  entertained  a secret  passion  for  him, 
and  could  see  well  enough,  notwithstanding 
the  delight  which  he  really  took  in  Romeo’s 
conversation,  that  there  was  something  more  in 
his  heart,  which  made  him  so  assiduous  a visit- 
ant. Each  of  them  thought  herself  the  happy 
woman : but  the  person  beloved  was  Chloe.  It 
happened  that  both  of  them  were  at  a play  in  a 
carnival  evening,  when  it  is  the  fashion  there, 
as  well  as  in  most  countries  of  Europe,  both  for 
men  and  women  to  appear  in  masks  and  dis- 
guises. It  was  on  that  memorable  night,  in  the 
year  1679,  when  the  play-house  by  some  un- 
happy accident  was  set  on  fire.  Philander,  in 
the  first  hurry  of  the  disaster  immediately  ran 
where  his  treasure  was  ; burst  open  the  door  of 
the  box,  snatched  the  lady  up  in  his  arms,  and, 
with  unspeakable  resolution  and  good  fortune, 
carried  her  off  safe.  He  was  no  sooner  out  of 
the  crowd,  but  he  set  her  down ; and,  grasping 
her  in  his  arms,  with  all  the  raptures  of  a de- 
serving lover,  ‘ Plow  happy  am  I,  says  he,  ‘ in 
an  opportunity  to  tell  you  I love  you  more  than 
aJpChings,  and  of  showing  you  the  sincerity  of 
pas^to  at  the  very  first  declaration  of  it !’’ 

‘ My  dearT^ear  Philander,’  says  the  lady,  pulling- 
off  Lar  ma<^,  ‘ this  is  not  a time  for  art ; you 


No.  95.] 


THE  TATLER. 


193 


are  much  dearer  to  me  than  the  life  you  have 
preserved  ; and  the  joy  of  my  present  deliverance 
does  not  transport  me  so  much  as  the  passion 
which  occasioned  it.’  Wlio  can  tell  the  grief, 
the  astonishment,  the  terror,  that  appeared  in 
the  face  of  Philander,  when  he  saw  the  person 
he  spoke  to  was  Clarinda  ! After  a short  pause, 
‘Madam,’  says  he,  with  the  looks  of  a dead 
man,  ‘ we  are  both  mistaken  ;’  and  immediately 
flew  away,  without  hearing  the  distressed  Cla- 
rinda, who  had  just  strength  enough  to  cry  out, 
‘ Cruel  Philander  ! why  did  you  not  leave  me 
in  the  theatre  ?’  Crowds  of  people  immediately 
gathered  about  her,  and,  after  having  brought 
her  to  herself,  conveyed  her  to  the  house  of  the 
good  old  unhappy  Romeo.  Philander  was  now 
pressing  against  the  whole  tide  of  people  at  the 
door  of  the  theatre,  and  striving  to  enter  with 
more  earnestness  than  any  there  endeavoured 
to  get  out.  He  did  it  at  last,  and  with  much 
difficulty  forced  his  way  to  the  box  where  his 
beloved  Chloe  stood,  expecting  her  fate  amidst 
this  scene  of  terror  and  distraction.  She  re- 
vived at  the  sight  of  Philander,  who  fell  about 
her  neck  with  a tenderness  not  to  be  expressed  ; 
and,  amidst  a thousand  sobs  and  sighs,  told  her 
his  love,  and  his  dreadful  mistake.  The  stage 
was  now  in  flames,  and  the  whole  house  full  of 
smoke  ; the  entrance  was  quite  barred  up  with 
heaps  of  people,  who  had  fallen  upon  one  another 
as  they  endeavoured  to  get  out.  Swords  were 
drawn,  shrieks  heard  on  all  sides  ; and,  in  short, 
no  possibility  of  an  escape  for  Philander  him- 
self, had  he  been  capable  of  making  it  without 
his  Chloe.  But  his  mind  was  above  such  a 
thought,  and  wholly  employed  in  weeping,  con- 
doling, and  comforting.  He  catches  her  in  his 
arms.  The  fire  surrounded  them,  while — I can- 
not go  on — 

Were  I an  infidel,  misfortunes  like  this  would 
convince  me  that  there  must  be  a hereafter  : for 
who  can  believe  that  so  much  virtue  could  meet 
with  so  great  distress  without  a following  re- 
ward ? As  for  my  part,  I am  so  old-fashioned, 
as  firmly  to  believe,  that  all  who  perish  in  such 
generous  enterprises  are  relieved  from  the  fur- 
ther  exercise  of  life  ; and  Providence,  which 
sees  their  virtue  consummate  and  manifest, 
takes  them  to  an  immediate  reward,  in  a being 
more  suitable  to  the  grandeur  of  their  spirits. 
What  else  can  wipe  away  our  tears,  when  we 
contemplate  such  undeserved,  such  irreparable 
distresses  ? It  was  a sublime  thought  in  some 
of  the  heathens  of  old  ; 

Cluaj  prratia  curnim 

Arinorumque  fait  vivis,  quae  cura  nitentes 
Pascere  equos,  eadem  sequitur  tellure  reposlos.  Vir^. 

That  is,  in  other  words,  ‘ The  same  employ- 
ments and  inclinations  which  were  the  enter- 
tainment of  virtuous  men  upon  earth,  make  up 
their  happiness  in  Elysium.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment^  November  14. 

When  I came  home  this  evening,  I found  a 
present  from  Mr.  Charles  Lillie,  the  perfumer, 
at  the  corner  of  Beaufort-buildings,  with  a letter 
of  thanks  for  the  mention  I made  of  him.  He 
tells  me,  ‘ several  of  my  gentle  readers  have 
2 B 


obliged  me  in  buying  at  his  shop  upon  my  re- 
commendation.’ I have  inquired  into  the  man’s 
capacity,  and  find  him  an  adept  in  his  way. 
He  has  several  helps  to  discourse  besides  snuff, 
which  is  the  best  Barcelona,  and  sells  an  orange- 
flower  water,  which  seems  to  me  to  have  in  it 
the  right  spirit  of  brains;  and  1 am  informed, 
he  extracts  it  according  to  the  manner  used  in 
Gresham-College.*  1 recommend  it  to  the 
handkerchiefs  of  all  young  pleaders.  It  cures 
or  supplies  all  pauses  and  hesitations  in  speech, 
and  creates  a general  alacrity  of  the  spirit.  When 
it  is  used  as  a gargle,  it  gives  volubility  to  the 
tongue,  and  never  fails  of  that  necessary  step 
towards  pleasing  others,  making  a man  pleased 
with  himself.  I have  taken  security  of  him, 
that  he  shall  not  raise  the  price  of  any  of  his 
commodities  for  these  or  any  other  occult  quali- 
ties in  them  ; but  he  is  to  sell  them  at  the  same 
price  which  you  give  at  the  common  perfumers. 
Mr.  Lillie  has  brought  further  security,  that  he 
will  not  sell  the  boxes  made  for  politicians  to 
lovers  ; nor,  on  the  contrary,  those  proper  for 
lovers  to  men  of  speculation;  ‘At  this  time,  to 
avoid  confusion,  the  best  orangerie  for  beaux, 
and  right  musty  for  politicians.’ 

O"  My  almanack  is  to  be  published  on  the 
twenty-second,  and,  from  that  instant,  all  lovers, 
in  raptures  or  epistles,  are  to  forbear  the  com- 
parison of  their  mistresses’  eyes  to  stars ; I hav- 
ing made  use  of  that  simile  in  my  dedication 
for  the  last  time  it  shall  ever  pass,  and  on  the 
properest  occasion  that  it  was  ever  employed. 
All  ladies  are  hereby  desired  to  take  notice,  that 
they  never  receive  that  simile  in  payment  for 
any  similes  they  shall  bestow  for  the  future. 

On  Saturday  night  last  a gentlewoman’s 
husband  strayed  from  the  play-house  in  the 
Hay-market.  If  the  lady  who  was  seen  to  take 
him  up  will  restore  him,  she  shall  be  asked  no 
questions,  he  being  of  no  use  but  to  the  owner. 


No.  95.]  Thursday^  November  17,  1709. 

Interea  dulces  pendent  circum  oscula  nati, 

Casta  pudicitiam  servat  doinus 

Virg-.  Georg,  ii.  523. 

His  cares  are  eased  with  intervals  of  bliss ; 

His  little  children,  climbing  for  a kiss, 

Welcome  their  father’s  late  return  at  night ; 

His  faithful  bed  is  crowned  with  chaste  delight. 

Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment.,  November  16. 

There  are  several  persons  who  have  many 
pleasures  and  entertainments  in  their  posses- 
sion, which  they  do  not  enjoy.  It  is,  therefore, 
a kind  and  good  office  to  acquaint  them  with 
their  own  happiness,  and  turn  their  attention 
to  such  instances  of  their  good  fortune  as  they 
are  apt  to  overlook.  Persons  in  the  married 
state  often  want  such  a monitor  ; and  pine  away 
their  days,  by  looking  upon  the  same  condition 
in  anguish  and  murmur,  which  carries  with  it, 
in  the  opinion  of  others,  a complication  of  all 


* The  Ro3’al  Society  then  met  at  Gresham-College. 


1 


194 


THE  TATLER. 


the  pleasures  of  life,  and  a retreat  from  its  in- 
quietudes. 

I am  led  into  this  thought  by  a visit  I made 
an  old  friend,  who  W'as  formerly  my  school-fel- 
low. He  came  to  town  last  week  with  his  family 
for  the  winter,  and  yesterday  morning  sent  me 
word  his  wife  expected  me  to  dinner.  I am,  as 
it  were  at  home  at  that  house,  and  every  mem- 
ber of  it  knows  me  for  their  well-wisher.  I 
cannot  indeed  express  the  pleasure  it  is,  to  be 
met  by  the  children  with  so  much  joy  as  I am 
when  I go  thither.  The  boys  and  girls  strive 
who  shall  come  first,  when  they  think  it  is  I 
that  am  knocking  at  the  door ; and  that  child 
which  loses  the  race  to  me  runs  back  again  to 
tell  the  father  it  is  Mr.  Bickerstaff.  This  day  I 
was  led  in  by  a pretty  girl,  that  we  all  thought 
must  have  forgot  me  ; for  the  family  has  been 
out  of  town  these  two  years.  Her  knowing  me 
again  was  a mighty  subject  with  us,  and  took 
up  our  discourse  at  the  first  entrance.  After 
which,  they  began  to  rally  me  upon  a thousand 
little  stories  they  heard  in  the  country,  about 
my  marriage  to  one  of  my  neighbour’s  daugh- 
ters. Upon  which  the  gentleman,  my  friend, 
said,  ‘Nay,  if  Mr.  Bickerstaff  marries  a child 
of  any  of  his  old  companions,  T hope  mine  shall 
have  the  preference ; there  is  Mrs.  Mary  is  now 
sixteen,  and  would  make  him  as  fine  a widow 
as  the  best  of  them.  But  I know  him  too  well ; 
he  is  so  enamoured  with  the  very  memory  of 
those  who  flourished  in  our  youth,  that  he  will 
not  so  much  as  look  upon  the  modern  beauties. 
I remember,  old  gentleman,  how  often  you  went 
home  in  a day  to  refresh  your  countenance  and 
dress  when  Terarainta  reigned  in  your  heart. 
As  we  came  up  in  the  coach,  I repeated  to  my 
wife  some  of  your  verses  on  her.’  With  such 
reflections  on  little  passages  which  happened 
long  ago,  we  passed  our  time,  during  a cheerful 
and  elegant  meal.  After  dinner,  his  lady  left 
the  room,  as  did  also  the  children.  As  soon  as 
we  were  alone,  ho  took  me  by  the  hand ; ‘ Well, 
my  good  friend,’  says  he,  ‘ I am  heartily  glad  to 
see  thee  ; I was  afraid  3mu  would  never  have 
seen  all  the  company  that  dined  with  you  to-day 
again.  Do  not  you  think  the  good  woman  of 
the  house  a little  altered  since  you  followed  her 
from  the  play-house,  to  find  out  who  she  was, 
for  me  ?’  I perceived  a tear  fall  down  his  cheek 
as  ho  spoke,  which  moved  me  not  a little.  But, 
to  turn  the  discourse,  I said,  ‘ She  is  not  indeed 
quite  that  creature  she  was,  when  she  returned 
me  the  letter  I carried  from  you ; and  told  me, 
“ she  hoped,  as  I was  a'  gentleman,  I would  be 
employed  no  more  to  trouble  her,  who  had  never 
offended  me ; but  would  bo  so  much  the  gentle- 
man’s friend,  as  to  dissuade  him  from  a pursuit, 
which  he  could  never  succeed  in.”  You  may 
remember,  I thought  her  in  earnest;  and  vmu 
were  forced  to  employ  your  cousin  Will,  who 
made  his  sister  get  acquainted  with  her,  for  you. 
You  cannot  expect  her  to  be  for  ever  fifteen.’ 

‘ Fifteen  !’  replied  my  good  friend  : ‘ Ah  ! von 
little  understand,  yon  that  have  lived  a bachelor, 
how  great,  how  exquisite  a pleasure  there  is,  in 
being  really  beloved  ! It  is  impossible,  that  the 
most  beauteous  face  in  nature  should  raise  in 
mo  such  pleasing  ideas,  as  when  I look  upon 


[No.  95. 

that  excellent  woman.  That  fading  in  her  coun- 
tenance is  chiefly  caused  by  her  watching  with 
me,  in  my  fever.  This  was  followed  by  a fit 
of  sickness,  which  had  like  to  have  carried  her 
off  last  winter.  I tell  you  sincerely,  I have  so 
many  obligations  to  her,  that  I cannot,  with  any 
sort  of  moderation,  think  of  her  present  state  of 
health.  But  as  to  what  you  say  of  fifteen,  she 
gives  me  every  day  pleasures  beyond  what  I 
ever  knew  in  the  possession  of  her  beauty,  when 
I was  in  the  vigour  of  youth.  Every  moment 
of  her  life  brings  me  fresh  instances  of  her  com- 
placency to  my  inclinations,  and  her  prudence 
in  regard  to  my  fortune.  Her  face  is  to  me 
much  more  beautiful  than  when  I first  saw  it ; 
there  is  no  decay  in  any  feature,  which  I can- 
not trace,  from  the  very  instant  it  was  occa- 
sioned by  some  anxious  concern  for  my  welfare 
and  interests.  Thus,  at  the  same  ti.me,  methinks, 
the  love  I conceived  towards  her  for  what  she 
was,  is  heightened  by  my  gratitude  for  what  she 
is.  The  love  of  a wife  is  as  much  above  the  idle 
passion  commonly  called  by  that  name,  as  the 
loud  laughter  of  buffoons  is  inferior  to  the  ele- 
gant nrirth  of  gentlemen.  Oh  ! she  is  an  inesti- 
mable jewel.  In  her  examination  of  her  house- 
hold affairs,  she  shows  a certain  fearfulness  to 
find  a fault,  which  makes  her  servants  obey  her 
like  children ; and  the  meanest  we  have  has  an 
ingenuous  shame  for  an  offence,  not  always  to 
be  seen  in  children  in  other  families.  I speak 
freely  to  you,  my  old  friend  ; ever  since  her 
sickness,  things  that  gave  me  the  quickest  joy 
before,  turn  now  to  a certain  anxiety.  As  the 
children  play  in  the  next  room,  I know  the 
poor  things  by  their  steps,  and  am  considering 
what  fhey  must  do,  should  they  lose  their  mother 
in  their  tender  ymars.  The  pleasure  I used  to 
take  in  telling  my  boy  stories  of  battles,  and 
asking  my  girl  questions  about  the  disposal  of 
her  baby,  and  the  gossiping  of  it,  is  turned  into 
inward  reflection  and  melancholy.’ 

He  would  have  gone  on  in  this  tender  way, 
when  the  good  lady  entered,  and  with  an  inex- 
pressible sweetness  in  her  countenance  told  us, 

‘she  had  been  searching  her  closet  for  some- 
thing very  good,  to  treat  such  an  old  friend  as 
I was.’  Her  husband’s  eyes  sparkled  with  plea- 
sure  at  the  cheerfulness  of  her  countenance  ; 
and  I saw  all  his  fears  vanish  in  an  instant.  The 
lady  observing  something  in  our  looks  which 
showed  we  had  been  more  serious  than  ordinary, 
and  seeing  her  husband  receive  her  with  great 
concern  under  a forced  cheerfiilness,  immedi- 
ately guessed  at  what  we  had  been  talking  of; 
and  applying  herself  to  me,  said,  with  a smile, 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,  do  not  believe  a word  of  what 
he  tells  you;  I shall  still  live  to  have  you  for  my 
second,  as  I have  often  promised  you,  unless  he 
takes  more  care  of  himself  than  he  has  done 
since  his  coming  to  town.  You  must  know,  he 
tells  me  that  he  finds  London  is  a much  more 
healthy  place  than  the  country  ; for  he  sees  seve- 
ral of  his  old  acquaintance  and  school-fellows 
are  here  ijoung  fellows  xcitli  fair  full-bottomed 
pcriivigs.  I could  scarce  keep  him  this  morn- 
ing from  going  out  open-breasted.''  My  friend, 
wlio  is  always  extremely  delighted  with  her 
agreeable  humour,  made  her  sit  down  with  us.  ^ 


No.  9G.] 


THE  TATLER. 


195 


SliG  did  it  with  that  easiness  which  is  peculiar 
to  women  of  sense ; and  to  keep  up  the  good 
humour  she  had  brought  in  with  her,  turned 
lier  raillery  upon  me.  ‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,  you  re- 
member you  followed  me  one  night  from  the 
play-house ; suppose  you  should  carry  mo  thither 
to-morrow  night,  and  lead  me  into  the  front 
box.’  This  put  us  into  a long  field  of  discourse 
about  the  beauties,  who  w’ere  mothers  to  the 
present,  and  shined  in  the  boxes  twenty  years 
ago.  I told  her,  ‘ I was  glad  she  had  transferred 
so  many  of  her  charms,  and  I did  not  question 
but  her  eldest  daughter  was  within  half-a-year 
of  being  a toast.’ 

We  were  pleasing  ourselves  with  this  fantas- 
tical preferment  of  the  young  lady,  when  on  a 
sudden  we  were  alarmed  with  the  noise  of  a 
drum,  and  immediately  entered  my  little  godson 
to  give  me  a point  of  war.  His  mother,  between 
laughing  and  chiding,  wmuld  have  put  him  out 
of  the  room ; but  I would  not  part  with  him  so. 
I found  upon  conversation  with  him,  though  he 
was  a little  noisy  in  his  mirth,  that  the  child 
had  excellent  parts,  and  was  a great  master  of 
all  the  learning  on  the  other  side  eight  years 
old.  I perceiv'ed  him  a very  great  historian  in 
-dEsop’s  Fables : but  he  frankly  declared  to  me 
his  mind,  ‘that  he  did  not  delight  in  that  learn- 
ing, because  ho  did  not  believe  they  were  true  ; 
for  which  reason  I found  he  had  very  much 
turned  his  studies,  for  about  a twelvemonth  past, 
into  the  lives  and  adventures  of  Don  Bellianis 
of  Greece,  Guy  of  Warwick,  tlie  Seven  Cham- 
pions,  and  other  historians  of  that  age.  I could 
not  but  observe  the  satisfaction  the  father  took 
in  the  forwardness  of  his  son  ; and  that  these  di- 
versions might  turn  to  some  profit,  I found  the 
boy  had  made  remarks,  which  might  be  of 
service  to  him  during  the  course  of  his  whole  life. 
He  would  tell  you  the  mismanagements  of  .Tohn 
Hickerthrift,  find  fault  with  the  passionate  tem- 
per in  Bevis  of  Southampton,  and  lo’.^ed  Saint 
George  for  being  the  champion  of  England  ;* 
and  by  this  means  had  his  thoughts  insensibly 
moulded  into  the  notions  of  discretion,  virtue, 
and  honour.  I was  extolling  his  accomplish- 
ments, when  the  mother  told  me,  ‘ that  the  little 
girl  who  led  me  in  this  morning,  was,  in  her  way, 
a better  scholar  than  he.  ‘Betty,’  said  she, 

‘ deals  chiefly  in  fairies  and  sprights ; and  some- 
times in  a winter-night  will  terrify  the  maids 
with  her  accounts,  until  they  are  afraid  to  go 
up  to  bed.’ 

I sat  with  them  until  it  vras  very  late,  some- 
times in  merry,  sometimes  in  serious  discourse, 
with  this  particular  pleasure,  which  gives  the 
only  true  relish  to  all  conversation,  a sense  that 
every  one  of  us  liked  each  other.  I v/ent  home, 
considering  the  different  conditions  of  a mar- 
ried life  and  that  of  a bachelor ; and  I must  con- 
fess it  struck  me  with  a secret  concern,  to  re- 
flect that  whenever  I go  off  I shall  leave  no 
traces  behind  me.  In  this  pensive  mood  I re- 
turn to  my  family ; that  is  to  say,  to  my  maid, 
my  dog,  and  rny  cat,  who  only  can  be  the  bet- 
ter or  worse  for  what  happens  to  me. 


This  is  a siilyect  whicli  has  occasioned  a very  loarned 
altorcalion  h^fwc'eri  some  of  onr  rnor-t  oininent  anfi- 
(jiinries. 


No.  96.]  Saturday,  Novemher  19,  1709. 

Ismihi  demiim  vivereet  fnii  ani)na  videt'.ir,  qni  aliquo 
negotiointentus,  pvfficlari  facinoris  aut  ai  lisbons  famam 
querit.  n<all.  Bel.  Cat. 

In  iny  opinion,  he  only  may  be  truly  said  to  live, 
and  enjoy  his  being,  who  is  engaged  in  some  laudable 
pursuit,  and  acquires  a name  by  some  ilhtslrious  action, 
orusefhl  art. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  Novemher  17. 

It  has  cost  me  very  much  care  and  thought 
to  marshal  and  fix  the  people  under  their  pro- 
per denominations,  and  to  range  them  accord- 
ing to  their  respective  characters.  These  my 
endeavours  have  been  received  \vith  unexpected 
success  in  one  kind,  but  neglected  in  another: 
for,  though  I have  many  readers,  I have  but  few 
converts.  This  must  certainly  proceed  from  a 
false  opinion,  that  what  I write  is  designed  ra- 
ther  to  amuse  and  entertain,  than  convince  and 
instruct.  I entered  upon  my  Essays  with  a 
declaration  that  I should  consider  mankind  in 
quite  another  manner  than  they  had  hiLherto 
been  represented  to  the  ordinary  world  ; and  as- 
serted, that  none  but  a useful  life  should  be, 
with  me,  au}'^  life  at  all.  But,  lest  this  doctrine 
should  have  made  this  small  progress  towards 
the  conviction  of  mankind,  because  it  may  have 
appeared  to  the  unlearned  light  and  wliimsical, 
I must  take  leave  to  unfold  tlie  vrisdom  and 
antiquity  of  ray  first  proposition  in  these  my 
Essays,  to  wit,  that  ‘ every  worthless  man  is  a 
dead  man.’  This  notion  is  as  old  as  Pythagoras, 
in  whose  school  it  vras  a point  of  discipline,  that 
if  among  the  ’Axso-t(xci<,  or  probationers,  there 
were  any  who  grew  weary  of  studying  to  be 
useful,  and  returned  to  an  idle  life,  they  were  to 
regard  them  as  dead ; and,  upon  their  departing, 
to  perform  their  obsequies,  and  raise  them  tombs, 
with  inscriptions  to  warn  others  of  the  like 
mortality,  and  quicken  tliem  to  resolutions  of 
refining  their  souls  above  that  wretched  state. 
It  is  upon  a like  supposition,  that  young  ladies, 
at  this  very  time,  in  Roman  catholic  countries, 
are  received  into  some  nunneries  witli  their  cof- 
fins, and  with  the  pomp  of  a formal  funeral,  to 
signify,  that  henceforth  they  are  to  be  of  no 
further  use,  and  consequently  dead.  Nor  was 
Pj'thagoras  himself  the  first  author  of  this  sym- 
bol,  w’ith  whom,  and  with  the  Hebrews,  it  was 
generally  received.  Much  more  might  be  of- 
fered in  illustration  of  this  doctrine  from  sacred 
authority,  which  I recommend  to  my  reader’s 
own  reflection,  who  will  easily  recollect,  from 
places  which  I do  not  think  fit  to  quote  here, 
the  forcible  manner  of  applying  the  words  dead 
and  living,  to  men  as  they  are  good  or  bad. 

I have,  therefore,  composed  the  following 
scheme  of  existence  for  the  benefit  both  of  the 
living  and  the  dead  ; though  chiefly  for  the  lat- 
ter,  whom  I must  desire  to  read  it  with  all  pos- 
sible attention.  In  the  number  of  the  dead  I 
comprehend  all  persons,  of  what  title  or  dignity 
soever,  who  bestow  most  of  their  time  in  eating 
and  drinking,  to  support  that  imaginary  exist- 
ence of  theirs,  Avliich  they  call  life  ; or  ia  dress- 
ing and  adorning  those  shadows  and  apparitions, 
which  are  looked  upon  by  the  vulgar  as  real 
men  and  women.  In  short,  whoever  resides  in 


196 


THE  TATLER. 


the  world  without  having  any  business  in  it, 
and  passes  away  an  age  without  ever  thinking 
on  the  errand  for  which  he  was  sent  hither,  is 
to  me  a dead  man  to  all  intents  and  purposes ; 
and  I desire  that  he  may  be  so  reputed.  The 
living  are  only  those  that  are  some  way  or  other 
laudably  employed  in  the  improvement  of  their 
own  minds,  or  for  the  advantage  of  others  ; and 
even  amongst  these,  I shall  only  reckon  into 
their  lives  that  part  of  their  time  which  has 
been  spent  in  the  manner  above-mentioned. 
By  these  means,  I am  afraid,  we  shall  find  the 
longest  lives  not  to  consist  of  many  months,  and 
the  greatest  part  of  the  earth  to  be  quite  unpeo- 
pled. According  to  this  system,  we  may  ob- 
serve, that  some  men  are  born  at  twenty  years 
of  age,  some  at  thirty,  some  at  threescore,  and 
some  not  above  an  hour  before  they  die : nay, 
we  may  observe  multitudes  that  die  without 
ever  being  born,  as  well  as  many  dead  persons 
that  fill  up  the  balk  of  mankind,  and  make,  a 
better  figure  in  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant,  than 
those  who  are  alive,  and  in  their  proper  and  full 
state  of  health.  However,  since  there  may  be 
many  good  subjects  that  pay  their  taxes,  and 
live  peaceably  in  their  habitations,  who  arc  not 
yet  born,  or  have  departed  this  life  several  years 
since,  my  design  is,  to  encourage  both  to  join 
themselves  as  soon  as  possible  to  the  number  of 
the  living.  For  as  I invite  the  former  to  break 
forth  into  being,  and  become  good  for  some- 
thing ; so  I allow  the  latter  a state  of  resuscita- 
tion ; which  I chiefly  mention  for  the  sake  of  a 
person  who  has  lately  published  an  advertise- 
ment, with  several  scurrilous  terms  in  it,  that 
do  by  no  means  become  a dead  man  to  give ; it 
is  my  departed  friend  John  Partridge,  who  con- 
cludes the  advertisement  of  his  next  year’s 
almanack  with  the  following  note : 

Whereas  it  has  been  industriously  given  out 
by  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  esquire,  and  others,  to  pre- 
vent the  sale  of  this  year’s  almanack,  that  John 
Partridge  is  dead  : this  may  inform  all  his  lov- 
ing countrymen,  that  he  is  still  living  in  health, 
and  they  are  knaves  that  reported  it  otherwise. 

‘J.  P.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  18. 

When  an  engineer  finds  his  guns  have  not 
had  their  intended  effect,  he  changes  his  bat- 
teries. I am  forced  at  present  to  take  this  me- 
thod ; and  instead  of  continuing  to  write  against 
the  singularity  some  are  guilty  of  in  their  habit 
and  behaviour,  I shall  henceforward  desire  them 
to  persevere  in  it;  and  not  only  so,  but  shall 
take  it  as  a favour  of  all  the  coxcombs  in  the 
town,  if  they  will  set  marks  upon  themselves, 
and  by  some  particular  in  their  dress  show  to 
what  class  they  belong.  It  would  be  very  oblig- 
ing in  all  such  persons,  who  feel  in  themselves 
that  they  are  not  of  sound  understanding,  to 
give  the  world  notice  of  it  and  spare  mankind 
the  pains  of  finding  them  out.  A cane  upon 
the  fifth  button  shall  from  henceforth  be  the 
type  of  a Dapper;  red-heeled  shoes,  and  a hat 
hung  upon  one  side  of  the  head,  shall  signify  a 
Smart ; a good  periwig  made  into  a twist,  with 
a brisk  cock,  shall  speak  a Mettled  Fellow ; and 
an  upper  lip  covered  with  snuff,  denote  a Coffee- 


[No.  96. 

house  Statesman.  But  as  it  is  required  that  all 
coxcombs  hang  out  their  signs,  it  is  on  the  other 
hand  expected  that  men  of  real  merit  should 
avoid  any  thing  particular  in  their  dress,  gait, 
or  behaviour.  For,  as  we  old  men  delight  in 
proverbs,  I cannot  forbear  bringing  out  one  on 
this  occasion.  ‘ That  good  wine  needs  no  bush.’* 
I must  not  leave  this  subject  without  reflecting 
on  several  persons  I have  lately  met  with,  who 
at  a distance  seem  very  terrible ; but  upon  a 
stricter  inquiry  into  their  looks  and  features, 
appear  as  meek  and  harmless  as  any  of  my  own 
neighbours.  These  are  country  gentlemen,  who 
of  late  years  have  taken  up  a humour  of  coming 
to  town  in  red  coats,  whom  an  arch  wag  of  my 
acquaintance  used  to  describe  very  well,  by  call- 
ing them  ‘ sheep  in  wolves’  clothing.’  I have 
often  wondered,  that  honest  gentlemen,  who  are 
good  neighbours,  and  live  quietly  in  their  own 
possessions,  should  take  it  in  their  heads  to 
frighten  the  town  after  this  unreasonable  man- 
ner.  I shall  think  myself  obliged,  if  they  per 
sist  in  so  unnatural  a dress,  notwithstanding 
any  posts  they  may  have  in  the  militia,  to 
give  away  their  red  coats  to  any  of  the  soldiery 
who  shall  think  fit  to  strip  them,  provided  the 
said  soldiers  can  make  it  appear  tliat  they  be- 
long to  a regiment  where  there  is  a deficiency 
in  the  clothing. 

About  two  days  ago  I was  walking  in  the 
Park,  and  accidentally  met  a rural  ’squire 
clothed  in  all  the  types  above-mentioned,  with 
a carriage  and  behaviour  made  entirely  out  of 
his  own  head.  He  was  of  a bulk  and  stature, 
larger  tlian  ordinary,  had  a red  coat  flung  open 
to  show  a gay  calamanco  waistcoat.  His  periwig 
fell  in  a very  considerable  bush  upon  each 
shoulder.  His  arms  naturally  swang  at  an  un- 
reasonable distance  from  his  sides  ; which,  with 
the  advantage  of  a cane  that  he  brandished 
in  a great  variety  of  irregular  motions,  made  it 
unsafe  for  any  one  to  walk  within  several  yards 
of  him.  In  this  manner  he  took  up  the  whole 
Mall,  his  spectators  moving  on  each  side  of  it, 
whilst  he  cocked  up  his  hat,  and  marched  di- 
rectly for  Westminster,  I cannot  tell  who  this 
gentleman  is,  but,  for  my  comfort,  may  say 
with  the  lover  in  Terence,  who  lost  sight  of  a 
fine  young  lady,  ‘ Wherever  thou  art,  thou  canst 
not  be  long  concealed.’ 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  November  18. 

By  letters  from  Paris  of  the  sixteenth  we  are 
informed  that  the  French  king,  the  princess  of 
the  blood,  and  the  elector  of  Bavaria,  had  lately 
killed  fifty -five  pheasants. 

***  Whereas,  several  have  industriously 
spread  abroad,  tliat  I am  in  partnership  with 


* A hush,  as  may  be  inferred  from  this  proverb,  was 
anciently  the  sign  of  a tavern.  This  sign  was  succeeded 
by  a thing  intended  to  resemble  a bash,  consisting  of 
three  or  four  tier  of  hoops  fastened  one  above  another ; 
with  vine  leaves  and  grapes  richly  carve  l and  gilt,  and 
a Bacchus  bostriuing  a tun  at  top.  The  owner  of  a tavern 
or  alehouse  in  Aldersgate-strect,  at  the  time  when  king 
Charles  I.  was  beheaded,  was  so  aftected  upon  that 
event,  that  ha  put  his  bush  in  mourning  by  painting  it 
black.  The  house  was  long  after  known  by  the  name 
of  the  ‘ Mourning  Bush  at  Aldersgate.’  Sir  John  Haw- 
kin’s  * Hist,  of  Music.’ 


No.  97.] 


THE  TATLER. 


197 


Charles  Lillie,  the  perfumer,  at  the  corner  of 
Beaufort  Buildings  ; I must  say  with  my  friend 
Partridge,  that  they  are  knaves  who  reported 
it.  However,  since  the  said  Charles  has  pro- 
mised that  all  his  customers  shall  be  mine,  I 
must  desire  all  mine  to  be  his  ; and  dare  answer 
for  him,  that  if  you  ask  in  my  name  for  snuff, 
Hungary  or  orange  water,  you  shall  have  the 
best  the  town  affords,  at  the  cheapest  rate. 


No.  97.]  Tuesday,  November  22,  1709. 

Illud  maxime  rarum  j^enus  est  eorum,  qiii  aiit  excel- 
lente  ingenii  magnitiidine,  aut  prjeclara  eruditione 
atqne  doctrina,  ant  utraqiia  re  ornati,  spatium  delibe- 
randi habuerunt,  quein  potissimum  vitae  enrsum  sequi 
vellent.  Tull.  Offic. 

There  are  very  few  persons  of  extraordinary  genius, 
or  eminent  for  iearning  and  other  noble  endowments, 
who  have  had  sufiicient  time  to  consider  what  particular 
course  of  life  they  ought  to  pursue. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  21. 

Having  swept  away  prodigious  multitudes  in  | 
my  last  paper,  and  brought  a great  destruction 
upon  my  own  species,  I must  endeavour  in  this 
to  raise  fresh  recruits,  and,  if  possible,  to  supply 
the  places  of  the  unborn  and  the  deceased.  It 
is  said  of  Xerxes,  that  when  he  stood  upon  a 
hill,  and  saw  the  whole  country  round  him 
covered  with  his  army,  he  burst  out  into  tears,  I 
to  think  that  not  one  of  that  multitude  would 
be  alive  a hundred  years  after.  For  my  part,  [ 
when  I take  a survey  of  this  populous  city,  I J 
can  scarce  forbear  weeping,  to  see  how  few  of  i 
its  inliabitants  are  now  living.  It  was  with  this  i 
thought  that  I drew  up  my  last  bill  of  mortality,  ! 
and  endeavoured  to  set  out  in  it  the  great  num-  i 
ber  of  persons  who  have  perished  by  a distem-  j 
per,  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  idleness,  i 
which  has  long  raged  in  the  world,  and  destroys  i 
more  in  every  great  town  than  the  plague  has 
done  at  Dantzick.*  To  repair  the  mischief  it ! 
has  done,  and  stock  the  world  with  a better  race  ' 
of  mortals,  I have  more  hopes  of  bringing  to  | 
life  those  that  are  young,  than  of  reviving  those  j 
that  are  old.  For  which  reason,  I shall  here  ! 
set  down  that  noble  allegory  which  was  written  j 
by  an  old  author  called  Prodicus,  but  recom-  j 
mended  and  embellished  by  Socrates.  It  is  the  ! 
description  of  Virtue  and  Pleasure  making  their  | 
court  to  Hercules,  under  the  appearance  of  two  j 
beautiful  women.  j 

When  Hercules,  says  the  divine  moralist,  i 
was  in  that  part  of  his  youth,  in  which  it  was 
natural  for  him  to  consider  what  course  of  life 
he  ought  to  pursue,  he  one  day  retired  into  a 
desert,  where  the  silence  and  solitude  of  the 
place  very  much  favoured  his  meditations.  As 
he  was  musing  on  his  present  condition,  and 
very  much  perplexed  in  himself  on  the  state  of 
life  he  should  choose,  he  saw  two  women  of  a 
larger  stature  than  ordinary  approaching  to- 
wards him.  One  of  them  had  a very  noble  air, 
and  graceful  deportment ; her  beauty  was  natu- 
ral and  easy,  her  person  clean  and  unspotted. 


* In  1709  they  were  severely  visited  by  the  plague, 
which  swept  o<T  above  40,000  of  its  inhabitants. 


her  eyes  cast  towards  the  ground  with  an 
agreeable  reserve,  her  motion  and  behaviour 
full  of  modesty,  and  her  raiment  as  white  as 
snow.  The  other  had  a great  deal  of  health 
and  floridness  in  her  countenance,  which  she 
had  helped  with  an  artificial  white  and  red  ; 
and  endeavoured  to  appear  more  graceful  than 
ordinary  in  her  mien,  by  a mixture  of  affecta- 
tion in  all  her  gestures.  She  had  a wonderful 
confidence  and  assurance  in  her  looks,  and  all 
the  variety  of  colours  in  her  dress  that  she 
thought  were  most  proper  to  show  her  com- 
plexion  to  an  advantage.  She  cast  her  eyes 
upon  herself,  then  turned  them  on  those  that 
were  present,  to  see  how  they  liked  her,  and 
often  looked  on  the  figure  she  made  in  her  own 
shadow.  Upon  her  nearer  approach  to  Hercu- 
les, she  stepped  before  the  other  lady,  who  came 
forward  with  a regular  composed  carriage,  and 
running  up  to  him,  accosted  him  after  the  fol- 
lowing manner. 

‘ My  dear  Hercules,’  says  she,  ‘ I find  you 
are  very  much  divided  in  your  own  thoughts, 
upon  the  way  of  life  that  you  ought  to  choose, 
j Be  my  friend,  and  follow  me ; I will  lead  you 
into  the  possession  of  pleasure,  and  out  of  the 
reach  of  pain,  and  remove  you  from  all  the  noise 
and  disquietude  of  business.  The  aflfairs  of 
either  war  or  peace  shall  have  no  power  to  dis- 
turb you.  Yonr  whole  employment  shall  be,  to 
make  your  life  easy,  and  to  entertain  every 
sense  with  its  proper  gratification.  Sumptuous 
tables,  beds  of  rose.«,  clouds  of  perfumes,  con- 
certs of  music,  crowds  of  beauties,  are  all  in 
readiness  to  receive  you.  Come  along  with  me 
into  this  region  of  delights,  this  world  of  plea- 
sure, and  bid  farewell  for  ever  to  care,  to  pain, 
to  business.’ 

Hercules,  hearing  the  lady  talk  after  this 
manner,  desired  to  know  her  name ; to  which 
she  answered,  ‘My  friends,  and  those  who  are 
well  acquainted  with  me,  call  me  Happiness; 
but  my  enemies,  and  those  who  would  injure 
my  reputation,  have  given  me  the  name  of 
Pleasure.’ 

By  this  time  the  other  lady  was  come  up, 
who  addressed  herself  to  the  young  hero  in  a 
very  different  manner. 

‘ Hercules,’  says  she,  ‘ I offer  myself  to  you, 
because  I know  you  are  descended  from  the 
gods,  and  give  proofs  of  that  descent  by  your 
love  to  virtue,  and  application  to  the  studies 
proper  for  your  age.  This  makes  me  hope  you 
will  gain,  both  for  yourself  and  me,  an  immortal 
reputation.  But,  before  I invite  you  into  my 
society  and  friendship,  I will  be  open  and  sin- 
cere with  you,  and  must  lay  down  this  as  an 
established  truth.  That  there  is  nothing  truly 
valuable,  which  can  be  purchased  without  pains 
and  labour.  The  gods  have  set  a price  upon 
every  real  and  noble  pleasure.  If  you  would 
gain  the  favour  of  the  deity,  you  must  be  at  the 
pains  of  worshipping  him ; if  the  friendship  of 
good  men,  you  must  study  to  oblige  them ; if 
you  would  be  honoured  by  your  country,  you 
must  take  care  to  serve  it.  In  short,  if  you 
would  be  eminent  in  war  or  peace,  you  must 
become  master  of  all  the  qualifications  that  can 
make  you  so.  These  are  the  only  terms  and 
conditions  upon  whicli  I can  propose  happiness.’ 


IDS 


THE  TATLER. 


TJio  goddess  of  pleasure  here  broke  in  upon  her 
discourse.  ‘ You  see,’  said  she,  ‘ Hercules,  by 
her  own  confession,  the  way  to  her  pleasure  is 
long  and  difficult,  whereas  that  which  I propose 
is  short  and  easy.’ — ‘ Alas  !’  said  the  other  ladj'^, 
whose  visage  glowed  with  a passion  made  up 
of  scorn  and  pitv,  ‘ what  are  the  pleasures  you 
propose  ? To  eat  before  you  are  hungry,  drink 
before  you  are  a-thirst,  sleep  before  you  are 
a-tired,to  gratify  appetites  before  they  are  raised, 
and  raise  such  appetites  as  nature  never  planted. 
You  never  heard  the  most  delicious  music,  which 
is  the  praise  of  one’s  self ; nor  saw  the  most 
beautiful  object,  which  is  the  work  of  one’s  own 
hands.  Your  votaries  pass  away  their  youth  in 
a dream  of  mistaken  pleasures,  while  they  are 
hoarding  up  anguish,  torment,  and  remorse  for 
old  age. 

‘ As  for  me,  I am  the  friend  of  the  gods  and 
of  good  men,  an  agreeable  companion  to  the 
artizan,  a household  guardian  to  the  fathers  of 
families,  a patron  and  protector  of  servants,  an 
associate  in  all  true  and  generous  friendships. 
The  banquets  of  my  votaries  are  never  costly, 
but  always  delicious ; for  none  eat  or  drink  at 
them  who  are  not  invited  by  hunger  and  thirst. 
Their  slumbers  are  sound,  and  their  wakings 
cheerful.  My  young  men  have  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  themselves  praised  by  those  who  are  in 
years ; and  those  who  arc  in  years,  of  being 
honoured  by  those  who  are  young.  In  a word,  my 
followers  are  favoured  by  the  gods,  beloved  by 
their  acquaintance,  esteemed  by  their  country, 
and,  after  the  close  of  their  labours,  honoured 
by  posterity.’ 

We  know  by  the  life  of  this  memorable  hero, 
to  which  of  these  two  ladies  he  gave  up  his 
heart ; and,  I believe,  every  one  who  reads  this 
will  do  him  the  justice  to  approve  his  choice. 

I very  much  admire  the  speeches  of  these 
ladies  as  containing  in  them  the  chief  arguments 
for  a life  of  virtue,  or  a life  of  pleasure,  that 
could  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  a heathen ; but 
am  particularly  pleased  with  the  different  fig- 
ures he  gives  the  two  goddesses.  Our  modern 
authors  have  represented  pleasure  or  vice  with 
an  alluring  face,  but  ending  in  snakes  and 
monsters.  Here  she  appears  in  all  the  charms 
of  beauty,  though  they  are  all  false  and  bor- 
rowed; and  by  that  means  composes  a vision 
entirely  natural  and  pleasing. 

I have  translated  this  allegory  for  the  benefit 
of  the  youth  of  Great  Britain ; and  particularly 
of  those  who  are  still  in  the  deplorable  state  of 
non-existence,  and  whom  I must  earnestly  en- 
treat to  come  into  the  world.  Let  my  embryos 
show  the  least  inclination  to  any  single  virtue, 
and  I shall  allow  it  to  be  a struggling  towards 
birth.  I do  not  expect  of  them  that,  like  the 
hero  in  the  foregoing  story,  they  should  go 
about  as  soon  as  they  are  born,  with  a club  in 
their  hands,  and  a lion’s  skin  on  their  shoulders, 
to  root  out  monsters,  and  destroy  tyrants ; but, 
as  the  finest  author  of  all  antiquity  has  said 
upon  this  very  occasion,  though  a man  has  not 
the  abilities  to  distinguish  iiiinself  in  the  most 
shining  parts  of  a great  character,  he  has  cer- 
tainly the  capacity  of  being  just,  fa  ithful,  modest, 
and  temperate. 


[No.  98. 

No.  98.]  Thursday,  Novemh^r  24, 170D. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  Novemher  23. 

I READ  the  following  letter,  which  was  left 
for  me  this  evening,  with  very  much  concern  for 
the  lady’s  condition  who  sent  it,  who  expresses 
the  state  of  her  mind  wuth  great  frankness,  as 
all  people  ought  who  talk  to  their  physicians. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Though  you  are  stricken 
in  years,  and  have  had  great  experience  in  the 
world,  I believe  you  will  say,  there  are  not  fre- 
quently such  difficult  occasions  to  act  in  with 
decency,  as  those  wherein  I am  entangled.  I 
am  a woman  in  love,  and  that  you  will  allow  to 
be  the  most  unhappy  of  all  circumstances  in 
human  life.  Nature  has  formed  us  wuth  a 
strong  reluctance  against  owning  such  a pas- 
sion, and  custom  has  made  it  criminal  in  us  to 
make  advances.  A gentleman,  w’hom  I w’ill 
call  Fabio,  has  the  entire  possession  of  my 
heart.  I am  so  intimately  acquainted  with  him 
that  he  makes  no  scruple  of  communicating  to 
me  an  ardent  affection  he  has  for  Cleora,  a 
friend  of  mine,  who  also  makes  me  her  confi- 
dant. Most  part  of  my  life  I am  in  company 
with  the  one  or  the  other,  and  am  always  enter- 
tained  with  his  passion,  or  her  triumph.  Cleora 
is  one  of  those  ladies  wdio  think  they  are  virtu- 
ous if  they  are  not  guilty;  and,  without  any 
delicacy  of  choice,  resolves  to  take  the  best  offer 
which  shall  be  made  to  her.  Vv^ith  this  prospect 
she  puts  off  declaring  herself  in  favour  of  Fabio, 
until  she  sees  wdiat  lovers  wnll  fall  into  her 
snares,  which  she  lays  in  all  public  places,  with 
all  the  art  of  gestures  and  glances.  This  re- 
solution she  has  herself  told  me.-  Though  I 
love  him  better  than  life,  I would  not  gain  him 
by  betraying  Cleora;  or  committing  such  a 
trespass  against  modesty,  as  letting  him  know 
myself  that  I love  him.  You  are  an  astrologer, 
what  shall  I do  ? 

‘ DIANA  DOUBTFUL.’ 

This  lady  has  said  very  justly,  that  the  con- 
dition  of  a woman  in  love  is  of  all  others  the 
most  miserable.  Poor  Diana!  how'’  must  she 
be  racked  with  jealousy,  when  Fabio  talks  of 
Cleora!  how  wuth  indignation,  when  Cleora 
makes  a property  of  Fabio ! A female  lover  is 
in  the  condition  of  a ghost,  that  wanders  about 
its  beloved  treasure,  without  power  to  speah, 
until  it  is  spoken  to.  I desire  Diana  to  continue 
in  this  circumstance : for  I see  an  eye  of  com- 
fort in  her  case,  and  will  take  all  proper  mea- 
sures to  extricate  her  out  of  this  unhappy  game 
of  cross-purposes.  Since  Cleora  is  upon  the 
catch  with  her  charms,  and  has  no  particular 
regard  for  Fabio,  I shall  place  a couple  of  spe- 
cial fellows  in  her  way,  who  shall  both  address 
to  her,  and  have  each  a better  estate  than  Fabio. 
They  are  both  already  taken  with  her,  and  are 
preparing  for  being  of  her  retinue  the  ensuing 
winter. 

To  women  of  this  worldly  turn,  as  I apppre- 
liend  Cleora  to  be,  we  must  reckon  backward 
in  our  computation  of  merit ; and  when  a fair 
lady  thinks  only  of  making  her  spouse  a con- 
venient domestic,  the  notion  of  worth  and  value 


No.  98.] 


THE  TATLER. 


199 


is  altered,  and  the  lover  is  the  more  acceptable, 
tlie  less  he  is  considerable.  The  two  I shall 
throw  into  the  way  of  Cloora  are,  Orson  Thicket 
and  Mr.  Walter  Wisdom.  Orson  is  a hunts- 
man, whose  father’s  death,  and  some  difficulties 
about  legacies,  brought  out  of  the  woods  to 
town  last  November.  He  was  at  that  time  one 
of  those  country  savages,  who  despise  the  soft- 
ness they  meet  in  town  and  court;  and  profess- 
edly show  their  strength  and  roughness  in  every 
motion  and  gesture,  in  scorn  of  our  bowing  and 
cringing.  He  was,  at  his  first  appearance,  very 
remarkable  for  that  piece  of  good  breeding 
peculiar  to  natural  Britons,  to  wit,  defiance  ; and 
showed  every  one  he  met  he  was  as  good  a man 
as  ho.  But,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  fierceness, 
ho  would  sometimes  attend  the  discourse  of  a 
man  of  sense,  and  look  at  the  charms  of  a beauty, 
with  his  eyes  and  mouth  open.  He  was  in  this 
posture  when,  in  the  beginning  of  last  Decem- 
ber, he  was  shot  by  Cleora  from  a side-box. 

From  that  moment  he  softened  into  humanity, 
forgot  his  dogs  and  horses,  and  now  moves  and 
speaks  with  civility  and  address. 

Wat.  Wisdom,  by  the  death  of  an  elder  bro- 
ther, came  to  a great  estate,  when  he  had  pro- 
ceeded just  far  enough  in  his  studies  to  be  very 
impertinent,  and  at  the  years  when  the  law 
gives  him  possession  of  his  fortune,  and  his  own 
constitution  is  too  warm  for  the  management 
of  it.  Orson  is  learning  to  fence  and  dance,  to 
please  and  fight  for  his  mistress;  and  Walter 
preparing  fine  horses,  and  a jingling  chariot, 
to  enchant  her.  All  persons  concerned  will 
appear  at  the  next  opera,  where  will  begin  the 
wild-goose-chase;  and  I doubt  Fabio  will  see 
himself  so  overlooked  for  Orson  or  Walter,  as 
to  turn  his  eyes  on  the  modest  passion  and  be- 
coming languor  in  the  countenance  of  Diana  ; 
it  being  my  design  to  supply  with  the  art  of 
love,  all  those  who  preserve  the  sincere  passion 
of  it. 

Will’s  Coffee-house,  November  23. 

An  ingenious  and  worthy  gentleman,  my 
ancient  friend,*  fell  into  discourse  with  me  this 
evening  upon  the  force  and  efficacy  which  the 
v/ritings  of  good  poets  have  on  the  minds  of 
their  intelligent  readers;  and  recommended  to 
me  his  sense  of  the  matter,  thrown  together  in 
the  following  manner,  which  he  desired  me  to 
communicate  to  the  youth  of  Great  Britain  in 
my  Essays.  I choose  to  do  it  in  his  own  words. 

‘ I have  always  been  of  opinion,’  says  he, 
‘that  virtue  sinks  deepest  into  the  heart  of 
man,  when  it  comes  recommended  by  the 
powerful  eharms  of  poetry.  The  most  active 
principle  in  our  mind  is  the  imagination : to  it 
a good  poet  makes  his  court  perpetually,  and 
by  this  faculty  takes  care  to  gain  it  first.  Our 
passions  and  inclinations  come  over  next ; and 
our  reason  surrenders  itself,  with  pleasure,  in 
tbe  end.  Thus,  the  whole  soul  is  insensibly 
betrayed  into  morality,  by  bribing  the  fancy 
with  beautiful  and  agreeable  images  of  those 

* Probably  Dr.  Tliomas  Walker,  head  schoolmaster  at  | 
the  Chartreiix,  where  Steel  and  Addison  were  his  i 
scholars,  or  perhap.s  Dr.  Ellis,  then  master  of  the  Char- 
treu.x.  t 


very  things  that  in  the  books  of  the  philosophers 
appear  austere,  and  have  at  the  best  but  a kind 
of  forbidding  aspeet.  In  a word,  the  poets  do, 
as  it  were,  strew  the  rough  paths  of  virtue  so 
full  of  flowers,  that  we  arc  net  sensible  of  the 
uneasiness  oftliem  ; and  imagine  ourselves  in  the 
midst  of  pleasures,  and  the  most  bewitching  al- 
lurements, at  the  time  we  are  making  progress 
in  the  severest  duties  of  life. 

‘All  men  agree,  that  licentious  poems  do,  of 
all  writings,  soonest  corrupt  the  heart.  And 
why  should  we  not  be  universally  persuaded, 
that  the  grave  and  serious  performances  of  such 
as  write  in  the  most  engaging  manner,  by  a 
kind  of  divine  impulse,  must  be  the  most  effec- 
tual persuasives  to  goodness  7 If,  therefore,  I 
were  blessed  with  a son,  in  order  to  the  forming 
of  his  manners,  which  is  making  him  truly  my 
son,  I should  be  continually  putting  into  his 
hand  some  fine  poet.  Tlie  graceful  sentences, 
and  the  manly  sentiments,  so  frequently  to  be 
met  with  in  every  great  and  sublime  writer, 
are,  in  my  judgment,  the  most  ornamental  and 
valuable  furniture  that  can  be,  for  a young  gentle- 
man’s  head  ; methinks  they  show  like  so  much 
rich  embroidery  upon  the  brain.  Let  me  add 
to  this,  that  humanity  and  tenderness,  without 
which  there  can  be  no  true  greatness  in  the 
mind,  are  inspired  by  the  muses  in  such  patheti- 
cal  language,  that  all  we  find  in  prose-authors 
towards  the  raising  and  improving  of  these  pas- 
sions is,  in  comparison,  but  cold,  or  lukewarm 
at  the  best.  There  is,  besides,  a eertain  eleva- 
tion of  soul,  a sedate  magnanimity,  and  a noble 
turn  of  virtue,  that  distinguishes  the  hero  from 
the  plain  honest  man,  to  which  verse  can  only 
raise  us.  The  bold  metaphors,  and  sounding 
numbers,  peculiar  to  the  poets,  rouse  up  all  our 
sleeping  fiiculties,  and  alarm  the  whole  powers 
of  the  soul,  much  like  that  excellent  trumpeter 
mentioned  by  Virgil ;’ 

Quo  non  pra?stantior  alter 

.®re  ciero  viros,  Martcmque  accenclere  cantti. 

Virg.  ^n.  vi.  165. 

None  so  renowned 

With  breathing  brass  to  kindle  tierce  alarms. 

Dryden. 

I fell  into  this  train  of  thinking  this  evening 
upon  reading  a passage  in  a masque  writ  by 
Milton,*  where  two  brothers  are  introdueed 
seeking  their  sister,  whom  they  had  lost  in  a 
dark  night  and  thick  wood.  One  of  the  bro- 
thers is  apprehensive  lest  the  wandering  virgin 
should  be  overpowered  with  fears,  through  the 
darkness  and  loneliness  of  the  time  and  place. 
This  gives  the  other  occasion  to  make  the  follow- 
ing reflections,  which,  as  I read  them,  made  me 
forget  my  age,  and  renewed  in  me  the  warm 
desires  after  virtue,  so  natural  to  uncorrupted 
youth. 


* Milton’s  ‘ Comus’  was  founded  on  the  following  real 
story ; The  earl  of  Bridgewater  being  president  of  Wales, 
in  1634,  had  his  residence  at  Ludlow-Castle,  in  Shrop- 
shire ; Lord  Brady  and  Mr.  Egerton,  his  sons,  and  lady 
Alice  Egerton,  his  daughter,  passing  through  a place 
called  the  Hay-wood  Forest,  in  Herefordshire,  were  be- 
nighted, and  fhe  lady  was  for  some  short  time  lost.  This 
accident  being  related  to  their  father  upon  their  arrival 
at  his  castle,  furnished  a subject  which  Milton  wrought 
into  one  of  the  finest  nocins  of  the  kind  in  any  language. 


200 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  99. 


I do  not  think  my  sister  so  to  seek. 

Or  so  unprincipled  in  virtue’s  book, 

And  the  sweet  peace  that  goodness  bosoms  ever. 

As  that  the  single  want  of  light  and  noise 
(Not  being  in  danger,  as  I trust  she  is  not) 

Could  stir  -the  constant  mood  of  her  calm  thoughts. 
And  put  them  into  misbecoming  plight. 

Virtue  could  see  to  do  what  virtue  would 
By  her  own  radiant  light,  though  sun  and  moon 
Were  in  the  flat  sea  sunk.  And  Wisdom’s  self 
Oft  seeks  to  sweet  retired  solitude  : 

Where,  with  her  best  nurse.  Contemplation, 

She  plumes  her  feathers,  and  lets  grow  her  wings 

That  in  the  various  bustle  of  resort 

Were  all  too  ruffled,  and  sometimes  impaired  : 

He  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast. 

May  sit  i’  th’  centre,  and  enjoy  bright  day ; 

But  he  that  hides  a dark  soul  and  foul  thoughts, 
Benighted  walks  under  the  mid-day  sun  ; 

Himself  is  his  own  dungeon. 


No.  99.]  Saturday,  November  26, 1709. 

Spirat  tragicuni  satis  et  feliciter  audet. 

Hor.  2.  Ep.  i.  166. 

He,  fortunately  bold,  breathes  true  sublime. 

WilVs  Coffee-house,  November  25. 

I HAVE  been  this  evening  recollecting  what 
passages,  since  I could  first  think,  have  left  the 
strongest  impressions  upon  my  mind  ; and,  after 
strict  inquiry,  I am  convinced  that  the  impulses 
I have  received  from  theatrical  representations 
have  had  a greater  effect  than  otherwise  would 
have  been  wrought  in  me  by  the  little  occur- 
rences of  my  private  life ! My  old  friends, 
Hart*  and  Mohun,t  the  one  by  his  natural  and 
proper  force,  the  other  by  his  great  skill  and  art, 
never  failed  to  send  me  home  full  of  such  ideas 
as  affected  my  behaviour,  and  made  me  insensi- 
bly more  courteous  and  humane  to  my  friends 
and  acquaintance.  It  is  not  the  business  of  a 
good  play  to  make  every  man  a hero;  but  it 
certainly  gives  him  a livelier  sense  of  virtue  and 
merit,  than  he  had  when  he  entered  the  theatre. 

7’his  rational  pleasure,  as  I always  call  it,  has  I 
for  many  years  been  very  little  tasted  : but  I am 
glad  to  find  that  the  true  spirit  of  it  is  reviving 
again  amongst  us,  by  a due  regard  to  what  is 
presented,  and  by  supporting  only  one  play- 
house. It  has  been  within  the  observation  of 
the  youngest  amongst  us,  that  while  there  were 
two  houses,  they  did  not  outvie  each  other  by 
such  representations  as  tend  to  the  instruction 
and  ornament  of  life,  but  oy  introducing  mimi- 
cal dances,  and  fulsome  buffooneries.  For  when 
an  excellent  tragedy  was  to  be  acted  in  one 
house,  the  ladder-dancer  carried  the  whole  town 
to  the  other.  Indeed  such  an  evil  as  this  must 
be  the  natural  consequence  of  two  theatres,  as 
certainly  as  that  there  are  more  who  can  see 
than  can  think.  Every  one  is  sensible  of  the 
danger  of  the  fellow  on  the  ladder,  and  ean  see 
his  activity  in  coming  down  safe  ; but  very  few 
are  judges  of  the  distress  of  a hero  in  a play, 

t Hart  was  boy  or  apprentice  to  Robinson,  at  the  play- 
house in  Black  Friars,  where  he  acted  women’s  parts. 
When  the  civil  wars  broke  out,  and  the  stage  was  put 
down,  many,  indeed  most  of  the  players  went  into  the 
royal  army,  and  lost  or  exposed  their  lives  for  the  king. 

J Mohun  was  likewise  bred  up  to  the  business  of  a 
player,  for  he  also  was  an  apprentice,  and  plaved  wo- 
men’s parts. 


or  of  his  manner  of  behaviour  in  those  circum- 
stances. Thus,  to  please  the  people,  two  houses 
must  entertain  them  with  what  they  can  under- 
stand,  and  not  with  things  which  are  designed 
to  improve  their  understanding  : and  the  readi- 
est way  to  gain  good  audiences  must  be,  to  offer 
such  things  as  are  most  relished  by  the  crowd; 
that  is  to  say,  immodest  action,  empty  show,  or 
impertinent  activity.  In  short,  two  houses  can- 
not hope  to  subsist,  but  by  means  which  are 
contradictory  to  the  very  institution  of  a theatre 
in  a well-governed  kingdom.* 

I have  ever  had  this  sense  of  the  thing,  and 
for  that  reason  have  rejoiced  that  my  ancient 
coeval  friend  of  Drury-lane,  though  he  had  sold 
off  most  of  his  moveables,  still  kept  possession 
of  his  palace ; and  trembled  for  him,  when  he 
had  lately  liked  to  have  been  taken  by  a strata- 
gem. There  have,  for  many  ages,  been  a certain 
learned  sort  of  unlearned  men  in  this  nation, 
called  attornies,  who  have  taken  upon  them  to 
solve  all  difficulties  by  increasing  them,  and  are 
called  upon  to  the  assistance  of  all  who  are  lazy, 
or  weak  of  understanding.  The  insolence  of  a 
ruler  of  this  palace  made  him  resign  the  posses- 
sion of  it  to  the  management  of  my  above-men- 
tioned friend,  Divito.t  Divito  was  too  modest 
to  know  when  to  resign  it,  until  he  had  the 
opinion  and  sentence  of  the  law  for  his  removal. 
Both  these  in  length  of  time  were  obtained 
against  him ; but  as  the  great  Archimedes  de- 
fended Syracuse  with  so  powerful  engines,  that 
if  he  threw  a rope  or  piece  of  wood  over  the 
wall,  the  enemy  fled  ; so  Divito  had  wounded 
all  adversaries  with  so  much  skill,  that  men 
feared  even  to  be  in  the  right  against  him.  For 
this  reason,  the  lawful  ruler  sets  up  an  attorney 
to  expel  an  attorney,  and  chose  a name  dreadful 
lo  the  stage,  who  only  seemed  able  to  beat 
Divito  out  of  his  entrenchments. 

On  the  twenty-second  instant,  a night  of 
public  rejoicing,  the  enemies  of  Divito  made 
a largess  to  the  people  of  faggots,  tubs,  and 
other  combustible  matter,  which  was  erected 
into  a bonfire  before  the  palace.  Plentiful  cans 
were  at  the  same  time  distributed  among  the 
dependencies  of  that  principality  ; and  the  artful 
rival  of  Divito,  observing  them  prepared  for 
enterprise,  presented  the  lawful  owner  of  the 
neighbouring  edifice,  and  showed  bis  deputation 
under  him.  War  immediately  ensued  upon  the 
peaceful  empire  of  wit  and  the  muses  ; the 
Goths  and  Vandals  sacking  Rome  did  not 
threaten  a more  barbarous  devastation  of  arts 
and  sciences.  But,  when  they  had  forced  their 
entrance,  the  experienced  Divito  had  detached 
all  his  subjects,  and  evacuated  all  his  stores. 
The  neighbouring  inhabitants  report,  that  the 
refuse  of  Divito’s  followers  marched  off  the 


* From  the  year  1570  to  the  year  1629,  when  the  play 
house  in  White  Friars  was  finished,  no  less  than  seven- 
teen play-hou-es  had  been  built. 

t This  and  the  following  paragraph  refer  to  a trans- 
action between  William  Collier,  Esq.  and  Christopher 
Rich,  Esq.  two  lawyers,  of  which  there  is  here  given  a 
verv  ludicrous  account. 

Rich  was  the  patentee  of  Drury-lane  theatre,  when 
Collier,  having  first  obtained  a licence  to  head  a com- 
pany of  plavers,  procured  next  a lease  of  Drury-lane 
play-house,  from  the  landlords  of  it,  and  under  this  au- 
thority, by  the  help  of  a hired  rabble,  he  forcibly  ex- 
pelled Rich  and  got  possession 


No.  100.] 


THE  TATLER. 


201 


night  before,  disguised  in  magnificence ; door- 
keepers came  out  clad  like  cardinals,  and  scene- 
drawers  like  heathen  gods.  Divito  himself  was 
wrapped  up  in  one  of  his  black  clouds,  and  left 
to  the  enemy  nothing  but  an  empty  stage,  full  of 
trap-doors,  known  only  to  himself  and  his  ad- 
herents. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  November  25. 

I have  already  taken  great  pains  to  inspire 
notions  of  honour  and  virtue  into  the  people  of 
this  kingdom,  and  used  all  gentle  methods  ima- 
ginable, to  bring  those  who  are  dead  in  idleness, 
folly,  and  pleasui;e,  into  life,  by  applying  them- 
selves to  learning,  wisdom,  and  industry.  But, 
since  fair  means  are  ineffectual,  I must  proceed 
to  extremities,  and  shall  give  my  good  friends, 
the  company  of  upholders,  full  power  to  bury 
all  such  dead  as  they  meet  with,  who  are  with- 
in my  former  descriptions  of  deceased  persons. 
In  the  mean  time  tlie  following  remonstrance 
of  that  corporation  I take  to  be  very  just. 

‘ From  our  office  near  Hay-market,  November  23. 

‘ Worthy  Sir, — Upon  reading  your  Tatler  on 
Saturday  last,  by  which  we  received  the  agreea- 
ble news  of  so  many  deaths,  we  immediately 
ordered  in  a considerable  quantity  of  blacks; 
and  our  servants  have  wrought  night  and  day 
ever  since,  to  furnish  out  the  necessaries  for 
these  deceased.  But  so  it  is,  sir,  that  of  this 
vast  number  of  dead  bodies  that  go  putrifying 
up  and  down  the  streets,  not  one  of  them  has 
come  to  us  to  be  buried.  Though  we  should  be 
loath  to  be  any  liindrance  to  our  good  friends 
the  physicians,  yet  we  cannot  but  take  notice 
what  infection  her  majesty’s  subjects  arc  liable 
to  from  the  horrible  stench  of  so  many  corses. 
Sir,  w'e  will  not  detain  you ; our  case  in  short 
is  this  : here  are  we  embarked  in  this  under- 
taking for  the  public  good : now,  if  people 
should  be  suffered  to  go  unburied  at  this  rate, 
there  is  an  end  of  the  usefullest  manufactures 
and  handicrafts  of  the  kingdom ; for  where  will 
be  your  sextons,  coffin- makers,  and  plumbers  ? 
what  will  become  of  your  embalmers,  epitaph- 
mongers,  and  chief  mourners?  We  are  loath 
to  drive  this  matter  any  farther,  though  we 
tremble  at  the  consequences  of  it;  for  if  it  shall 
be  left  to  every  dead  man’s  discretion  not  to  be 
buried  until  he  sees  his  time,  no  man  can  say 
where  that  wnll  end ; but  thus  much  wc  will 
take  upon  us  to  affirm,  that  such  a toleration 
will  be  intolerable. 

‘ What  would  make  us  easy  in  this  matter  is 
no  more,  but  that  your  worship  would  be  pleased 
to  issue  out  your  orders  to  ditto  Dead  to  repair 
forthwith  to  our  office,  in  order  to  their  inter- 
ment ; where  constant  attendance  shall  be  given 
to  treat  with  all  persons  according  to  their 
quality,  and  the  poor  to  be  buried  for  nothing ; 
and  for  the  convenience  of  such  persons  as  are 
willing  enough  to  be  dead,  but  that  they  are 
afraid  their  friends  and  relations  should  know 
it,  we  have  a back  door  into  Warwick-street, 
from  whence  they  may  be  interred  with  all 
secrecy  imaginable,  and  without  loss  of  time, 
or  hindrance  of  business.  But  in  case  of  obsti- 
nacy, for  we  would  gladly  make  a thorough 


riddance,  wo  desire  a further  power  from  your 
worship,  to  take  up  such  deceased  as  shall  not 
have  complied  with  your  first  orders,  wherever 
we  meet  them ; and  if  after  that  there  shall  be 
complaints  of  any  persons  so  offending,  let  them 
lie  at  our  doors.  We  are,  your  worship’s  until 
death, 

‘ The  master  and  company  of  Upholders. 

‘ P.  S.  We  are  ready  to  give  in  our  printed 
proposals  at  large ; and  if  your  worship  approves 
of  our  undertaking,  we  desire  the  following 
advertisement  may  be  inserted  in  your  next 
paper : 

‘ Whereas  a commission  of  interment  has 
been  awarded  against  doctor  John  Partridge, 
philomath,  professor  of  phj’sic  and  astrology  ; 
and  whereas  the  said  Partridge  hath  not  sur- 
rendered  himself,  nor  shown  cause  to  the  con- 
trary ; these  are  to  certify,  that  the  company  of 
upholders  will  proceed  to  bury  him  from  Cord- 
wainers-hall,  on  Tuesday  the  twenty-ninth  in- 
stant, where  any  six  of  his  surviving  friends, 
who  still  believe  him  to  be  alive,  are  desired  to 
come  prepared  to  hold  up  the  pall. 

‘Note.  We  shall  light  away  at  six  in  the 
evening,  there  being  to  be  a sermon.’ 


No.  100.]  Tuesday,  November  29,  1709. 

Jam  redit  et  Virgo,  redeunt  Saturnia  regna. 

Virg.  Eel.  iv.  ver.  6. 

Returning  justice  brings  a golden  age.  R.  W. 

Sheer-lane,  November  38. 

I WAS  last  week  taking  a solitary  walk  in  the 
garden  of  Lincoln’s-Inn  (a  favour  that  is  in- 
dulged me  by  several  of  the  benehers,*  who 
are  my  intimate  friends,  and  grown  old  with  me 
in  this  neighbourhood)  when  according  to  the 
nature  of  men  in  years,  who  have  made  but  little 
progress  in  the  advancement  of  their  fortune  or 
their  fame,  I was  repining  at  the  sudden  rise 
of  many  persons  who  are  my  juniors,  and  in- 
deed,  at  the  unequal  distribution  of  wealth,  hon- 
our, and  all  other  blessings  of  life.  I was  lost 
in  this  thought,  when  the  night  came  upon  me, 
and  drew  my  mind  into  a far  more  agreeable 
contemplation.  The  heaven  above  me  appeared 
in  all  its  glories,  and  presented  me  with  such  a 
hemisphere  of  stars  as  made  the  most  agreeable 
prospect  imaginable  to  one  who  delights  in  the 
study  of  nature.  It  happened  to  be  a freezing 
night,  which  had  purified  the  whole  body  of  air 
into  such  a bright  transparent  aether,  as  made 
every  constellation  visible  ; and  at  the  same 
time,  gave  such  a particular  glowing  to  the  stars, 
that  I thought  it  the  richest  sky  I had  ever  seen. 
I could  not  behold  a scene  so  wonderfully  adorned 
and  lighted  up,  if  I maybe  allowed  that  expres- 
sion, without  suitable  meditations  on  the  author 
of  such  illustrious  and  amazing  objects  : for,  on 
these  occasions,  philosophy  suggests  motives  to 
religion,  and  religion  adds  pleasure  to  philosophy. 

* From  this  being  mentioned  as  ‘ a favour  from  the 
benchers,’  it  should  seem  that  the  liberty  of  walking  in 
the  gardens  of  the  inns  of  court  was  not  generally  al- 
lowed, as  it  has  been  of  late  years. 


202 


THE  TATLER. 


As  soon  as  I had  recovered  my  usual  temper 
and  serenity  of  soul,  I retired  to  my  lodgings, 
with  the  satisfaction  of  having  passed  away  a 
few  hours  in  the  proper  employments  of  a rea- 
sonable creature;  and  promising  myself  that  my 
slumbers  would  be  sweet,  I no  sooner  fell  into 
them,  but  I dreamed  a dream,  or  saw  a vision, 
for  I know  not  which  to  call  it,  that  seemed  to 
rise  out  of  my  evening  meditation,  and  had 
something  in  it  so  solemn  and  serious,  that  I 
cannot  forbear  communicating  it ; though  I 
must  confess,  the  wildness  of  imagination, 
which,  in  a dream  is  always  loose  and  irregular, 
discovers  itself  too  much  in  several  parts  of  it. 

Methought  I saw  the  same  azure  sky  diver- 
sified with  the  same  glorious  luminaries  which 
had  entertained  me  a little  before  I fell  asleep. 
I was  looking  very  attentively  on  that  sign  in 
the  heavens  which  is  called  by  the  name  of  the 
Balance,*  when,  on  a sudden,  there  appeared 
in  it  an  extraordinary  light,  as  if  the  sun  should 
rise  at  midnight.  By  its  increasing  in  breadth 
and  lustre,  I soon  found  that  it  approached  to- 
wards the  earth;  and  at  length  could  discern 
something  like  a shadow  hovering  in  the  midst 
of  a great  glory,  which,  in  a little  time  after, 
I distinctly  perceived  to  be  the  figure  of  a wo- 
man. I fancied  at  first,  it  might  have  been  the 
angel,  or  intelligence  that  guided  the  constella- 
tion from  which  it  descended ; but,  upon  a nearer 
view,  I saw  about  her,  all  the  emblems  with 
which  the  goddess  of  justice  is  usually  described. 
Her  countenance  was  unspeakably  awful  and 
majestic,  but  exquisitely  beautiful  to  those  whose 
eyes  were  strong  enough  to  behold  it;  her 
smiles  transported  with  rapture,  her  frowns 
terrified  to  despair.  She  held  in  her  hand  a 
mirror,  endowed  with  the  same  qualities  as  that 
which  the  painters  put  into  the  hand  of  truth. 

There  streamed  from  it  a light,  which  dis- 
tinguished itself  from  all  the  splendours  that 
surrounded  her,  more  than  a flash  of  lightning 
shines  in  the  midst  of  day-light.  As  she  moved 
it  in  her  hand,  it  brightened  the  heavens,  the 
air,  or  the  earth.  When  she  had  descended  so 
low  as  to  be  seen  and  heard  by  mortals,  to 
make  the  pomp  of  her  appearance  more  sup- 
portable, she  threw  darkness  and  clouds  about 
her,  that  tempered  the  light  into  a thousand 
beautiful  shades  and  colours,  and  multiplied 
that  lustre,  which  was  before  too  strong  and 
dazzling,  into  a variety  of  milder  glories. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  world  was  in  an  alarm, 
and  all  the  inhabitants  of  it  gathered  together 
upon  a spacious  plain  ; so  that  I seemed  to  have 
the  whole  species  before  my  eyes.  A voice  was 
heard  from  the  clouds,  declaring  the  intention 
of  this  visit,  which  was  to  restore  and  appro- 
priate to  every  one  living  what  was  his  due. 
The  fear  and  hope,  joy  and  sorrow,  which  ap- 
peared in  that  great  assembly,  after  this  solemn 
declaration,  are  not  to  be  expressed.  The  first 
edict  was  then  pronounced,  ‘ That  all  titles  and 
claims  to  riches  and  estates,  or  to  any  part  of 
them,  should  be  immediately  vested  in  the 
rightful  owner.’  Upon  this,  the  inhabitants  of 


* Libra,  or  the  Balance,  is  next  the  sign  Virgo,  into 
which  Astraea,  the  goddess  of  justice.  W’as  translated, 
when  she  could  no  longer  stay  on  earth. 


[No.  100. 

the  earth  held  up  the  instruments  of  their 
tenure,  whether  in  parchment,  paper,  wax,  or 
any  other  form  of  conveyance ; and  as  the  god- 
dess  moved  the  mirror  of  truth  which  she  held 
in  her  hand,  so  that  the  light  which  flowed  from 
it  fell  upon  the  multitude,  they  examined  the 
several  instruments  by  the  beams  of  it.  The 
rays  of  this  mirror  had  a particular  quality  of 
setting  fire  to  all  forgery  and  falsehood.  The 
blaze  of  papers,  the  melting  of  seals,  and  crack- 
ling of  parchments,  made  a very  odd  scene.  The 
fire  very  often  ran  througli  two  or  three  lines 
only,  and  then  stopped.  Though  I could  not 
but  observe  that  the  flames  chiefly  broke  out 
among  the  interlineations  and  codicils  ; the  light 
of  the  mirror,  as  it  was  turned  up  and  down, 
pierced  into  all  the  dark  corners  and  recesses 
of  the  universe,  and  by  that  means  detected  many 
writings  and  records  which  had  been  hidden  or 
buried  by  time,  chance,  or  design.  This  occa- 
sioned a wonderful  revolution  among  the  people. 
At  the  same  time,  the  spoils  of  extortion,  fraud, 
and  robbery,  with  all  the  fruits  of  bribery  and 
corruption,  were  thrown  together  in  a prodigious 
pile,  that  almost  reached  to  the  clouds,  and  was 
called,  ‘The  Mount  of  Restitution  ;’  to  which  all 
injured  persons  were  invited,  to  receive  what 
belonged  to  them. 

One  might  see  crowds  of  people  in  tattered 
garments  come  up,  and  change  clothes  w'ith 
others  that  were  dressed  with  lace  and  em- 
broidery. Several  wdio  were  Plums,  or  very 
near  it,  became  men  of  moderate  fortunes  ; and 
many  others,  who  were  overgrown  in  wealth 
and  possessions,  had  no  more  left  than  what 
they  usuallj'  spent.  What  moved  my  concern 
most  was,  to  see  a certain  street  of  the  greatest 
credit  in  Europe,*  from  one  end  to  the  other, 
become  bankrupt. 

The  next  command  was,  for  the  whole  body 
of  mankind  to  separate  themselves  into  their 
proper  families  ; which  was  no  sooner  done,  but 
an  edict  was  issued  out,  requiring  all  children 
‘ to  repair  to  their  true  and  natural  fathers.’ 
This  put  a great  part  of  the  assembly  in  motion  ; 
for,  as  the  mirror  was  moved  over  them,  it  in- 
spired  every  one  with  such  a natural  instinct, 
as  directed  them  to  their  real  parents.  It  was 
a very  melancholy  spectacle  to  see  the  fathers 
of  very  large  families  become  childless,  and 
bachelors  undone  by  a charge  of  sons  and 
daughters.  You  might  see  a presumptive-heir 
of  a great  estate  ask  blessing  of  his  coachman, 
and  a celebrated  toast  paying  her  duty  to  a valet 
de  chamhre.  Many,  under  vow's  of  celibacy, 
appeared  surrounded  with  a numerous  issue. 
This  change  of  parentage  would  have  caused 
great  lamentation,  but  that  the  calamity  was 
pretty  common  ; and  that  generally  those  who 
lost  their  children,  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
them  put  into  the  hands  of  their  dearest  friends. 
Men  were  no  sooner  settled  in  their  right  to 
their  possessions  and  their  progeny,  but  there 
was  a third  order  proclaimed,  ‘That  all  the 
posts  of  dignity  and  honour  in  the  universe 
should  be  conferred  on  persons  of  the  greatest 


♦Alluding  without  doubt,  to  the  bankers  in  Lombard- 
street.  The  prediction  of  BickerstafF,  in  this  particular, 
was  ill-fouuded. 


No.  101.] 


THE  TATLER. 


203 


merit,  abilities,  and  perfection.’  The  handsome, 
tlie  strong,  and  the  wealthy,  immediately  pressed 
forward  ; but,  not  being  able  to  bear  the  splen- 
dour  of  the  mirror,  which  played  upon  their 
faces,  they  immediately  fell  back  among  the 
crowd  : but  as  the  goddess  tried  the  multitude 
by  her  glass,  as  the  eagle  does  its  young  ones 
by  the  lustre  of  the  sun,  it  was  remarkable,  that 
every  one  turned  away  his  face  from  it,  who 
had  not  distinguished  himself  either  by  virtue, 
knowledge,  or  capacity  in  business,  either  mili- 
tary or  civil.  This  select  assembly  was  drawn 
up  in  the  centre  of  a prodigous  multitude,  which 
was  diffused  on  all  sides,  and  stood  observing 
them,  as  idle  people  use  to  gather  about  a regi- 
ment that  are  exercising  their  arms.  They 
were  drawn  up  in  three  bodies  : in  the  first, 
were  the  men  of  virtue ; in  the  second,  men  of 
knowledge;  and  in  the  third,  the  men  of  busi- 
ness. It  is  impossible  to  look  at  the  first  column 
without  a secret  veneration,  their  aspects  were 
so  sweetened  with  humanity,  raised  with  con- 
templation, emboldened  with  resolution,  and 
adorned  with  the  most  agreeable  airs,  which  are 
those  that  proceed  from  secret  habits  of  virtue. 
I could  not  but  take  notice,  that  there  were 
many  faces  among  them  which  were  unknown, 
not  only  to  the  multitude,  but  even  to  several  of 
their  own  body. 

In  the  second  column,  consisting  of  the  men 
of  knowledge,  there  had  been  great  disputes  be- 
fore they  fell  into  the  ranks,  which  they  did 
not  do  at  last  without  the  positive  command  of 
the  goddess  who  presided  over  the  assembly. 
She  had  so  ordered  it,  that  men  of  the  greatest 
genius  and  strongest  sense  were  placed  at  the 
head  of  the  column.  Behind  these  were  such 
as  had  formed  their  minds  very  much  on  the 
thoughts  and  writings  of  others.  In  the  rear 
of  the  column  were  men  who  had  more  wit 
than  sense,  or  more  learning  than  understand- 
ing. All  living  authors  of  any  value  were  ranged 
in  one  of  these  classes  ; but,  I must  confess,  I 
was  very  much  surprised  to  see  a great  body  of 
editors,  critics,  commentators,  and  grammarians, 
meet  with  so  very  ill  a reception.  They  had 
formed  themselves  into  a body,  and,  with  a great 
deal  of  arrogance,  demanded  the  first  station  in 
the  column  of  knowledge  ; but  the  goddess,  in- 
stead of  complying  with  their  request,  clapped 
them  all  into  liveries,  and  bid  them  know  them- 
selves for  no  other  but  lackeys  of  the  learned. 

The  third  column  were  men  of  business,  and 
consisting  of  persons  in  military  and  civil  ca- 
pacities. The  former  marched  out  from  the 
rest,  and  placed  themselves  in  the  front;  at 
which  the  others  shook  their  heads  at  them, 
but  did  not  think  fit  to  dispute  the  post  with 
them.  I could  not  but  make  several  observa- 
tions upon  this  last  column  of  people;  but  I 
have  certain  private  reasons  why  I do  not  think 
fit  to  communicate  them  to  the  public.  In  order 
to  fill  up  all  the  posts  of  honour,  dignity,  and 
profit,  there  was  a draught  made  out  of  each 
column  of  men,  who  were  masters  of  all  three 
qualifications  in  some  degree,  and  were  prefer- 
red to  stations  of  the  first  rank.  The  second 
draught  was  made  out  of  such  as  were  possessed 
of  any  two  of  the  qualifications,  who  were  dis- 
j)0.sed  of  in  stations  of  a second  dignity.  Those 


who  were  left,  and  were  endowed  only  with  one 
of  them,  had  their  suitable  posts.  When  this 
was  over,  there  remained  many  places  of  trust 
and  profit  unfilled,  for  which  there  were  fresh 
draughts  made  out  of  the  surrounding  multi- 
tude, who  had  any  appearance  of  these  excel- 
lences, or  were  recommended  by  those  who 
possessed  them  in  reality. 

All  were  surprised  to  see  so  many  new  faces 
in  the  most  eminent  dignities ; and,  for  my  own 
part,  I was  very  well  pleased  to  see  that  all  my 
friends  either  kept  their  present  posts,  or  were 
advanced  to  higher. 

Having  filled  my  paper  with  those  particulars 
of  my  vision  which  concern  the  male  part  of 
mankind,  I must  reserve  for  another  occasion 
the  sequel  of  it,  which  relates  to  the  fair  sex. 


No.  101.]  Thursday^  December  1,  1709. 

Postquam  fregit  subsellia  versa, 

Esurit  intactam  Paridi  nisi  vendit  Agaven. 

Juv.  Sat.  vii.  87. 

But  while  the  common  suffrage  crowned  his  cause, 
And  broke  llie  benches  with  their  loud  applause  ; 

His  muse  had  starved,  had  not  a piece  unread. 

And,  by  a player  bought,  supplied  her  bread. 

Dryden. 

From  my  oion  Apartment,  November  30. 

The  progress  of  my  intended  account  of 
what  happened  when  justice  visited  mortals,  is 
at  present  interrupted  by  the  observation  and 
sense  of  an  injustice  against  which  there  is  no 
remedy,  even  in  a kingdom  more  happy  in  the 
care  taken  of  the  liberty  and  property  of  the 
subject,  than  any  other  nation  upon  earth. 
This  iniquity  is  committed  by  a most  impreg- 
nable set  of  mortals,  men  who  are  rogues  within 
the  law ; and,  in  the  very  commission  of  what 
they  are  guilty  of,  professedly  own  that  they 
forbear  no  injury,  but  from  the  terror  of  being 
punished  for  it.  These  miscreants  are  a set  of 
wretches  we  authors  call  pirates,  who  print  any 
book,  poem,  or  sermon,  as  soon  as  it  appears  in 
the  world,  in  a smaller  volume  ; and  sell  it,  as 
all  other  thieves  do  stolen  goods,  at  a cheaper 
rate.  I was  in  my  rage  calling  them  rascals, 
plunderers,  robbers,  highwaymen.  But  they 
acknowledge  all  that,  and  are  pleased  with  those, 
as  well  as  any  other  titles  ; nay,  will  print  them 
themselves,  to  turn  the  penny.* 

I am  extremely  at  a loss  how  to  act  against 
such  open  enemies,  who  have  not  shame  enough 
to  be  touched  with  our  reproaches,  and  are  as 
well  defended  against  what  we  can  say,  as  what 
we  can  do.  Railing,  therefore,  we  must  turn 
into  complaint,  which  I cannot  forbear  making, 
when  I consider  that  all  the  labours  of  my  long 
life  may  be  disappointed  by  the  first  man  that 
pleases  to  rob  me.  I had  flattered  myself  that 
my  stock  of  learning  was  worth  a hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  per  annum,  which  would  very  hand- 
somely maintain  me  and  my  little  family,  who 
are  so  happy,  or  so  wise,  as  to  want  only  neces- 


* This  paper  seems  to  have  been  occasioned  by  a pi- 
rated edition  of  ‘ the  Lucubrations,’  which  came  out 
just  at  this  time. 


204 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  lOJ, 


saries.  Before  men  had  come  up  to  this  bare- 
faced impudence,  it  was  an  estate  to  have  a 
competency  of  understanding. 

An  ingenious  droll,  who  is  since  dead,  (and 
indeed  it  is  well  for  him  he  is  so,  for  he  must 
have  starved  had  he  lived  to  this  day,)  used  to 
give  me  an  account  of  his  good  husbandry  in 
the  management  of  his  learning.  He  was  a 
general  dealer,  and  had  his  amusements  as  well 
comical  as  serious.  The  merry  rogue  said, 

‘ When  he  wanted  a dinner,  he  writ  a paragraph 
of  Table  Talk,  and  his  bookseller  upon  sight 
paid  the  reckoning.’  He  was  a very  good  judge 
of  what  would  please  the  people,  and  could 
aptly  hit  both  the  genius  of  his  readers,  and 
the  season  of  the  year,  in  his  writings.  His 
brain,  which  was  his  estate,  had  as  regular  and 
different  produce  as  other  men’s  land.  From 
the  beginning  of  November,  until  the  opening 
of  the  campaign,  he  writ  pamphlets  and  letters 
to  members  of  parliament,  or  friends  in  the 
country.  But  sometimes  he  would  relieve  his 
ordinary  readers  with  a murder,  and  lived  com- 
fortably a week  or  two  upon  ‘ strange  and  la- 
mentable accidents.’  A little  before  the  armies 
took  the  field,  his  way  was  to  open  your  atten- 
tion with  a prodigy  ; and  a monster,  well  writ, 
was  two  guineas  the  lowest  price.  This  prepa- 
red his  readers  for  his  ‘ great  and  bloody  news’ 
from  Flanders,  in  June  and  July.  Poor  Tom  ?* 
he  is  gone — But  I observed,  he  always  looked 
well  after  a battle,  and  was  apparently  fatter  in 
a fighting  year.  Had  this  honest  careless  fel- 
low lived  until  now,  famine  had  stared  him  in 
the  face,  and  interrupted  his  merriment ; as  it 
must  be  a solid  affliction  to  all  those  whose  pen 
is  their  portion. 

As  for  my  part,  I do  not  speak  wholly  for  my 
own  sake  in  this  point ; for  palmistry  and  as- 
trology, will  bring  me  in  greater  gains  than 
these  my  papers ; so  that  I am  only  in  the  con- 
dition of  a lawyer,  who  leaves  the  bar  for 
chambei’.practice.  However,  I may  be  allowed 
to  speak  in  the  cause  of  learning  itself,  and  la- 
ment that  a liberal  education  is  the  only  one 
which  a polite  nation  makes  unprofitable.  All 
mechanical  artizans  are  allov’^ed  to  reap  the  fruit 
of  their  invention  and  ingenuity  without  inva- 
sion ; but  he  that  has  separated  himself  from 
the  rest  of  mankind,  and  studied  the  wonders 
of  the  creation,  the  government  of  his  passions, 
and  the  revolutions  of  the  world,  and  has  an 
ambition  to  communicate  the  effect  of  half  his 
life  spent  in  such  noble  inquiries,  has  no  pro- 
perty in  what  he  is  v/illing  to  produce,  but  is 
exposed  to  robbery  and  want,  wfith  this  melan- 
choly and  just  reflection,  that  he  is  the  only 
man  who  is  not  protected  by  his  country,  at  the 
same  time  that  he  best  deserves  it.  According  to 
the  ordinary  rules  of  computation,  the  greater  the 
adventure  is,  the  greater  ought  to  be  the  pro- 
fit of  those  who  succeed  in  it ; and  by  this 
measure,  none  have  pretence  of  turning  their  la- 
bours to  greater  advantage  than  persons  brought 

* The  person  here  alluded  to,  was  probably  the  hu- 
morous Mr.  Thomas  Brown,  who  died  in  the  year  1704, 
and  was  buried  in  the  cloister  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
near  the  remains  of  Mrs.  Behn,  w'ith  whom  he  was  inti- 
mate in  his  life  time.  His  works  were  printed  in  4 vmls. 
12uio,  in  1707. 


up  to  letters.  A learned  education,  passing 
through  great  schools  and  universities,  is  very 
expensive  ; and  consumes  a moderate  fortune, 
before  it  is  gone  through  in  its  proper  forms. 
The  purchase  of  a handsome  commission  or 
employment,  which  would  give  a man  a good 
figure  in  another  kind  of  life,  is  to  be  made  at 
a much  cheaper  rate.  Now,  if  we  consider  this 
expensive  voyage  which  is  undertaken  in  the 
search  of  knowledge,  and  how  few  there  are 
who  take  in  any  considerable  merchandize,  how 
less  frequent  it  is,  to  be  able  to  turn  what  men 
have  gained  into  profit ; how  hard  is  it,  that  the 
very  small  number  who  are  distinguished  with 
abilities  to  know  how  to  vend  their  wares,  and 
have  the  good  fortune  to  bring  them  into  port, 
should  suffer  being  plundered  by  privateers  un- 
der the  very  cannon  that  should  protect  them  ! 
The  most  eminent  and  useful  author  of  the  ago 
we  live  in,  after  having  laid  out  a princely  reve- 
nue in  works  of  charity  and  beneficence,  as 
became  the  greatness  of  his  mind,  and  the  sanc- 
tity of  his  character,  would  have  left  the  person 
in  the  world  who  was  the  dearest  to  him  in  a 
narrow  condition,  had  not  the  sale  of  his  im- 
mortal writings  brought  her  in  a very  consider- 
able dowry ; though  it  was  impossible  for  it 
to  be  equal  to  their  value.  Every  one  will  know, 
that  I here  mean  the  works  of  the  late  arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,*  the  copy  of  which  was 
sold  for  two  thousand  five  hundred  pounds. 

I do  not  speak  with  relation  to  any  party  ; 
but  it  has  happened,  and  may  often  so  happen, 
that  men  of  great  learning  and  virtue  cannot 
qualify  themselves  for  being  employed  in  busi- 
ness, or  receiving  preferments.  In  this  case, 
you  cut  them  oft'  from  all  support,  if  you  take 
from  tliem  the  benefit  that  may  arise  from  their 
writings.  For  my  owui  part,  I have  brought 
myself  to  consider  things  in  so  unprejudiced  a 
manner,  that  I esteem  more  a man  who  can 
live  by  the  products  of  his  understanding,  than 
one  who  does  it  by  the  favour  of  great  men. 

The  zeal  of  an  author  has  transported  mo 
thus  far,  though  I think  myself  as  much  con- 
cerned in  the  eapaeity  of  a reader.  If  this 
praetice  goes  on,  we  must  never  expect  to  see 
again  a beautiful  edition  of  a book  in  Great 
Britain. 

We  have  already  seen  the  memoirs  of  sir 
William  Temple,  published  in  the  same  charac- 
ter and  volume  with  the  history  of  Tom  Thumb, 
and  the  works  of  our  greatest  poets  shrunk  into 
penny  books  and  garlands.  For  my  own  part, 
I expect  to  see  my  lucubrations  printed  on 
browner  paper  than  they  are  at  present,  and,  if 
the  humour  continues,  must  be  forced  to  re- 
trench my  expensive  way  of  living,  and  not 
smoke  above  two  pipes  a-day. 

Mr.  Charles  Lillie,  perfumer,  at  the  corner 
of  Beaufort-buildings,  has  informed  me,  that  I 
am  obliged  to  several  of  my  customers  for  com- 
ing to  his  shop  upon  my  recommendation,  and 
has  also  given  me  further  assuranees  of  his  up- 
right dealings  with  all  who  shall  be  so  kind  as 
to  make  use  of  my  name  to  him.  I acknow- 
ledge this  favour,  and  have,  for  the  service  of 


i 


* Dr  John  Tilloston. 


No.  102.] 


THE  TATLER. 


205 


my  friends  who  frequent  his  shop,  used  the 
force  of  magical  powers  to  add  value  to  his 
wares.  By  my  knowledge  in  the  secret  opera- 
tions of  nature,  I have  made  his  powders,  per- 
fumed and  plain,  have  the  same  effect  as  love- 
powder,  to  all  who  are  too  much  enamoured  to 
do  more  than  dress  at  their  mistresses.  His 
amber,  orange-flower,  musk,  and  civet-violet, 
put  only  into  a handkerchief,  shall  have  the 
same  effect  towards  an  honourable  lover’s 
wishes,  as  if  he  had  been  wrapped  in  his  mo- 
ther’s smock.  Wash-balls  perfumed,  camphired 
and  plain,  shall  restore  complexions  to  that  de- 
gree, that  a country  fox-hunter,  who  uses  them, 
shall,  in  a week’s  time,  look  with  a courtly  and 
affable  paleness,  without  using  the  bagnio  or 
cupping. 

N.  B.  Mr.  Lillie  has  snuffs,  Barcelona,  Seville, 
musty,  plain,  and  Spanish,  which  may  be  taken 
by  a young  beginner  without  danger  of  sneezing. 

Sheer-lane,  November  30. 

Whereas  several  walking  dead  persons  ar- 
rived within  the  bills  of  mortality,  before  and 
since  the  fifteenth  instant,  having  been  informed 
of  my  warrant  given  to  the  company  of  Up- 
holders and  being  terrified  thereat,  it  not  having 
been  advertised  that  privilege  or  protection  would 
be  allowed,  have  resolved  forthwith  to  retire  to 
their  several  respective  abodes  in  the  country, 
hoping  thereby  to  elude  any  commission  of  in- 
terment that  may  issue  out  against  them  ; and 
being  informed  of  such  their  fallacious  designs, 
I do  hereby  give  notice,  as  well  for  the  good  of 
the  public,  as  for  the  great  veneration  I have 
for  the  before  mentioned  useful  society,  that  a 
process  is  gone  out  against  them ; and  that,  in 
case  of  contempt,  they  may  be  found,  or  heard 
of,  at  most  coffee-houses  in  and  about  West- 
minster. 

I must  desire  my  readers  to  help  me  out 
from  time  to  time  in  the  correction  of  these  my 
Essays;  for,  as  a shaking  hand  does  not  always 
write  legibly,  the  press  sometimes  prints  one 
word  for  another ; and  when  my  paper  is  to  be 
revised,  I am  perhaps  so  busy  in  observing  the 
spots  of  the  moon,  that  I have  not  time  to  find 
out  the  errata  that  are  crept  into  my  lucubra- 
tions. 


No.  102.]  Saturday^  December  3,  1709. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  2. 

A CONTINUATION  OF  THE  VISION. 

The  male  world  were  dismissed  by  the  god- 
dess of  justice,  and  disappeared;  when,  on  a 
sudden,  the  whole  plain  was  covered  with  wo- 
men. So  charming  a multitude  filled  my  heart 
with  unspeakable  pleasure  ; and  as  the  celestial 
light  of  the  mirror  shone  upon  their  faces, 
several  of  them  seemed  rather  persons  that  de- 
scended in  the  train  of  the  goddess,  than  such 
who  were  brought  before  her  to  their  trial.  The 
clack  of  tongues,  and  confusion  of  voices,  in  this 
new  assembly,  were  so  very  great,  that  the  god- 
dess was  forced  to  command  silence  several 
times,  and  with  some  severity,  before  she  could 


make  them  attentive  to  her  edicts.  They  were 
all  sensible  that  the  most  important  affair  among 
womankind  was  then  to  be  settled,  which  every 
one  knows  to  be  the  point  of  place.  This  had 
raised  innumerable  disputes  among  them,  and 
put  the  v.>hole  sex  into  a tumult.  Every  one 
produced  her  claim,  and  pleaded  her  pretensions. 
Birth,  beauty,  wit,  or  wealth,  were  words  that 
rung  in  my  ears  from  all  parts  of  the  plain. 
Some  boasted  of  the  merit  of  their  husbands ; 
others  of  their  own  power  in  governing  them. 
Some  pleaded  their  unspotted  virginity  ; others 
their  numerous  issue.  Some  valued  themselves 
as  they  were  the  mothers,  and  others  as  they  were 
the  daughters,  of  considerable  persons.  There 
was  not  a single  accomplishment  unmentioned, 
or  unpractised.  The  whole  congregation  was 
full  of  singing,  dancing,  tossing,  ogling,  squeak- 
ing, smiling,  sighing,  fanning,  frowning,  and 
all  those  irresistible  arts  which  women  put  in 
practice,  to  captivate  the  hearts  of  reasonable 
creatures.  The  goddess,  to  end  this  dispute, 
caused  it  to  be  proclaimed,  ‘ that  every  one 
should  take  place  according  as  she  was  more  or 
less  beautiful.’  This  declaration  gave  great 
satisfaction  to  the  whole  assembly,  which  ira- 
mediately  bridled  up,  and  appeared  in  all  its 
beauties.  Such  as  believed  themselves  graceful 
in  their  motion  found  an  occcasion  of  falling 
back,  advancing  forward,  or  making  a false  step, 
that  they  might  show  their  persons  in  the  most 
becoming  air.  Such  as  had  fine  necks  and 
bosoms  were  wonderfully  curious  to  look  over 
the  heads  of  the  multitude,  and  observe  the 
most  distant  parts  of  the  assembly.  Several 
clapt  their  hands  on  their  foreheads,  as  helping 
their  sight  to  look  upon  the  glories  that  sur- 
rounded the  goddess,  but  in  reality  to  show  fine 
hands  and  arms.  The  ladies  were  yet  better 
pleased,  when  they  heard  ‘ that,  in  the  decision 
of  this  great  controversy,  each  of  them  should 
be  her  own  judge,  and  take  her  place  according 
to  her  own  opinion  of  herself,  when  she  con- 
sulted her  looking-glass.’ 

The  goddess  then  let  down  the  mirror  of 
truth  in  a golden  chain,  which  appeared  larger 
in  proportion  as  it  descended,  and  approached 
nearer  to  the  eyes  of  the  beholders.  It  was  the 
particular  property  of  this  looking-glass,  to 
banish  all  false  appearances,  and  show  people 
what  they  are.  The  whole  woman  was  repre- 
sented, without  regard  to  the  usual  external 
features,  which  were  made  entirely  conformable 
to  their  real  characters.  In  short,  the  most  ac- 
complished, taking  in  the  whole  circle  of  female 
perfections,  were  the  most  beautiful ; and  the 
most  defective,  the  most  deformed.  The  god- 
dess so  varied  the  motion  of  the  glass,  and  placed 
it  in  so  many  different  lights,  that  each  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  herself  in  it. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  rage,  the 
pleasure,  or  astonishment,  that  appeared  in  each 
face  upon  its  representation  in  the  mirror ; 
multitudes  startled  at  their  own  form,  and  would 
have  broke  the  glass  if  they  could  have  reached 
it.  Many  saw  their  blooming  features  wither 
as  they  looked  upon  them,  and  their  self-admira- 
tion turned  into  a loathing  and  abhorrence.  The 
lady  who  was  thought  so  agreeable  in  her  anger, 


206 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  102. 


and  was  so  often  celebrated  for  a woman  of  fire 
and  spirit,  was  frightened  at  her  own  image, 
and  fancied  she  saw  a Fury  in  the  glass.  The 
interested  mistress  beheld  a Harpy,  and  the 
subtle  jilt  a Sphinx.  I was  very  much  troubled 
in  my  own  heart,  to  see  such  a destruction  of 
fine  faces  ; but  at  the  same  time,  had  the  plea- 
sure of  seeing  several  improved,  which  I had 
before  looked  upon  as  the  greatest  master-pieces 
•of  nature.  I observed,  that  some  few  were  so 
humble  as  to  be  surprised  at  their  own  charms, 
and  that  many  a-one,  who  had  lived  in  the  re- 
tirement and  severity  of  a vestal,  shined  forth 
in  all  the  graces  and  attractions  of  a siren. 
I was  ravished  at  the  sight  of  a particular  image 
in  the  mirror,  which  I think  the  most  beautiful 
object  that  my  eyes  ever  beheld.  There  was 
something  more  than  human  in  her  countenance ; 
her  eyes  were  so  full  of  light,  that  they  seemed 
to  beautify  every  thing  they  looked  upon.  Her 
face  was  enlivened  with  such  a florid  bloom,  as 
did  not  so  properly  seem  the  mark  of  health,  as 
of  immortality.  Her  shape,  her  stature,  and  her 
mien,  were  such  as  distinguished  her  even  there, 
where  the  whole  fair  sex  was  assembled. 

I was  impatient  to  see  tlie  lady  represented 
by  so  divine  an  image,  whom  I found  to  be  the 
person  that  stood  at  my  right  hand,  and  in  the 
same  point  of  view  with  myself.  This  was  a 
little  old  woman,  who,  in  her  prime,  had  been 
about  five  feet  high,  though  at  present  shrunk  to 
about  three  quarters  of  that  measure.  Her  natu- 
ral aspect  was  puckered  up  with  wrinkles,  and 
her  head  covered  with  gray  hairs.  I had  ob- 
served all  along  an  innocent  cheerfulness  in  her 
face,  which  was  now  heightened  into  rapture, 
as  she  beheld  herself  in  the  glass.  It  was  an 
odd  circumstance  in  my  dream,  but  I cannot 
forbear  relating  it,  I conceived  so  great  an  in- 
clination towards  her  that  I had  thoughts  of  dis- 
coursing her  upon  the  point  of  marriage,  when 
on  a sudden  she  was  carried  from  me ; for  the 
word  was  now  given,  that  all  who  were  pleased 
with  their  own  images  should  separate,  and 
place  themselves  at  the  head  of  their  sex. 

This  detachment  was  afterwards  divided  into 
three  bodies,  consisting  of  maids,  wives,  and 
widows ; the  wives  being  placed  in  the  middle, 
with  the  maids  on  the  right,  and  widows  on  the 
left;  though  it  was  with  difficulty  that  these 
two  last  bodies  were  hindered  from  falling  into 
the  centre.  Tliis  separation  of  those  who  liked 
their  real  selves  not  having  lessened  the  number 
of  the  main  body  so  considerably  as  it  might 
have  been  wished,  the  goddess,  after  having 
drawn  up  her  mirror,  thought  fit  to  make  new 
distinctions  among  those  who  did  not  like  the 
figure  which  they  saw  in  it.  She  made  several 
wholesome  edicts,  which  are  slipped  out  of  my 
mind  ; but  there  were  two  which  dwelt  upon 
me,  as  being  very  extraordinary  in  their  kind, 
and  executed  with  great  severity.  Their  design 
was  to  make  an  example  of  two  extremes  in 
the  female  world  ; of  those  who  are  very  severe 
on  the  conduct  of  others,  and  of  those  who  are 
very  regardless  of  their  own.  The  first  sentence, 
therefore,  the  goddess  pronounced  was,  that  all 
females  addicted  to  censoriousness  and  detrac- 
tion should  lose  the  use  of  speech  ; a punish- 


ment which  would  be  the  most  grievous  to  the 
offender,  and,  what  should  be  the  end  of  all 
punishments,  effectual  for  rooting  out  the  crime. 
Upon  this  edict,  which  was  as  soon  executed  as 
published,  the  noise  of  the  assembly  very  con- 
siderably abated.  It  was  a melancholy  specta- 
cle, to  see  so  many  who  had  the  reputation  of 
rigid  virtue  struck  dumb.  A lady  who  stood  by 
me,  and  saw  my  concern,  told  me,  ‘ she  won- 
dered how  I could  be  concerned  for  such  a pack 

of .’  I found,  by  the  shaking  of  her  head, 

she  was  going  to  give  me  their  characters ; but, 
by  her  saying  no  more,  I perceived  she  had  lost 
the  command  of  her  tongue.  This  calamity  fell 
very  heavy  upon  that  part  of  women  who  are 
distinguished  by  the  name  of  Prudes,  a courtly 
word  for  female  hypocrites,  who  have  a short 
way  to  being  virtuous,  by  showing  that  others 
are  vicious.  The  second  sentence  was  then  pro- 
nounced against  the  loose  part  of  the  sex,  that 
all  should  immediately  be  pregnant,  who,  in  any 
part  of  their  lives,  had  run  the  hazard  of  it. 
This  produced  a very  goodly  appearance,  and 
revealed  so  many  misconducts,  that  made  those 
who  were  lately  struck  dumb  repine  more  than 
ever  at  their  want  of  utterance  ; though,  at  the 
same  time,  as  afflictions  seldom  come  single, 
many  of  the  mutes  were  also  seized  with  this 
new  calamity.  The  ladies  were  now  in  such  a 
condition,  that  they  would  have  wanted  room, 
had  not  the  plain  been  large  enough  to  let  them 
divide  their  ground,  and  extend  their  lines  on 
all  sides.  It  was  a sensible  affliction  to  me,  to 
see  such  a multitude  of  fair  ones,  either  dumb, 
or  big-bellied.  But  I was  something  more  at 
ease,  when  I found  that  they  agreed  upon 
several  regulations  to  cover  such  misfortunes. 
Among  others,  that  it  should  be  an  established 
maxim  in  all  nations,  that  a woman’s  first  child 
might  come  into  the  world  within  six  months 
after  her  acquaintance  with  her  husband  ; and 
that  grief  might  retard  the  birth  of  her  last  until 
I fourteen  months  after  his  decease. 

This  vision  lasted  until  my  usual  hour  of 
waking,  which  I did  with  some  surprise,  to  find 
myself  alone,  after  having  been  engaged  almost 
a whole  night  in  so  prodigious  a multitude.  I 
could  not  but  reflect  with  wonder  at  the  parti- 
ality and  extravagance  of  my  vision  ; which, 
according  to  my  thoughts,  has  not  done  justice 
to  the  sex.  If  virtue  in  men  is  more  venerable, 
it  is  in  women  more  lovely  ; which  Milton  has 
very  finely  expressed  in  his  Paradise  Lost,  where 
Adam,  speaking  of  Eve,  after  having  asserted 
his  own  pre-eminence,  as  being  first  in  creation 
and  internal  faculties,  breaks  out  into  the  fol- 
lowing rapture : 

‘ Yet  when  I approach 

Her  loveliness,  so  absolute  she  seems, 

And  in  herself  complete,  so  well  to  know 
Her  own.  that  what  she  wills,  or  do,  or  sav, 

Seems  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best. 

All  higher  knowledge  in  her  presence  falls 
Degraded  : wisdom  in  discourse  with  her 
Loses,  discountenanced,  and  like  folly  shows, 
j Authority  and  reason  on  her  wait, 

As  one  intended  first,  not  after  made 
Occasionally.  And.  to  consummate  all. 

Greatness  of  mind,  and  nobleness,  their  seat 
Build  in  her  loveliest,  and  create  an  awe 
.About  her,  as  a guard  angelic  placed.' 


THE  TATLER. 


a07 


No.  103.] 

No.  103.]  Tuesday^  December  6,  1709. 

— Hae  nugae  seria  ducunt 

In  mala,  derisura  semcl,  exceptumque  sinistre. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  452. 

These  toys  will  once  to  serious  mischiefs  fall, 

When  he  is  laughed  at,  when  he’s  jeered  by  all. 

Creech. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  December  5. 

There  is  nothing  gives  a man  a greater  sa- 
tisfaction, than  the  sense  of  having  despatched 
a great  deal  of  business,  especially  when  it  turns 
to  the  public  emolument.  I have  much  plea- 
sure of  this  kind  upon  my  spirits  at  present, 
occasioned  by  the  fatigue  of  affairs  which  I went 
through  last  Saturday.  It  is  some  time  since 
I set  apart  that  day  for  examining  the  preten- 
sions of  several  who  had  applied  to  me  for 
canes,  perspective-glasses,  snuff-boxes,  orange- 
flower  waters,  and  the  like  ornaments  of  life. 
In  order  to  adjust  this  matter,  I had  before  di- 
rected Charles  Lillie,  of  Beaufort-buildings,  to 
prepare  a great  bundle  of  blank  licences  in  the 
following  words : 

‘You  are  hereby  required  to  permit  the 
bearer  of  this  cane  to  pass  and  repass  through 
the  streets  and  suburbs  of  London,  or  any  place 
within  ten  miles  of  it,  without  let  or  molesta- 
tion, provided  that  he  does  not  walk  with  it 
under  his  arm,  brandish  it  in  the  air,  or  hang 
it  on  a button : in  which  case  it  shall  be  for- 
feited ; and  I hereby  declare  it  forfeited  to  any 
one  who  shall  think  it  safe  to  take  it  from  him. 

‘ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF.’ 

The  same  form,  differing  only  in  the  provisos, 
will  serve  for  a perspective,  snuff-box,  or  per- 
fumed handkerchief.  1 had  placed  myself  in 
my  elbow-chair  at  the  upper-end  of  my  great 
parlour,  having  ordered  Charles  Lillie  to  take 
iris  place  upon  a joint-stool,  with  a writing-desk 
before  him.  John  Morphew  also  took  his  sta- 
tion at  the  door ; I having,  for  his  good  and 
faithful  services,  appointed  him  my  chamber- 
keeper  upon  court-days-  He  let  me  know,  that 
there  was  a great  number  attending  without. 
Upon  which  I ordered  him  to  give  notice,  that 
I did  not  intend  to  sit  upon  snuff-boxes  that 
day  ; but  that  those  who  appeared  for  canes 
might  enter.  The  first  presented  me  with  the 
following  petition,  which  I ordered  Mr.  Lillie 
to  i*ead. 

* To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire.^  Censor  of 
Great  Britain. 

‘ The  humble  petition  of  Simon  Trippit, 

‘ Showeth, 

‘That  your  petitioner  having  been  bred  up 
to  a cane  from  his  youth,  it  is  now  become  as 
necessary  to  him  as  any  other  of  his  limbs. 

‘ That,  a great  part  of  his  behaviour  depend- 
ing  upon  it,  he  should  be  reduced  to  the  utmost 
necessities  if  he  should  lose  the  use  of  it. 

‘ That  the  knocking  of  it  upon  his  shoe,  lean- 
ing one  leg  upon  it,  or  whistling  with  it  on  his 
mouth,  are  such  great  reliefs  to  him  in  con- 
versation, that  he  does  not  know  how  to  be  good 
company  without  it. 

‘ I’hat  he  is  at  present  engaged  in  an  amour. 


and  must  despair  of  success  if  it  be  taken  from 
him. 

‘ Your  petitioner,  therefore,  hopes,,  that  the 
premises  tenderly  considered,  your  worship  will 
not  deprive  him  of  so  useful  and  so  necessary 
a support.  And  your  petitioner  shall  ever,  &c^’ 

Upon  tlie  hearing  of  his  case  I was  touched 
with  some  compassion,  and  the  more  so,  when, 
upon  observing  him  nearer,  I found  he  was  a 
Frig.  I bid  him  produce  his  cane  in  court,, 
which  he  had  left  at  the  door.  He  did  so,  and 
I finding  it  to  be  very  curiously  clouded,  with 
a transparent  amber  head,  and  a blue  ribband 
to  hang  upon  his  wrist,  I immediately  ordered 
my  clerk,  Lillie,  to  lay  it  up,  and  deliver  out  to 
him  a plain  joint,  headed  with  walnut ; and 
then,  in  order  to  wean  him  from  it  by  degrees, 
permitted  him  to  wear  it  three  days  in  a week, 
and  to  abate  proportionably  until  he  found  him- 
self able  to  go  alone. 

The  second  who  appeared,  came  limping  into 
the  court : and  setting  forth  in  his  petition 
many  pretences  for  the  use  of  a cane,  I caused 
them  to  be  examined  one  by  one ; but  finding 
him  in  different  stories,  and  confronting  him 
with  several  witnesses  who  had  seen  him  walk 
upright,  I ordered  Mr.  Lillie  to  take  in  his  cane, 
and  rejected  his  petition  as  frivolous. 

A third  made  his  entry  with  great  difficulty, 
leaning  upon  a slight  stick,  and  in  danger  of 
falling  every  step  he  took.  I saw  the  weakness 
of  his  hams ; and  hearing  that  he  had  married 
a young  wife  about  a fortnight  before,  I bid  him 
leave  his  cane  and  gave  him  a new  pair  of 
crutches,  with  which  he  went  off  in  great  vigour 
and  alacrity.  This  gentleman  was  succeeded 
by  another,  who  seemed  very  much  pleased 
while  his  petition  was  reading,  in  which  he  had 
represented.  That  he  was  extremely  afflicted 
with  the  gout,  and  set  his  foot  upon  the  ground 
with  the  caution  and  dignity  which  accompany 
that  distemper.  I suspected  him  for  an  impos- 
tor, and  having  ordered  him  to  be  searched,  I 
committed  him  into  the  hands  of  doctor  Thomas 
Smith  in  King-street,  my  own  corn-cutter,  who 
attended  in  an  outward  room,  and  wrought  so 
speedy  a cure  upon  him,  that  I thought  fit  to 
send  him  also  away  without  his  cane.’ 

While  I was  thus  dispensing  justice,  I heard 
a noise  in  my  outward  room  ; and  inquiring 
what  was  the  occasion  of  it,  my  door-keeper 
told  me,  that  they  had  taken  up  one  in  the  very 
fact  as  he  was  passing  by  my  door.  They  im- 
mediately brought  in  a lively  fresh-coloured 
young  man,  who  made  great  resistance  with 
hand  and  foot,  but  did  not  offer  to  make  use  of 
his  cane  which  hung  upon  his  fifth  button.  Upon 
examination  I found  him  to  be  an  Oxford  scholar, 
who  was  just  entered  at  the  Temple.  He  at 
first  disputed  the  jurisdiction  of  the  court ; but 
being  driven  out  of  his  little  law  and  logic,  he 
told  me  very  pertly,  ‘ that  he  looked  upon  such 
a perpendicular  creature  as  man  to  make  a very 
imperfect  figure  without  a cane  in  his  hand.  It 
is  well  known,’  says  he,  ‘ we  ought,  according 
to  the  natural  situation  of  our  bodies,  to  walk 
upon  our  hands  and  feet ; and  that  the  wisdom 
of  the  ancients  had  described  man  to  be  an 
animal  of  four  legs  in  the  morning,  two  at  noon. 


203 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  104. 


and  three  at  night ; by  which  they  intimated, 
that  the  cane  might  very  properly  become  part 
of  us  in  some  period  of  life.’  Upon  which  I 
asked  him,  ‘ whether  he  wore  it  at  his  breast  to 
have  it  in  readiness  when  that  period  should 
arrive?  My  young  lawyer  immediately  told 
me,  he  had  a property  in  it,  and  a right  to  hang 
it  where  he  pleased,  and  to  make  use  of  it  as  he 
thought  fit,  provided  that  he  did  not  break  the 
peace  with  it ; and  further  said,  ‘ that  he  never 
took  it  off  his  button,  unless  it  were  to  lift  it  up 
at  a coachman,  hold  it  over  the  head  of  a drawer, 
point  out  the  circumstances  of  a story,  or  for 
other  services  of  the  like  nature,  that  are  all 
within  the  laws  of  the  land.’  I did  not  care  for 
discouraging  a young  man,  who,  I saw,  would 
come  to  good ; and,  because  bis  heart  was  set 
upon  his  new  purchase,  I only  ordered  him  to 
wear  it  about  his  neck,  instead  of  hanging  it 
upon  his  button,  and  so  dismissed  him. 

There  were  several  appeared  in  court,  whose 
pretensions  I found  to  be  very  good,  and,  there- 
fore, gave  them  their  licences  upon,  paying  their 
fees;  as  many  others  had  their  licences  renewed, 
who  required  more  time  for  recovery  of  their 
lameness  than  I had  before  allowed  them. 

• Having  despatched  this  set  of  my  petitioners, 
there  came  in  a well-dressed  man,  with  a glass 
tube  in  one  hand,  and  his  petition  in  the  other. 
Upon  his  entering  the  room,  he  threw  hack  the 
right  side  of  his  wig,  put  forward  his  right  leg, 
and  advancing  the  glass  to  his  right  eye,  aimed 
it  directly  at  me.  In  the  mean  while,  to  make 
my  observations  also,  I put  on  my  spectacles  ; in 
which  posture  we  surveyed  each  other  for  some 
time.  Upon  the  removal  of  our  glasses,  I de- 
sired him  to  read  his  petition,  which  he  did  very 
promptly  and  easily ; though  at  the  same  time 
it  set  forth,  ‘ that  he  could  see  nothing  distinctly, 
and  was  within  very  few  degrees  of  being  utterly 
blind ; concluding  with  a prayer,  that  he  might 
be  permitted  to  strengthen  and  extend  his  sight 
by  a glass.’  In  answer  to  this,  I told  him,  ‘ he 
might  sometimes  extend  it  to  his  own  destruc- 
tion. As  you  are  now,’  said  I,  ‘ you  are  out  of 
the  reach  of  beauty  ; the  shafts  of  the  finest  eyes 
lose  their  force  before  they  can  come  at  you  ; 
you  cannot  distinguish  a toast  from  an  orange- 
wench  ; you  can  see  a whole  circle  of  beauty 
without  any  interruption  from  an  impertinent 
face  to  discompose  you.  In  short,  what  are 
snares  for  others — ’ My  petitioner  would  hear 
no  more,  but  told  me  very  seriously,  ‘Mr. 
Bickerstaff,  you  quite  mistake  your  man ; it  is  I 
the  joy,  the  pleasure,  the  employment  of  my 
life,  to  frequent  public  assemblies,  and  gaze 
upon  the  fair.’  In  a word,  I found  his  use  of  a 
glass  was  occasioned  by  no  other  infirmity  but 
his  vanity,  and  was  not  so  much  designed  to 
make  him  see,  as  to  make  him  be  seen  and  dis- 
tinguished by  others.  I,  therefore,  refused  him 
a licence  for  a perspective,  but  allowed  him  a 
pair  of  spectacles,  with  full  permission  to  use 
them  in  any  public  assembly,  as  he  should  think 
fit.  He  was  followed  by  so  very  few  of  this 
order  of  men,  that  I have  reason  to  hope  this 
sort  of  cheats  is  almost  at  an  end. 

The  orange-flower-men  appeared  next  with 
petitions,  perfumed  so  strongly  with  musk  that 
I was  almost  overcome  with  the  scent ; and  for 


my  own  sake  was  obliged  forthwith  to  licence 
their  handkerchiefs,  especially  when  I found 
they  had  sweetened  them  at  Charles  Lillie’s, 
and  that  some  of  their  persons  would  not  be  al- 
together inoffensive  without  them.  John  Mor- 
phew,  whom  I have  made  the  general  of  my 
dead  men,  acquainted  me,  ‘ that  the  petitioners 
were  all  of  that  order,  and  could  produce  certifi- 
cates to  prove  it,  if  I required  it.’  I was  so  well 
pleased  with  this  way  of  their  embalming  them- 
selves, that  I commanded  the  abovesaid  Mor- 
phew  to  give  it  in  orders  to  his  whole  army, 
that  every  one,  who  did  not  surrender  himself 
up  to  be  disposed  of  by  the  upholders,  should 
use  the  same  method  to  keep  himself  sweet 
during  his  present  state  of  putrefaction. 

I finished  my  session  with  great  content  of 
mind,  reflecting  upon  the  good  I had  done ; for, 
however  slightly  men  may  regard  these  particu- 
lars, and  little  follies  in  dress  and  behaviour, 
they  lead  to  great  evils.  The  bearing  to  be 
laughed  at  for  such  singularities,  teaches  us 
insensibly  an  impertinent /ortitude,  and  enables 
us  to  bear  public  censure  for  things  which  more 
substantially  deserve  it.  By  this  means  they 
open  a gate  to  folly,  and  oftentimes  render  a 
man  so  ridiculous,  as  to  discredit  his  virtues  and 
capacities,  and  unqualify  them  from  doing  any 
good  in  the  world.  Besides,  the  giving  into 
uncommon  habits  of  this  nature,  is  a want  of 
that  humble  deference  which  is  due  to  mankind, 
and,  what  is  worst  of  all,  the  certain  indication 
of  some  secret  flaw  in  the  mind  of  the  person 
that  commits  them.  When  I was  a young  man, 
I remember  a gentleman  of  great  integrity  and 
worth  was  very  remarkable  lor  wearing  a broad 
belt  and  a hanger,  instead  of  a fashionable  sword, 
though  in  all  other  points  a very  well-bred  man. 
I suspected  him  at  first  sight  to  have  something 
wrong  in  him,  but  was  not  able  for  a long  while 
to  discover  any  collateral  proofs  of  it.  I watched 
him  narrowly  for  six-and-thirty  years,  when  at 
last,  to  the  surprise  of  every  body  but  myself 
who  had  long  expected  to  see  the  folly  break 
out,  he  married  his  own  cook-maid. 


No.  104.]  Thursday,  December  8, 1709. 

Garrit  aniles 

Ex  re  fabellas Hor.  ii.  Sat.  vi.  78. 

He  tells  an  old  wife’s  tale  very  pertinently. 

j From  my  own  Apartment,  December  5. 

]\Iy  brother  Tranquillus  being  gone  out  of 
town  for  some  days,  my  sister  Jenny  sent  me 
word  she  would  come  and  dine  with  me,  and 
therefore  desired  me  to  have  no  otlier  company. 
I took  care  accordingly,  and  was  not  a little 
pleased  to  see  her  enter  the  room  with  a decent 
and  matron-like  behaviour,  which  I thought 
very  much  became  her.  I saw  she  had  a great 
deal  to  say  to  me,  and  easily  discovered  in  her 
eyes,  and  the  air  of  her  countenance,  that  she 
had  abundance  of  satisfaction  in  her  heart, 
which  she  longed  to  communicate.  However, 
I was  resolved  to  let  her  break  into  her  dis- 
course her  own  w’ay,  and  reduced  her  to  a 
thousand  little  devices  and  intimations  to  bring 


No.  104.] 


THE  TAl’LER. 


209 


me  to  the  mention  of  her  husband.  But  finding 
I was  resolved  not  to  name  him,  she  began  of 
her  own  accord.  ‘ My  husband,’  said  she,  ‘ gives 
his  humble  service  to  you,’  to  which  I only  an- 
swered, ‘ I hope  he  is  well ;’  and,  without  wait- 
ing for  a reply,  fell  into  other  subjects.  She  at 
last  was  out  of  all  patience,  and  said,  with  a 
smile  and  manner  that  I thought  had  more 
beauty  and  spirit  than  I had  ever  observed  before 
in  her,  ‘ I did  not  think,  brother,  you  had  been 
so  ill-natured.  You  have  seen,  ever  since  I came 
in,  that  I had  a mind  to  talk  of  my  husband, 
and  you  will  not  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  an 
occasion.’ — ‘ I did  not  know,’  said  I,  ‘ but  it 
might  be  a disagreeable  subject  to  you.  You 
do  not  take  me  for  so  old-fashioned  a fellow  as 
to  think  of  entertaining  a young  lady  with  the 
discourse  of  her  husband.  I know,  nothing  is 
more  acceptable  than  to  speak  of  one  who  is  to 
be  so,  but  to  speak  of  one  who  is  so ! indeed, 
Jenny,  I am  a better  bred  man  than  you  think 
me.’  She  showed  a little  dislike  at  my  raillery ; 
and,  by  her  bridling  up,  I perceived  she  ex- 
pected to  be  treated  hereafter  not  as  Jenny  Dis- 
taff, but  Mrs.  Tranquillus.  I was  very  well 
pleased  with  this  change  in  her  humour ; and, 
upon  talking  with  her  on  several  subjects,  I 
could  not  but  fancy  that  I saw  a great  deal  of 
her  husband’s  way  and  manner  in  her  remarks, 
her  phrases,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  and  the  very 
air  of  her  countenance.  This  gave  me  an  un- 
speakable satisfaction,  not  only  because  I had 
found  her  a husband,  from  whom  she  could  learn 
many  things  that  were  laudable,  but  also  be- 
cause I looked  upon  her  imitation  of  him  as  an 
infallible  sign  that  she  entirely  loved  him.  This 
is  an  observation  that  I never  knew  fail,  though 
I do  not  remember  that  any  other  has  made  it. 
The  natural  shyness  of  her  sex  hindered  her 
from  telling  me  the  greatness  of  her  own  pas- 
sion ; but  I easily  collected  it  from  the  represen- 
tation she  gave  me  of  his.  ‘ I have  every  thing,’ 
says  she,  ‘ in  Tranquillus,  that  I can  wish  for  ; 
and  enjoy  in  fiim,  what  indeed  you  have  told 
me  were  to  be  met  with  in  a good  husband,  the 
fondness  of  a lover,  the  tenderness  of  a parent, 
and  the  intimacy  of  a friend.’  It  transported 
me  to  see  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears  of  affec- 
tion when  she  spoke.  ‘ And  is  there  not,  dear 
sister,’  said  I,  ‘ more  pleasure  in  the  possession 
of  such  a man,  than  in  all  the  little  impertinen- 
ces of  balls,  assemblies,  and  equipage,  which 
it  cost  me  so  much  pains  to  make  you  contemn?’ 
She  answered,  smiling,  ‘ Tranquillus  has  made 
me  a sincere  convert  in  a few  weeks,  though  I 
am  afraid  you  could  not  have  done  it  in  your 
whole  life.  To  tell  you  truly,  I have  only  one 
fear  hanging  upon  me,  which  is  apt  to  give  me 
trouble  in  the  midst  of  all  my  satisfactions  : I 
am  afraid,  you  must  know,  that  I shall  not  al- 
ways make  the  same  amiable  appearance  in  his 
eye  that  I do  at  present.  You  know,  brother 
Bickerstaff,  that  you  have  the  reputation  of  a 
conjuror ; and,  if  you  have  any  one  secret  in 
your  art  to  make  your  sister  always  beautiful,  I 
should  be  happier  than  if  I were  mistress  of  all 
the  worlds  you  have  shown  me  in  a starry 

night. ’ ‘Jenny,’  said  I,  ‘without  having 

recourse  to  magic,  I shall  give  you  one  plain 
rule,  that  will  not  fail  of  making  you  always 
2 D 


amiable  to  a man  who  has  so  great  a passion 
for  you,  and  is  of  so  equal  and  reasonable  a 
temper  as  Tranquillus.  Endeavour  to  please, 
and  you  must  please;  be  always  in  the  same 
disposition  as  you  are  when  you  ask  for  this 
secret,  and  you  may  take  my  word,  you  will 
never  want  it.  An  inviolable  fidelity,  good  hu- 
mour, and  complacency  of  temper,  out-live  all 
the  charms  of  a fine  face,  and  make  the  decays 
of  it  invisible.’ 

We  discoursed  very  long  upon  this  head, 
which  was  equally  agreeable  to  us  both  ; for,  I 
must  confess,  as  I tenderly  love  her,  I take  as 
much  pleasure  in  giving  her  instructions  for  her 
welfare,  as  she  herself  does  in  receiving  them. 
I proceeded,  therefore,  to  inculcate  these  senti- 
ments, by  relating  a very  particular  passage 
that  happened  within  my  own  knowledge. 

There  were  several  of  us  making  merry  at  a 
friend’s  house  in  a country  village,  when  the 
sexton  of  the  parish  church  entered  the  room 
in  a sort  of  surprise,  and  told  us,  ‘ that  as  he 
was  digging  a grave  in  the  chancel,  a little  blow 
of  his  pick-axe  opened  a decayed  coffin,  in  which 
there  were  several  written  papers.’  Our  curi- 
osity was  immediately  raised,  so  that  we  went 
to  the  place  where  the  sexton  had  been  at  work, 
and  found  a great  concourse  of  people  about  the 
grave.  Among  the  rest  there  was  an  old  wo- 
man, who  told  us,  the  person  buried  there  was 
a lady  whose  name  I do  not  think  fit  t©  mention, 
though  there  is  nothing  in  tlie  story  but  what 
tends  very  much  to  her  honour.*  This  lady 
lived  several  years  an  exemplary  pattern  of  con- 
jugal love,  and,  dying  soon  after  her  husband, 
who  every  way  answered  her  character  in  virtue 
and  affection,  made  it  her  death-bed  request, 

‘ that  all  the  letters  which  she  had  received  from 
him,  both  before  and  after  her  marriage,  should 
be  buried  in  the  coffin  with  her.’  These,  I found 
upon  examination,  were  the  papers  before  us. 
Several  of  them  had  suffered  so  much  by  time, 
that  I could  only  pick  out  a few  words  ; as 
my  soul  I lilies  I roses  ! dearest  angel ! and  the 
like.  One  of  them,  which  was  legible  through- 
out, ran  thus. 

‘ Madam, — If  you  would  know  the  greatness 
of  my  love,  consider  that  of  your  own  beauty. 
That  blooming  countenance,  that  snowy  bosom, 
that  graceful  person,  return  every  moment  to 
my  imagination  : the  brightness  of  your  eyes 
hath  hindered  me  from  elosing  mine  since  I last 
saw  you.  You  may  still  add  to  your  beauty  by 
a smile.  A frown  will  make  me  the  most 
wretched  of  men,  as  I am  the  most  passionate 
of  lovers.’ 

It  filled  the  whole  company  with  a deep  me- 
lancholy, to  compare  the  deseription  of  the  letter 
with  the  person  that  occasioned  it,  who  was 
now  reduced  to  a few  crumbling  bones,  and  a 
little  mouldering  heap  of  earth.  With  much 
ado  I decyphered  another  letter,  which  began 
with,  ‘ My  dear,  dear  wife.’  This  gave  me  a 
curiosity  to  see  how  the  style  of  one  written  in 


* A son  of  sir  Thomas  Chicheley,  one  of  king  Wil- 
liam’s admirals,  assured  the  very  respectable  communi- 
cator of  this  note,  that  the  lady  here  alluded  to  was  his 
mother,  and  that  the  letters  were  genuine. 


510 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  105. 


marriage  dilfered  from  one  written  in  courtship. 
To  my  surprise,  I found  the  fondness  rather 
augmented  than  lessened,  though  the  panegyric 
turned  upon  a different  accomplishment.  The 
v/ords  were  as  follow  : 

‘ Before  this  short  absence  from  you,  I did 
not  know  that  I loved  you  so  much  as  I really 
do ; though,  at  the  same  time,  I thought  I loved 
you  as  much  as  possible.  I am  under  great 
apprehensions,  lest  you  should  have  any  un- 
easiness whilst  i am  defrauded  of  my  share  in 
it,  and  cannot  think  of  tasting  any  pleasure  that 
you  do  not  partake  with  me.  Pray,  my  dear, 
be  careful  of  your  health,  if  for  no  other  reason, 
but  because  you  know  I could  not  outlive  you. 
It  is  natural  in  absence  to  make  professions  of 
an  inviolable  constancy  ; but  towards  so  much 
merit,  it  is  scarce  a virtue,  especially  when  it  is 
but  a bare  return  to  that  of  wmich  you  have 
given  me  such  continued  proofs  ever  since  our 
first  acquaintance.  I am,  &c.’ 

It  happened  that  the  daughter  of  these  two 
excellent  persons  Avas  by  when  I was  reading 
this  letter.  At  the  sight  of  the  coffin,  in  which 
Avas  the  body  of  her  mother,  near  that  of  her 
father,  she  melted  into  a flood  tears.  As  I had 
heard  a great  character  of  her  virtue,  and  ob- 
served her  in  this  instance  of  filial  piety,  I could 
not  resist  my  natural  inclination  of  giving  ad- 
vice to  young  people,  and  therefore  addressed 
myself  to  her.  ‘Young  lady,’  said  I,  ‘you  see 
how  short  is  the  possession  of  that  beauty,  in 
AA'hich  nature  has  been  so  liberal  to  you.  You 
find  the  melancholy  sight  before  you  is  a con- 
tradiction to  the  first  letter  that  you  heard  on 
that  subject ; Avhereas,  you  may  obserA’e,  the 
second  letter,  Avhich  celebrates  your  mother’s 
constanev,  is  itself,  being  found  in  this  place, 
an  argument  of  it.  But,  madam,  I ought  to 
caution  you,  not  to  think  the  bodies  that  lie 
before  you  3'our  father  and  your  mother.  KnoAV, 
their  constanev  is  rcAvarded  by  a nobler  union 
than  by  this  mingling  of  their  ashes,  in  a state 
Avhere  there  is  no  danger  or  possibility  of  a 
second  separation.’ 


No.  105.]  Saturday^  December  10,  1700. 

Sheer-lane^  December  0. 

As  soon  as  my  midnight  studies  are  finished, 
I take  but  a Amry  short  repose,  and  am  again 
up  at  an  exercise  «)f  another  kind ; that  is  to 
say,  my  fencing.  Thus  my  life  passes  a,Avay  in 
a restless  pursuit  of  fame,  and  a preparation  to 
defend  myself  against  such  as  attack  it.  This 
anxiety,  in  the  point  of  reputation,  is  the  peculiar 
distress  of  fine  spirits,  and  makes  them  liable 
to  a thousand  inquietudes,  from  Avhich  men  of 
grosser  understandings  are  exempt;  so  that  no- 
thing Id  more  common,  than  to  see  one  part  of 
mankind  live  at  perfect  ease  under  such  circum. 
stances  as  A\n)uld  make  another  part  of  them 
entirely  miserable. 

This  may  serve  for  a preface  to  the  history 
of  poor  Will  Rosin,  the  fiddler,  of  V/apping,  who 
is  a man  as  much  made  for  happiness  and  a' 
quiet  life,  as  any  one  breathing ; but  has  been 


lately  entangled  in  so  many  intricate  and  un- 
reasonable distresses,  as  would  haA’e  made  him, 
had  he  been  a man  of  too  nice  honour,  the 
most  Avretched  of  all  mortals.  I came  to  the 
knowledge  of  his  affairs  by  mere  accident.  Se- 
A^eral  of  the  narrow  end  of  our  lane  having 
made  an  appointment  to  visit  some  friends  be- 
yond Saint  Katharine’s,  Avhere  there  was  to  be 
a merry-meeting,  they  would  needs  take  Avith 
them  the  old  gentleman,  as  they  are  pleased  to 
call  me.  I,  who  value  my  company  by  their 
good-Avill,  Avhich  naturally  has  the  same  effect 
as  good-breeding,  was  not  too  stately,  or  too 
wise,  to  accept  of  the  invitation.  Our  design 
AA^as  to  be  spectators  of  a sea-ball ; to  which  I 
readily  consented,  proAuded  I might  be  incognito, 
being  naturally  pleased  Avith  the  survey  of  hu- 
man life  in  all  its  degrees  and  circumstances. 
In  order  to  this  merriment,  Will  Rosin,  who  is 
the  Corelli  of  the  Wapping  side,  as  Tom  Scrape 
is  the  Bononcini,^*^  Avas  immediately  sent  for ; 
but  to  our  utter  disappointment,  poor  Will  AA*as 
under  an  arrest,  and  desired  the  assistance  of 
all  his  kind  masters  and  mistresses,  or  he  must 
go  to  jail.  The  whole  company  received  his 
message  Avith  great  humanity,  and  A'ery  gene- 
rously threAv  in  their  halfpence  a-piece  in  a great 
dish,  Avhich  purchased  his  redemption  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  bailiffs.  During  the  negotiation 
of  his  enlargement,  I had  an  opportunity  of  ac- 
quainting myself  with  his  history. 

Mr.  William  Rosin,  of  the  parish  of  Saint 
Katharine,  is  someAvhat  stricken  in  years,  and 
married  to  a young  Avidow,  Avho  has  very  much 
the  ascendant  over  him  ; this  degenerate  age 
being  so  perverted  in  all  things,  that,  even  in  the 
state  of  matrimony,  the  A'oung  pretend  to  govern 
their  elders.  The  musician  is  extremely  fond 
of  her ; but  is  often  obliged  to  lay  by  his  fiddle, 
to  hear  louder  notes  of  hers,  Avhen  she  is  pleased 
to  be  angry  viuth  him  : for,  you  are  to  know, 
Will  is  not  of  consequence  enough  to  enjoy  her 
conversation  but  Avben  she  chides  him,  or  makes 
use  of  him  to  carry  on  her  am.ours  : for  she  is  a 
Avoraan  of  stratagem  ; and  even  in  that  part  of 
the  world,  Avkere  one  would  expect  but  very 
little  gallantry,  by  the  force  of  natural  genius, 
she  can  be  sullen,  sick,  out  of  humour,  splenetic, 
want  new  clothes,  and  more  money,  as  Avell  as 
if  she  had  been  bred  in  Cheapside,  or  Cornhill. 
She  was  lately  under  a secret  discontent,  upon 
account  of  a loA'er  she  was  like  to  lose  by  his 
marriage  ; for  her  gallant,  Mr.  Ezekiel  Boniface, 
had  been  tAvice  asked  in  the  church,  in  order  to 
be  joined  in  matrimony  Avith  Mrs.  Winifred 
Dim.ple,  spinster,  of  the  same  parish.  Here- 
upon Mrs.  Rosin  Avas  far  gone  in  that  distemper 
Avhich  Avell-governed  husbands  knoAv  by  the  de- 


* That  Wapping  and  Redriffe  should  be  noted  as 
places  of  musical  entertaiment,  or  that  any  persons  in- 
habiting either  should  be  celebrated  as  musical  per- 
formers, may  at  this  day  seem  strange  ; but  the  reader  is 
to  know,  that  in  those  suburbs  there  were  formerly 
places  of  public  resort,  called  music-houses:  one  in  par- 
ticular in  Wapping,  of  which  and  others  of  them  sir 
John  Hawkins,  in  his  ‘ History  of  IMusic,’  has  given  a 
curious  account.  There  was  another  at  Shadwell,  as 
mav  be  inferred  from  the  present  name  of  a spot  there, 
called  Music-house-court.  At  these  places  we  must 
suppose  that  there  were  some  performers  of  comparati\-e 
excellence,  and  that  Will  Rosin,  AvhoeAer  he  was,  was 
one  of  them. 


No.  106.] 


THE  TATLER. 


211 


scription  of,  ‘ I am  1 know  not  how  and  Will 
soon  understood,  tliat  it  was  his  part  to  inquire 
into  the  occasion  of  her  melancholy,  or  suffer 
as  the  cause  of  it  himself.  After  much  importu- 
nit}’’,  all  he  could  get  out  of  her  was,  ‘ that  she 
was  the  most  unhappy  and  the  most  wicked  of 
all  women,  and  had  no  friend  in  the  world  to 
tell  her  grief  to.’  Upon  this.  Will  doubled  his 
importunities  ; but  she  said,  ‘ that  she  should 
break  her  poor  heart,  if  he  did  not  take  a solemn 
oath  upon  a book,  that  he  would  not  be  angry ; 
and  that  he  would  expose  the  person  who  had 
wronged  her  to  all  the  world,  for  the  ease  of  her 
mind,  which  was  no  way  else  to  be  quieted.’ 
The  fiddler  was  so  melted,  that  he  immediately 
kissed  her,  and  afterwards  the  book.  When 
his  oath  was  taken,  she  began  to  lament  herself, 
and  revealed  to  him,  ‘ that  miserable  woman  as 
she  was,  she  had  been  false  to  his  bed.’  Will 
was  glad  to  hear  it  was  no  worse;  but,  before 
he  could  reply,  ‘ nay,’  said  she,  ‘ I will  make 
you  all  the  atonement  I can,  and  take  shame 
upon  me  by  proclaiming  it  to  all  the  world,  which 
is  the  only  thing  that  can  remove  my  present 
terrors  of  mind.’  Tliis  was,  indeed,  too  true  ; 
for  her  design  was  to  prevent  Mr.  Boniface’s 
marriage,  which  was  all  she  apprehended. 
Will  was  thoroughly  angry,  and  began  to  curse 
and  swear,  the  ordinary  expressions  of  passion 
in  persons  of  his  condition.  Upon  which  his 
wife — ‘ Ah,  William ! how  well  you  mind  the 
oath  you  have  taken,  and  the  distresses  of  your 
poor  wife,  who  can  keep  nothing  from  you ! 
I hope  you  will  not  be  such  a perjured  wretch 
as  to  forswear  yourself.’  The  fiddler  answered, 

‘ that  his  oath  obliged  him  only  not  to  be  angry 
at  what  was  passed ; but  I find  you  intend  to 

make  me  laughed  at  all  over  Wrapping.’ 

* No,  no,’  replied  Mrs.  Rosin,  ‘ I see  well  enough 
what  you  would  be  at,  you  poor-spirited  cuckold ! 
You  are  afraid  to  expose  Boniface,  who  has 
abused  your  poor  wife,  and  would  fain  persuade 
me  still  to  suffer  the  stings  of  conscience  ; but  I 
assure  you  sirrah,  I will  not  go  to  the  devil  for 
you.’  Poor  Will  was  not  made  for  contention, 
and,  beseeching  her  to  be  pacified,  desired  ‘ she 
would  consult  the  good  of  her  soul  her  own 
way,  for  he  would  not  say  her  nay  in  any  thing.’ 
Mrs.  Rosin  was  so  very  loud  and  public  in  her 
invectives  against  Boniface,  that  the  parents  of  his 
mistress  forbade  the  banns,  and  his  match  was 
prevented ; which  was  the  whole  design  of  this 
deep  stratagem.  The  father  of  Boniface  brought 
his  action  of  defamation,  arrested  the  fiddler, 
and  recovered  damages.  This  was  the  distress 
from  which  he  was  relieved  by  the  company  ; 
and  the  good  husband’s  air,  history,  and  jollity 
upon  his  enlargement,  gave  occasion  to  very 
much  mirth  ; especially  when  Will,  finding  he 
had  friends  to  stand  by  him,  proclaimed  himself 
a cuckold,  by  way  of  insult  over  the  family  of 
the  Bonifaces.  Here  is  a man  of  tranquillity 
without  reading  Seneca  ! What  work  had  such 
an  incident  made  among  persons  of  distinction? 
The  brothers  and  kindred  of  each  side  must 
have  been  drawn  out,  and  hereditary  hatred  en- 
tailed  on  the  families  as  long  as  their  very 
names  remained  in  the  world.  Who  would  be- 
lieve that  Herod,  Othello,  and  Will  Rosin,  were 
of  the  same  species  ? 


There  are  quite  different  sentiments  which 
reign  in  the  parlour  and  the  kitclieu  ; and  it  is 
by  the  point  of  honour,  when  justly  regulated, 
and  inviolably  observed,  that  some  men  are 
superior  to  others,  as  much  as  mankind  in  ge- 
neral are  to  brutes.  This  puts  me  in  mind  of  a 
passage  in  the  admirable  poem  called  ‘ The 
Dispensary,’  where  the  nature  of  true  honour  is 
artfully  described  in  an  ironical  dispraise  of  it : 

‘ But  ere  we  once  engage  in  honour’s  cause, 

First  know  what  honour  is  and  whence  it  was. 
Scorned  by  ihe  base,  ’tis  courted  by  the  brave. 

The  hero’s  tyrant,  and  the  coward’s  slave. 

Born  in  the  noisy  camp,  it  lives  on  air; 

And  both  exists  by  hope,  and  by  despair. 

Angry  whene'er  a moment's  ease  we  gain. 

And  reconciled  at  our  i-eturns  of  pain. 

It  lives  when  in  death's  arms  the  hero  lies. 

But  when  his  safety  he  consults,  it  dies. 

Bigoted  to  this  idol,  we  disclaim 

Rest,  health,  and  ease,  for  nothing  but  a name.’* 

A very  odd  fellow  visited  me  to-day  at  my 
lodgings,  and  desired  encouragement  and  re- 
commendation from  me  for  a new  invention  ox 
knockers  to  doors,  which  he  told  me  he  had 
made  and  professed  to  teach  rustic  servants  the 
use  of  them.  I desired  him  to  show  me  an  ex- 
periment of  this  invention  ; upon  which  he  fixed 
one  of  his  knockers  to  my  parlour-door.  He 
then  gave  me  a complete  set  of  knocks,  from 
the  solitary  rap  of  the  dun  and  beggar,  to  the 
thunderings  of  the  saucy  footman  of  quality 
with  several  flourishes  and  rattlings  never  yet 
performed.  He  likewise  played  over  some  private 
notes,  distinguishing  the  familiar  friend  or  I’e- 
lation  from  the  most  modish  visitor ; and  direct- 
ing when  the  reserve  candles  are  to  be  lighted. 
He  has  several  other  curiosities  in  this  art.  He 
waits  only  to  receive  my  approbation  of  the 
main  design.  He  is  now  ready  to  practise  to 
such  as  shall  apply  themselves  to  him  ; but  I 
have  put  oiT  his  public  licence  until  next  court- 
day. 

N.  B.  He  teaches  under-groimd. 


No.  106.]  Tuesday,  December  13,  1709. 

— Inveaies  disjecti  membra  poetee.— /for.  Sat.  iv.  02. 

You  will  find  the  limbs  of  a dismembered  poet. 

Will's  Coffee-house,  December  12. 

I WAS  this  evening  sitting  at  the  side-table 
and  reading  one  of  my  own  papers  with  great 
satisfaction,  not  knowing  that  I was  observed 
by  any  in  the  room.  I had  not  long  enjoyed 
this  secret  pleasure  of  an  author,  when  a gen- 
tleman, some  of  whose  works  I have  been  highly 
entertained  with,t  accosted  me  after  the  follow- 
ing manner.  ‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,  you  know  I 
have  for  some  years  devoted  myself  wholly  to 
the  muses,  and,  perhaps,  you  will  be  surprised 
when  I tell  you  I am  resolved  to  take  up,  and 


* Dr.  Garth's  Dispensary. 

t Perhaps  the  person  here  alluded  to  was  Peter  An- 
thony Mottenx,  a Frenchman,  who  translated  Don 
Ctnixote,  and  was  a writer  of  songs,  prologues,  epilo'^i  -s. 
&c.  who  about  tins  time  became  a seilcv  cf  cn;;..'!, 
fans,  &<;. 


212 


THE  TATLER. 


apply  myself  to  business.  I shall  therefore  beg- 
you  will  stand  my  friend,  and  recommend  a 
customer  to  me  for  several  goods  that  I have 
now  upon  my  hands.’ — ‘ I desired  him  to  let  me 
have  a particular,  and  I would  do  my  utmost  to 
serve  him.’ — ‘ I have  first  of  all,’  says  he,  ‘ the 
progress  of  an  amour,  digested  into  sonnets,  be- 
ginning with  a poem  to  the  unknown  fair,  and 
ending  with  an  epithalaniurn.  I have  celebrated 
in  it  her  cruelty,  her  pity,  her  face,  her  shape, 
her  wit,  her  good  humour,  her  dancing,  her 
singing’ — I could  not  forbear  interrupting  him  ; 
‘ This  is  a most  accomplished  lady,’  said  I ; 
‘ but  has  she  really,  with  all  these  perfections,  a 
fine  voice  ?’ — ‘ Pugh,’  says  he,  ‘ you  do  not  be- 
lieve there  is  such  a person  in  nature.  This  was 
only  my  employment  in  solitude  last  summer, 
when  I had  neither  friends  nor  books  to  divert 
me.’ — ‘ I was  going,’  said  I,  ‘ to  ask  her  name, 
but  I find  it  is  only  an  imaginary  mistress.’ — 
‘ That’s  true,’  replied  my  friend,  ‘ but  her  name 
is  Flavia.  I have,’  continued  he,  ‘ in  the  second 
place,  a collection  of  lampoons,  calculated  either 
for  the  Bath,  Tunbridge,  or  any  place  where  they 
drink  waters,  with  blank  spaces  for  the  names 
of  such  person  or  persons  as  may  be  inserted  in 
them  on  occasion.  Thus  much  I have  told  only  of 
what  I have  by  me,  proceeding  from  love  and 
malice.  I have  also  at  this  time  the  sketch  of 
a heroic  poem  upon  the  next  peace  : several, 
indeed,  of  the  verses  are  either  too  long  or  too 
short,  it  being  a rough  draught  of  my  thoughts 
upon  that  subject.’  I thereupon  told  him,  ‘ That, 
as  it  was,  it  might  probably  pass  for  a very 
good  Pindaric,  and  I believe  I knew  one  who 
would  be  willing  to  deal  with  him  for  it  upon  that 
foot.’*  ‘ I must  tell  you  also,’  said  he,  ‘ I have 
made  a dedication  to  it,  which  is  about  four 
sides  close  written,  that  may  serve  any  one 
that  is  tall  and  understands  Latin.  I have 
further  about  fifty  similes,  that  were  never  yet 
applied,  besides  three-and-twenty  descriptions 
of  the  sun  rising,  that  might  be  of  great  use  to 
an  epic  poet.  These  are  my  more  bulky  com- 
modities ; besides  which,  I have  several  small 
wares  that  I would  part  with  at  easy  rates  ; as, 
observations  upon  life,  and  moral  sentences,  re- 
duced into  several  couplets,  very  proper  to  close 
up  acts  of  plays,  and  may  be  easily  introduced 
by  two  or  three  lines  of  prose,  either  in  tragedy 
or  comedy.  If  I could  find  a purchaser  curious 
in  Latin  poetry,  I could  accommodate  him  with 
two  dozen  of  epigrams,  which,  by  reason  of  a 
few  false  quantities,  should  come  for  little,  or 
nothing.’ 

I heard  the  gentleman  with  much  attention, 
and  asked  him,  ‘ Whether  he  would  break  bulk, 
and  sell  his  goods  by  retail,  or  designed  they 
should  all  go  in  a lump  V He  told  me,  ‘ That 
he  should  be  very  loath  to  part  them,  unless  it 
was  to  oblige  a man  of  quality,  or  any  person 
for  whom  I had  a particular  friendship.’ — ‘ My 
reason  for  asking,’  said  I,  ‘ is,  only  because  I 
know  a young  gentleman  who  intends  to  appear 
next  spring  in  a new  jingling  chariot,  with  the 


* The  author  probably  alludes  here  to  Mr.  Thomas 
Tickell,  who  seems  to  have  been  the  person  mentioned 
under  the  name  of  Tom  Spindle,  in  Tatler,  No.  27. 


[No.  106. 

figures  of  the  nine  muses  on  each  side  of  it ; 
and,  I believe,  would  be  glad  to  come  into  the 
world  in  verse.’  We  could  not  go  on  in  our 
treaty,  by  reason  of  two  or  three  critics  that 
joined  us.  They  had  been  talking,  it  seems, 
of  the  two  letters  which  were  found  in  the  coffin, 
and  mentioned  in  one  of  my  late  lucubrations, 
and  came  with  a request  to  me,  that  I would 
communicate  any  others  of  them  that  were  legi- 
ble. One  of  the  gentlemen  was  pleased  to  say, 

‘ that  it  was  a very  proper  instance  of  a widow’s 
constancy ; and  said,  ‘ he  wished  I had  sub- 
joined, as  a foil  to  it,  the  following  passage  in 
Hamlet.’  The  young  prince  was  not  yet  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  guilt  of  his  mother,  but 
turns  his  thoughts  on  her  sudden  forgetfulness 
of  his  father,  and  the  indecency  of  her  hasty 
marriage : 

— That  it  should  come  to  this ! 

But  two  months  dead  ! nay,  not  so  much,  not  two! 

So  excellent  a king  ! that  was,  to  this, 

Hyperion  to  a satyr  : so  loving  to  m.y  mother : 

That  he  might  not  let  even  the  winds  of  heaven 
Visit  her  face  too  roughly.  Heaven  and  earth ! 

Must  I remember?  Why  she  would  hang  on  him, 

As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown 
By  what  it  fed  on  : and  yet,  within  a month! 

Let  me  not  think  on’t— Frailty,  thy  name  is  Woman ! 
A little  month ! or  ere  those  shoes  were  old. 

With  which  she  followed  my  poor  father’s  body, 

Like  Niobe,  all  tears,  why  she,  even  she — 

O heaven  ! a brute,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason. 
Would  have  mourned  longer— married  with  mine 
uncle ! 

My  father's  brother ! but  no  more  like  my  father. 
Than  I to  Hercules.  Within  a month ! 

Ere  yet  the  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 
Had  left  the  flushing  in  her  gauled  eyes. 

She  married— O most  wicked  speed,  to  post 
With  such  dexterity  to  incestuous  sheets! 

It  is  not,  nor  it  cannot  come  to  good. 

But,  break,  my  heart;  for  I must  hold  my  tongue ! 

The  several  emotions  of  mind,  and  breaks  of 
passion,  in  this  speech,  are  admirable.  He  has 
touched  every  circumstance  that  aggravated 
the  fact,  and  seemed  capable  of  hurrying  the 
thoughts  of  a son  into  distraction.  His  father’s 
tenderness  for  his  mother,  expressed  in  so  deli- 
cate a particular : his  mother’s  fondness  for  his 
father,  no  less  exquisitely  described  : the  great 
and  amiable  figure  of  his  dead  parent  drawn  by 
a true  filial  piety  : his  disdain  of  so  unworthy 
a successor  to  his  bed  ; but,  above  all,  the  short- 
ness of  the  time  between  his  father’s  death  and 
his  mother’s  second  marriage,  brought  together 
with  so  much  disorder,  make  up  as  noble  a part 
as  any  in  that  celebrated  tragedy.  The  cir- 
cumstance  of  time,  I never  could  enough  ad- 
mire. The  widowhood  had  lasted  two  months. 
This  is  his  first  reflection ; but,  as  his  indigna- 
tion rises,  he  sinks  to  scarce  two  months : after- 
wards, into  a month  ; and  at  last  into  a little 
month  : but  all  this  so  naturally,  that  the  reader 
accompanies  him  in  the  violence  of  his  passion, 
and  finds  the  time  lessen  insensibly,  according 
to  the  different  workings  of  his  disdain.  I have 
not  mentioned  the  incest  of  her  marriage,  which 
is  so  obvious  a provocation  ; but  cannot  forbear 
taking  notice,  that  when  his  fury  is  at  its  height, 
he  cries,  ‘ Frailty,  thy  name  is  Woman  !’  as 
railing  at  the  sex  in  general,  rather  than  giving 
himself  leave  to  think  his  mother  worse  than 
others — Desiderantur  multa. 


THE  TATLER. 


213 


No.  107.] 


Whereas,  Mr.  Jeffery  Groggram  has  surren- 
dered  himself,  by  his  letter  bearing  date  De- 
cember 7th,  and  has  sent  an  acknowledgment 
that  he  is  dead,  praying  an  order  to  the  com- 
pany of  upholders  for  interment  at  such  a rea- 
sonable rate  as  may  not  impoverish  his  heirs  : 
the  said  Groggram  having  been  dead  ever  sinee 
he  was  born,  and  added  nothing  to  his  small 
patrimony ; Mr.  BickerstafF  has  taken  the  pre- 
mises into  consideration  ; and,  being  sensible 
of  the  ingenuous  and  singular  behaviour  of  this 
petitioner,  pronounces  the  said  Jeffery  Grog- 
gram a live  man,  and  will  not  suffer  that  he 
should  bury  himself  out  of  modesty ; but  requires 
him  to  remain  among  the  living,  as  an  example 
to  those  obstinate  dead  men,  who  will  neither 
' labour  for  life,  nor  go  to  their  grave. 

N.  B.  Mr.  Groggram  is  the  first  person  that 
has  come  in  upon  Mr.  Bickerstaff’s  dead  war- 
rant. 

Florinda  demands,  by  her  letter  of  this  day, 
to  be  allowed  to  pass  for  a living  woman,  hav- 
ing danced  the  Derbyshire  hornpipe  in  the  pre- 
sence of  several  friends  on  Saturday  last. 

Granted ; provided  she  can  bring  proof,  that 
she  can  make  a pudding  on  the  twenty-fourth 
instant. 


No.  107.]  Thursday,  December  15,  1709. 
—Ah  miser ! 

Quanta  laboras  in  Charybdi, 

Digne  puer  raeliore  flamma?  Hor.  i.  Od.  xxvii.  20. 

Unhappy  youth ! doth  she  surprise  ? 

And  have  her  flames  possessed 
Thy  burning  breast  ? 

Thou  didst  deserve  a dart  from  kinder  eyes. 

Creech. 

Sheer -lane,  December  14. 

About  four  this  afternoon,  which  is  the  hour 
I usually  put  myself  in  a readiness  to  receive 
company,  there  entered  a gentleman,  who  I be- 
lieved at  first  came  upon  some  ordinary  ques- 
tion : but,  as  he  approached  nearer  to  me,  I saw 
in  his  countenance  a deep  sorrow,  mixed  with 
a certain  ingenuous  complacency,  that  gave 
me  sudden  good-will  towards  him.  He  stared, 
and  betrayed  an  absence  of  thought,  as  he  was 
going  to  communicate  his  business  to  me.  But 
at  last,  recovering  himself,  he  said  with  an  air 
of  great  respect,  ‘ Sir,  it  would  be  an  injury  to 
your  knowledge  in  the  occult  sciences,  to  tell 
you  what  is  my  distress ; I dare  say  you  read 
it  in  my  countenance  : I therefore  beg  your 
advice  to  the  most  unhappy  of  all  men.’  Much 
experience  has  made  me  particularly  sagacious 
in  the  discovery  of  distempers,  and  I soon  saw 
that  his  was  love.  I then  turned  to  my  common- 
place-book, and  found  his  case  under  the  word 
Coquette;  and  reading  over  the  catalogue  which 
I have  collected  out  of  this  great  city,  of  all 
under  that  character,  I saw,  at  the  name  of 
Cynthia,  his  fit  came  upon  him.  I repeated 
the  name  thrice  after  a musing  manner,  and 
immediately  perceived  his  pulse  quicken  two 
thirds  ; when  his  eyes,  instead  of  the  wildness 
with  which  they  appeared  at  his  entrance. 


looked  with  all  the  gentleness  imaginable  up- 
on me,  not  without  tears.  ‘ Oh  ! sir,’  said  he, 
‘ you  know  not  the  unworthy  usage  I have  met 
with  from  the  woman  my  soul  doats  on.  I 
could  gaze  at  her  to  the  end  of  my  being  ; yet 
when  I have  done  so,  for  some  time  past,  1 have 
found  her  eyes  fixed  on  another.  She  is  now 
two-and-twenty,  in  the  full  tyranny  of  her 
charms,  which  she  once  acknowledged  she  re- 
joiced in,  only  as  they  made  her  choice  of  me, 
out  of  a crowd  of  admirers,  the  more  obliging. 
‘But,  in  the  midst  of  this  happiness,  so  it  is, 
Mr.  Bickerstaff,  that  young  Quickset,  who  is 
just  come  to  town,  without  any  other  recom- 
mendation than  that  of  being  tolerably  hand- 
some, and  excessively  rich,  has  won  her  heart 
in  so  shameless  a manner,  that  she  dies  for 
him.  In  a word,  I would  consult  you,  how  to 
cure  myself  of  this  passion  for  an  ungrateful 
woman,  who  triumphs  in  her  falsehood,  and 
can  make  no  man  happy,  because  her  own 
satisfaction  consists  chiefly  in  being  capable  of 
giving  distress.  I know  Quickset  is  at  present 
considerable  with  her,  for  no  other  reason  but 
that  he  can  be  without  her,  and  feel  no  pain 
in  the  loss.  Let  me  therefore  desire  you,  sir, 
to  fortify  my  reason  against  the  levity  of  an 
inconstant,  who  ought  only  to  be  treated  with 
neglect.’ 

All  this  time  I was  looking  over  my  receipts, 
and  asked  him,  ‘ if  he  had  any  good  winter 
boots.’ — ‘ Boots,  sir  !’  said  my  patient. — I went 
on  ; ‘You  may  easily  reach  Harwich  in  a day, 
so  as  to  be  there  when  the  packet  goes  off.’ — 

‘ Sir,’  said  the  lover,  ‘ I find  you  design  me  for 
travelling  ; but,  alas ! I have  no  language  ; it 
will  be  the  same  thing  to  me  as  solitude,  to  be 
in  a strange  country.  I have,  continued  he, 
sighing,  been  many  years  in  love  with  this  crea- 
ture, and  have  almost  lost  even  my  English,  at 
least  to  speak  such  as  any  body  else  does.  I 
asked  a tenant  of  ours,  who  came  up  to  town 
the  other  day  with  rent,  whether  the  flowery 
mead  near  my  father’s  house  in  the  country  had 
any  shepherd  in  it  ? I have  called  a cave  a 
grotto  these  three  years,  and  must  keep  ordina- 
ry company,  and  frequent  busy  people  for  some 
time,  before  I can  recover  my  common  words.’ 

I smiled  at  his  raillery  upon  himself,  though  I 
well  saw  it  came  from  a heavy  heart.  ‘You 
are,’  said  I,  ‘ acquainted,  to  be  sure,  with  some 
of  the  general  officers : suppose  you  made  a 
campaign  ?’ — ‘ If  I did,’  said  he,  ‘ I should  ven- 
ture more  than  any  man  there,  for  I should  be 
in  danger  of  starving ; my  father  is  such  an 
untoward  old  gentleman,  that  he  would  tell  me 
he  found  it  hard  enough  to  pay  his  taxes  to- 
wards the  war,  without  making  it  more  ex- 
pensive by  an  allowance  to  me.  With  all  this, 
he  is  as  fond  as  he  is  rugged,  and  I am  his 
only  son.’ 

I looked  upon  the  young  gentleman  with 
much  tenderness,  and  not  like  a physician,  but 
a friend ; for,  I talked  to  him  so  largely,  that  if 
I had  parcelled  my  discourse  into  distinct  pre- 
scriptions, I am  confident,  I gave  him  two  hun- 
dred pounds  worth  of  advice.  He  heard  me 
with  great  attention,  bowing,  smiling,  and 
showing  all  other  instances  of  that  natural  good 
breeding  which  ingenuous  tempers  pay  to  those 


214 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  107. 


who  are  elder  and  wiser  than  themselves.  I 
entertained  him  to  the  following  purpose  : ‘ I 
am  sorry,  sir,  that  your  passion  is  of  so  long  a 
date,  for  evils  are  much  more  curable  in  their 
beginnings  ; but,  at  the  same  time,  must  allow, 
that  you  are  not  to  be  blamed,  since  your  youth 
and  merit  has  been  abused  by  one  of  the  most 
charming,  but  the  most  unworthy  sort  of  wo- 
men, the  Coquettes.  A Coquette  is  a chaste  jilt, 
and  differs  only  from  a common  one,  as  a soldier, 
who  is  perfect  in  exercise,  does  from  one  that 
is  actually  in  service.  This  grief,  like  all 
others,  is  to  be  cured  only  by  time  ; and  al- 
though you  are  convinced  this  moment,  as  much 
as  you  will  be  ten  years  hence,  that  she  ought 
to  be  scorned  and  neglected,  you  see  you  must 
not  expect  your  remedy  from  the  force  of  reason. 
The  cure,  then,  is  only  in  time,  and  the  hasten- 
ing of  the  cure,  only  in  the  manner  of  employing 
that  time.  You  have  answered  me  as  to  travel 
and  a campaign,  so  that  we  have  only  Great 
Britain  to  avoid  her  in.  Be  then  yourself,  and 
listen  to  the  following  rules,  which  only  can 
be  of  use  to  you  in  this  unaccountable  distem- 
per, wherein  the  patient  is  often  averse  even  to 
his  recovery.  It  has  been  of  benefit  to  some  to 
apply  themselves  to  business  ; but  as  that  may 
not  lie  in  your  way,  go  down  to  your  estate, 
mind  your  fox-hounds,  and  venture  the  life  you 
are  weary  of,  over  every  hedge  and  ditch  in  the 
country.  These  are  wholesome  remedies  ; but 
if  you  can  have  resolution  enough,  rather  stay 
in  town,  and  recover  yourself  even  in  the  town 
where  she  inhabits.  Take  particular  care  to 
avoid  all  places  where  you  may  possibly  meet 
her,  and  shun  the  sight  of  every  thing  whieh 
may  bring  her  to  your  remembrance;  there  is 
an  infection  in  all  that  relates  to  her  : you  will 
find  her  house,  her  chariot,  her  domestics,  and 
her  very  lap-dog,  are  so  many  instruments  of 
torment.  Tell  me,  seriously,  do  you  think  you 
could  bear  the  sight  of  her  fan  ?’  He  shook  his 
head  at  the  question,  and  said,  ‘ Ah  ! Mr.  Bick- 
erstaff,  you  must  have  been  a patient,  or  you 
could  not  have  been  so  good  a physician.’ — ‘ To 
tell  you  truly,’  said  I,  ‘ about  the  thirtieth  year 
of  my  age,  I received  a wound  that  has  still  left 
a scar  in  my  mind,  never  to  be  quite  worn  out 
by  time  or  philosophy. 

‘ The  means  which  I found  most  effectual  for 
my  cure,  were,  reflections  upon  the  ill  usage  I 
had  received  from  the  woman  I Iov.cd,  and  the 
pleasure  I saw  her  take  in  my  sufferings. 

‘ I considered  the  distress  she  brought  upon 
me  the  greatest  that  could  befall  a human  crea- 
ture, at  the  same  time  that  she  did  not  inflict 
this  upon  one  who  was  her  enemy,  one  that  had 
done  her  an  injury,  one  that  had  wished  her  ill ; 
but  on  the  man  who  loved  her  more  than  any 
else  loved  her,  and  more  than  it  w^as  possible  foi 
him  to  love  any  other  person. 

‘ In  the  next  place,  I took  pains  to  consider 
her  in  all  her  imperfections  ; and,  that  I might 
be  sure  to  hear  of  them  constantly,  kept  company 
with  those,  her  female  friends,  who  were  her 
dearest  and  most  intimate  acquaintance. 

‘Amongst  her  highest  imperfections,  I still 
dwelt  upon  her  baseness  of  mind  and  ingrati- 
tude, that  made  her  triumph  in  the  pain  and 


anguish  of  the  man  who  loved  her,  and  of  one 
who,  in  those  days,  without  vanity  be  it  spoken, 
was  thought  to  deserve  her  love. 

‘ To  shorten  my  story,  she  was  married  to 
another,  which  would  have  distracted  me,  had 
he  proved  a good  husband ; but,  to  my  great 
pleasure,  he  used  her  at  first  with  coldness,  and 
afterwards  with  contempt.  I hear  he  still  treats 
her  very  ill ; and  am  informed,  that  she  often 
says  to  her  women,  this  is  a just  revenge  for  my 
falsehood  to  my  first  love  : what  a wretch  am  I, 
that  might  have  been  married  to  the  famous 
Mr.  Bickerstaff !’ 

My  patient  looked  upon  me  with  a kind  of 
melancholy  pleasure,  and  told  me,  ‘ He  did  not 
think  it  was  possible  for  a man  to  live  to  the  age 
I am  now  of,  who,  in  his  thirtieth  year,  had  been 
tortured  with  that  passion  in  its  violence.  For 
my  part,’  said  he,  ‘ I can  neither  eat,  drink,  nor 
sleep  in  it ; nor  keep  eompany  with  any  body 
but  two  or  three  friends  who  are  in  the  same 
condition.’ 

‘ There,’  answered  I,  ‘ you  are  to  blame  ; for 
as  ) ou  ought  to  avoid  nothing  more  than  keeping 
eompany  with  yourself,  so  you  ought  to  be  par- 
ticularly cautious  of  keeping  company  with  men 
like  yourself.  As  long  as  you  do  this,  you  do 
but  indulge  your  distemper. 

‘ I must  not  dismiss  you  without  further  in- 
structions.  If  possible,  transfer  your  passion 
from  the  woman  you  are  now  in  love  with  to 
another  ; or,  if  you  cannot  do  that,  change  the 
passion  itself  into  some  other  passion,  that  is, 
to  speak  more  plainly,  find  out  some  other 
agreeable  woman  : or,  if  you  eannot  do  this, 
grow  covetous,  ambitious,  litigious  ; turn  your 
love  of  women  into  that  of  profit,  preferment, 
reputation  ; and  for  a time  give  up  yourself  en- 
tirely to  the  pursuit. 

‘ This  is  a method  we  sometimes  take  in 
physic,  when  we  turn  a desperate  disease  into 
one  we  can  more  easily  cure.’ 

He  made  little  answer  to  all  this,  but  crying 
out,  ‘Ah,  sir  1’  for  liis  passion  reduced  liis  dis- 
course to  interjections. 

‘ There  is  one  thing,’  added  I,  ‘ which  is 
present  death  to  a man  in  your  condition,  and, 
therefore,  to  be  avoided  with  the  greatest  care 
and  caution  : that  is,  in  a word,  to  think  of  your 
mistress  and  rival  together,  whether  walking, 
discoursing,  dallying’ — ‘ The  devil !’  he  cried 
out, ‘w’ho  can  bear  it?’  To  compose  him,  for 
I pitied  him  very  much  ; ‘ The  time  will  come,’ 
said  I,  ‘ when  you  shall  not  only  bear  it,  but 
laugh  at  it.  As  a preparation  to  it,  ride  every 
morning,  an  hour  at  least,  with  the  wind  full 
n your  face.  Upon  your  return,  recolleet  the 
several  precepts  which  I have  now  given  you, 
and  drink  upon  them  a bottle  of  Spa-water. 
Repeat  this  every  day  for  a month  successively, 
and  let  me  see  you  at  the  end  of  it.’  He  w as 
taking  his  leave,  with  many  thanks,  and  some 
appearance  of  consolation  in  his  countenance, 
wdien  I called  him  back  to  acquaint  him,  ‘that 
I had  private  information  cf  a design  of  the 
coquettes  to  buy  up  all  the  true  Spa-w’ater  in 
towm  :’  upon  which  he  took  his  leave  in  haste, 
with  a resolution  to  get  all  things  ready  for 
entering  uj)on  his  regimen  the  next  morning. 


215 


THE  TATLER. 


No.  108.] 

No.  108.]  Saturday^  Decemher  17,  1709. 

Pronaque  cum  spectent  aniinalia  caetera  terram. 
Oshomini  sublime  deciit : Coelumque  tueri 
Jussit Ovid,  Met.  i.  85. 

Thus,  while  the  mute  creation  downward  bend 
Their  sight,  and  to  their  earthly  mother  tend, 

Man  looks  aloft,  and  with  erected  eyes 
Beholds  his  own  hereditary  skies.  Dryden. 

Sheer-lane^  December  16. 

It  is  not  to  be  imagined  how  great  an  effect 
well-disposed  lights,  with  proper  forms  and 
orders  in  assemblies,  have  upon  some  tempers. 
I am  sure  I feel  it  in  so  extraordinary  a manner, 
that  I cannot  in  a day  or  two  get  out  of  my  im- 
agination any  very  beautiful  or  disagreeable  im- 
pression which  I receive  on  such  occasions. 
For  this  reason  I frequently  look  in  at  tbe 
playhouse,  in  order  to  enlarge  my  thoughts,  and 
warm  my  mind  with  some  new  ideas,  that  may 
be  serviceable  to  me  in  my  lucubrations. 

In  this  disposition  I entered  the  theatre  the 
other  day,  and  placed  myself  in  a corner  of  it 
very  convenient  for  seeing  without  being  my- 
self observed.  I found  the  audience  hushed  in  a 
very  deep  attention,  and  did  not  question  but  some 
noble  tragedy  was  just  then  in  its  crisis,  or  that 
an  incident  was  to  be  unravelled  which  would 
determine  the  fate  of  a hero.  While  I was  in 
this  suspense,  expecting  every  moment  to  see 
my  old  friend  Mr.  Betterton  appear  in  all  the 
majesty  of  distress,  to  my  unspeakable  amaze- 
ment there  came  up  a monster  with  a face  be- 
tween his  feet ; and,  as  I was  looking  on,  he 
raised  himself  on  one  leg  in  such  a perpendicular 
posture,  that  the  other  grew  in  a direct  line 
above  his  head.  It  afterwards  twisted  itself  into 
the  motions  and  wreath ings  of  several  different 
animals,  and,  after  a great  variety  of  shapes  and 
transformations,  went  off  the  stage  in  the  figure 
of  a human  creature.  The  admiration,  the  ap- 
plause, the  satisfaction  of  the  audience,  during 
this  strange  entertainment,  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed. I was  very  mucli  out  of  countenance 
for  my  dear  countiyrnen,  and  looked  about  with 
some  apprehensiot),  for  fear  any  foreigner  should 
be  present.  Is  it  possible,  thought  I,  that  human 
nature  can  rejoice  in  its  disgrace,  and  take 
pleasure  in  seeing  its  own  figure  turned  to 
ridicule,  and  distorted  into  forms  that  raise 
horror  and  aversion  ? There  is  something  dis- 
ingenuous and  immoral  in  the  being  able  to 
bear  such  a sight.  Men  of  elegant  and  noble 
minds  are  shocked  at  seeing  the  characters  of 
persons  who  deserve  esteem  for  their  virtue, 
knowledge,  or  services  to  their  country,  placed 
in  wrong  lights,  and  by  misrepresentation  made 
the  subject  of  buffoonery.  Such  a nice  abhor- 
rence is  not  indeed  to  be  found  among  the 
vulgar ; but,  methinks,  it  is  wonderful,  that 
those  who  have  nothing  but  the  outward  figure 
to  distinguish  them  as  men,  should  delight 
in  seeing  humanity  abused,  vilified,  and  dis- 
graced. 

I must  confess,  there  is  nothing  that  more 
pleases  me,  in  all  that  I read  in  books,  or  see 
among  mankind,  than  such  passages  as  repre- 
sent human  nature  in  its  proper  dignity.  As 
man  is  a creature  made  up  of  different  extremes. 


he  has  something  in  him  very  great  and  very 
mean.  A skilful  artist  may  draw  an  excellent 
picture  of  him  in  either  of  these  views.  The 
finest  authors  of  antiquity  have  taken  him  on 
the  more  advantageous  side.  They  cultivate 
the  natural  grandeur  of  the  soul,  raise  in  her  a 
generous  ambition,  feed  her  with  hopes  of  im- 
mortality and  perfection,  and  do  all  they  can  to 
widen  the  partition  between  the  virtuous  and 
the  vicious,  by  making  the  difference  betwixt 
them  as  great  as  between  gods  and  brutes.  In 
short,  it  is  impossible  to  read  a passage  in  Plato, 
Tully,  and  a thousand  other  ancient  moralists, 
without  being  a greater  and  a better  man  for  it. 
On  the  contrary,  I could  never  read  any  of  our 
modish  French  authors,  or  those  of  our  own 
country,  who  are  the  imitators  and  admirers 
of  that  trifling  nation,  without  being  for  some 
time  out  of  humour  with  myself,  and  at  every 
thing  about  me.  Their  business  is,  to  depreciate 
human  nature,  and  consider  it  under  its  worst 
appearances.  They  give  mean  interpretations 
and  base  motives  to  the  worthiest  actions ; they 
resolve  virtue  and  vice  into  constitution.  In 
short,  they  endeavour  to  make  no  distinction 
between  man  and  man,  or  between  the  species 
of  men  and  that  of  brutes.  As  an  instance  of 
this  kind  of  authors,  among  many  others,  let 
any  one  examine  the  celebrated  Rochefoucault, 
who  is  the  great  philosopher  for  administering 
of  consolation  to  the  idle,  the  envious,  and 
worthless  part  of  mankind. 

I remember  a young  gentleman  of  moderate 
understanding,  but  great  vivacity,  who,  by 
dipping  into  many  authors  of  this  nature,  had 
got  a little  smattering  of  knowledge,  just  enough 
to  make  an  atheist  or  a free-thinker,  but  not  a 
philosopher  or  a man  of  sense.  With  these  ac- 
complishments, he  went  to  visit  his  father  in 
the  country,  who  was  a plain,  rough,  honest 
man,  and  wise,  though  not  learned.  The  son, 
who  took  all  opportunities  to  show  his  learning, 
began  to  establish  a new  religion  in  the  family^ 
and  to  enlarge  the  narrowness  of  their  country 
notions ; in  which  he  succeeded  so  well,  that  he 
had  seduced  the  butler  by  his  table-talk,  and 
staggered  his  eldest  sister.  The  old  gentleman 
began  to  be  alarmed  at  the  schisms  that  arose 
among  his  children,  but  did  not  yet  believe  his 
son’s  doctrine  to  be  so  pernicious  as  it  really  was, 
until  one  day  talking  of  his  setting  dog,  the  son 
said,  ‘ he  did  not  question  but  Tray  was  as  im- 
mortal as  any  one  of  the  family  and  in  the 
heat  of  the  argument  told  liis  father,  ‘that,  for 
his  own  part,  he  expected  to  die  like  a dog.’ 
Upon  which  the  old  man,  starting  up  in  a very 
great  passion,  cried  out,  ‘Then,  sirrah,  you 
shall  live  like  one and  taking  his  cane  in  his 
hand,  cudgelled  him  out  of  his  system.  This 
had  so  good  an  effect  upon  him,  that  he  took  up 
from  that  day,  fell  to  reading  good  books,  and  is 
now  a bencher  in  the  Middle  Temple. 

I do  not  mention  this  cudgelling  part  of  the 
story  with  a design  to  engage  the  secular  arm 
in  matters  of  this  nature ; but  certainly,  if  it 
ever  exerts  itself  in  affairs  of  opinion  and  spe- 
culation, it  ought  to  do  it  on  such  shallow  and 
despicable  pretenders  to  knowledge,  who  endea- 
vour to  give  man  dark  and  uncomfortable  pros- 
pects of  his  being,  and  destroy  those  princi- 


216 


THE  TATLER. 


pies  which  are  the  support,  happiness,  and 
glory  of  all  public  societies,  as  well  as  private 
persons. 

I think  it  is  one  of  Pythagoras’s  golden  say- 
ings, ‘ That  a man  should  take  care  above  all 
things  to  have  a due  respect  for  himself.’  And 
it  is  certain,  that  this  licentious  sort  of  authors, 
who  are  for  depreciating  mankind,  endeavour 
to  disappoint  and  undo  what  the  most  refined 
spirits  have  been  labouring  to  advance  since  the 
beginning  of  the  world.  The  very  design  of 
dress,  good-breeding,  outward  ornaments,  and 
ceremony,  were  to  lift  up  human  nature,  and 
set  it  otf  to  an  advantage.  Architecture,  paint- 
ing, and  statuary,  were  invented  with  the  same 
design : as,  indeed,  every  art  and  science  con- 
tributes to  the  embellishment  of  life,  and  to  the 
wearing  off  and  throwing  into  shades  the  mean 
and  low  parts  of  our  nature.  Poetry  carries  on 
this  great  end  more  than  all  the  rest,  as  may  be 
seen  in  the  following  passage,  taken  out  of  sir 
Francis  Bacon’s  ‘Advancement  of  Learning,’ 
which  gives  a truer  and  better  account  of  this 
art  than  all  the  volumes  that  were  ever  written 
upon  it. 

‘Poetry,  especially  heroical,  seems  to  be 
raised  altogether  from  a noble  foundation, 
which  makes  much  for  the  dignity  of  man’s 
nature.  For  seeing  this  sensible  world  is  in 
dignity  inferior  to  the  soul  of  man,  poesy  seems 
to  endow  human  nature  with  that  which  history 
denies;  and  to  give  satisfaction  to  the  mind, 
with  at  least  the  shadow  of  things,  where  the 
substance  cannot  be  had.  For,  if  the  matter  be 
thoroughly  considered,  a strong  argument  may 
be  drawn  from  poesy,  that  a more  stately  great- 
ness of  things,  a more  perfect  order,  and  a more 
beautiful  variety,  delights  the  soul  of  man,  than 
any  way  can  be  found  in  nature  since  the  fall. 
Wherefore,  seeing  the  acts  and  events  which 
are  the  subjects  of  true  history,  are  not  of  that 
amplitude  as  to  content  the  mind  of  man,  poesy 
is  ready  at  hand  to  feign  acts  more  heroical. 
Because  true  history  reports  the  successes  of  busi- 
ness not  proportionable  to  the  merit  of  virtues 
and  vices,  poesy  corrects  it,  and  presents  events 
and  fortunes  according  to  desert,  and  according 
to  the  law  of  providence : because  true  history, 
through  the  frequent  satiety  and  similitude  of 
things,  works  a distaste  and  misprison  in  the 
mind  of  man  ; poesy  cheereth  and  refresheth  the 
soul,  chaunting  things  rare  and  various,  and  full 
of  vicissitudes.  So  as  poesy  serveth  and  con- 
ferreth  to  delectation,  magnanimity,  and  mo- 
rality ; and,  therefore,  it  may  seem  deservedly 
to  have  some  participation  of  divineness,  be- 
cause it  doth  raise  the  mind,  and  exalt  the  spirit 
with  high  raptures,  by  proportioning  the  shows 
of  things  to  the  desires  of  the  mind,  and  not 
submitting  the  mind  to  things,  as  reason  and 
history  do.  And  by  these  allurements  and  con- 
gruities,  whereby  it  cherisheth  the  soul  of  man, 
joined  also  with  consort  of  music,  whereby  it 
may  more  sweetly  insinuate  itself,  it  hath  won 
such  access,  that  it  hath  been  in  estimation  even 
in  rude  limes  and  barbarous  nations,  when 
other  learning  stood  excluded.’ 

But  there  is  nothing  which  favours  and  falls 
in  with  this  natural  greatness  and  dignity  of 
human  nature  so  much  as  religion,  which  does 


[No.  109 

not  only  promise  the  entire  refinement  of  the 
mind,  but  the  glorifying  of  the  body,  and  the 
immortality  of  both. 


No.  109.]  Tuesday^  December  20,  1709. 

Perditur  hsc  inter  miseris  lux 

Hor.  2.  Sat.  vi.  59- 

In  this  giddy,  busy'maze, 

I lose  the  sun-shine  of  my  days.  Francis^ 

Sheer-lane,  December  19. 

There  has  not  some  years  been  such  a tumult 
in  our  neighbourhood  as  this  evening  about  six. 
At  the  lower  end  of  the  lane  the  word  was  given, 
that  there  was  a great  funeral  coming  by.  The 
next  moment  came  forward,  and  in  a very  hasty,, 
instead  of  solemn  manner,  a long  train  of  lights, 
when  at  last  a footman,  in  very  high  youth  and 
health,  with  all  his  force,  ran  through  the  whole 
art  of  beating  the  door  of  the  house  next  to  me, 
and  ended  his  rattle  with  the  true  finishing  rap. 
This  did  not  only  bring  one  to  the  door  at  which 
he  knocked,  but  to  that  of  every  one  in  the  lane 
in  an  instant.  Among  the  rest,  my  country 
maid  took  the  alarm,  and  immediately  running 
to  me,  told  me,  ‘ there  was  a fine,  fine  lady,  who 
had  three  men  with  burial  torches  making  way 
before  her,  carried  by  two  men  upon  poles,  with 
looking-glasses  on  each  side  of  her,  and  one 
glass  also  before,  she  herself  appearing  the 
prettiest  that  ever  was.’  The  girl  was  going  on 
in  her  story,  when  the  lady  was  come  to  my 
door  in  her  chair,  having  mistaken  the  house. 
As  soon  as  she  entered  I saw  she  was  Mr. 
Isaac’s  scholar,  by  her  speaking  air,  and  the  be- 
coming stop  she  made  when  she  began  her 
apology.  ‘ You  will  be  surprised,  sir,’  said  she, 

‘ that  I take  this  liberty,  who  am  utterly  a 
stranger  to  you ; besides  that  it  may  be  thought 
an  indecorum  that  I visit  a man.’  She  made 
here  a pretty  hesitation,  and  held  her  fan  to  her 
face  ; then,  as  if  recovering  her  resolution,  she 
proceeded — ‘ But  I think  you  have  said,  that 
men  of  your  age  are  of  no  sex ; therefore,  I may 
be  as  free  with  you  as  one  of  my  own.’  The 
lady  did  me  the  honour  to  consult  me  on  some  - 
particular  matters,  which  I am  not  at  liberty  tore- 
port.  But,  before  she  took  her  leave,  she  produced 
a long  list  of  names,  which  she  looked  upon,  to 
know  whither  she  was  to  go  next.  I must  con- 
fess,  I could  hardly  forbear  discovering  to  her, 
immediately,  that  I secretly  laughed  at  the  fan- 
tastical  regularity  she  observed  in  throwing 
away  her  time ; but  I seemed  to  indulge  her  in  it, 
out  of  a curiosity  to  hear  her  own  sense  of  her 
way  of  life.  ‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,’  said  she,  ‘ you 
cannot  imagine  how  much  you  are  obliged  to 
me,  in  staying  thus  long  with  you,  having  so 
many  visits  to  make  ; and,  indeed,  if  I had  not 
hopes  that  a third  part  of  those  I am  going  to 
will  be  abroad,  I should  be  unable  to  despatch 
them  this  evening.’ — ‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘ are 
you  in  all  this  haste  and  perplexity,  and  only 
going  to  sUch  as  you  have  not  a mind  to  see  V — 

‘ Yes,  sir,’  said  she,  ‘ I have  several  now  with 
whom  I keep  a constant  correspondence,  and 
return  visit  for  visit  punctually  every  week,  and 


No.  109.] 


THE  TATLER. 


217 


yet  we  have  not  seen  each  other  since  last 
November  was  twelvemonth. 

She  went  on  with  a very  good  air,  and  fixing 
her  eyes  on  her  list,  told  me,  ‘ she  was  obliged 
to  ride  about  three  miles  and  a half  before  she 
arrived  at  her  own  house.’  I asked  ‘after  what 
manner  this  list  was  taken  ; whether  the  persons 
writ  their  names  to  her,  and  desired  that  favour, 
or  how  she  knew  she  was  not  eheated  in  her 
muster  roll  V — ‘ The  method  we  take,’  says  she, 
‘ is,  that  the  porter  or  servant  who  comes  to  the 
door,  writes  down  all  the  names  who  come  to 
see  us,  and  all  such  are  entitled  to  a return  of 
their  visit.’ — ‘ But,’  said  I,  ‘ madam,  I presume 
those  who  are  searching  for  each  other,  and 
know  one  another  by  messages,  may  be  under- 
stood as  candidates  only  for  each  other’s  favour  ; 
and  that,  after  so  many  how-do-ye-does,  you 
proceed  to  visit  or  not,  as  you  like  the  run  of 
each  other’s  reputation  or  fortune.’ — ‘You  un- 
derstand it  aright,’  said  she  ; ‘ and  we  become 
friends,  as  soon  as  we  are  convinced  that  our 
dislike  to  each  other  may  be  of  any  consequence  : 
for,  to  tell  you  truly,’  said  she,  ‘ for  it  is  in  vain 
to  hide  any  thing  from  a man  of  your  penetra- 
tion, genera]  visits  are  not  made  out  of  good-will, 
but  for  fear  of  ill-will.  Punctuality  in  this  case 
is  often  a suspicious  circumstance ; and  there  is 
nothing  so  common  as  to  have  a lady  say,  “ I 
hope  she  has  heard  nothing  of  what  I said  of 
her,  that  she  grows  so  great  with  me  !”  But,  in- 
deed, my  porter  is  so  dull  and  negligent^  tliat  I 
fear  he  has  not  put  down  half  the  people  I owe 
visits  to.’ — ‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘methinks  it  would 
be  very  proper  if  your  gentleman-usher,  or 
groom  of  the  chamber,  were  always  to  keep  an 
account,  by  way  of  debtor  and  creditor.  I know 
a city  lady  who  uses  that  method,  which  I tliink 
very  laudable;  for  though  you  may  possibly,  at 
the  court  end  of  the  town,  receive  at  the  door, 
and  light  up  better  than  within  Temple- bar,  yet 
I must  do  that  justice  to  my  friends,  the  ladies 
within  the  walls,  to  own,  that  they  are  much 
more  exact  in  their  correspondence.  The  lady 
I was  going  to  mention  as  an  example,  has  al- 
ways the  second  apprentice  out  of  the  counting- 
house  for  her  own  use  on  her  visiting-day,  and 
he  sets  down  very  methodically  all  the  visits 
which  are  made  her.  I remember  very  well, 
that  on  the  first  of  January  last,  when  she  made 
up  her  account  for  the  year  1708,  it  stood  thus  ; 


‘ Mrs.  Courtwood — 
Debtor. 

To  seventeen  i 
hundred  and  > 
four  visits  re- 1704 
ceived. 


Per  Contra — Creditor. 

By  eleven  hun-  > 
dred  and  nine  > 1109 
paid.  3 

Due  to  balance  595 


1704 

‘ This  gentlewoman  is  a woman  of  great  eco- 
nomy, and  was  not  afraid  to  go  to  the  bottom 
of  her  affairs  ; and,  therefore,  ordered  her  ap- 
prentice to  give  her  credit  for  my  lady  Easy’s 
impertinent  visits  upon  wrong  days,  arid  deduct 
only  twelve  per  cent.  He  had  orders  also  to 
subtract  one  and  a half  from  the  whole  of  such 
as  she  had  denied  herself  to  before  she  kept  a 
day ; and  after  taking  those  proper  articles  of 


credit  on  her  side,  she  was  in  arrear  but  five 
hundred.  She  ordered  her  husband  to  buy  in  a 
couple  of  fresh  coach-horses;  and  with  no  other 
loss  than  the  death  of  two  footmen,  and  a church- 
yard cough  brought  upon  her  coachman,  she 
was  clear  in  the  world  on  the  tenth  of  February 
last,  and  keeps  so  before-hand,  that  she  pays 
every  body  their  own,  and  yet  makes  daily  new 
acquaintances.’ 

I know  not  whether  this  agreeable  visitant 
was  fired  with  the  example  of  the  lady  I told 
her  of,  but  she'immediately  vanished  out  of  my 
sight,  it  being,  it  seems,  as  necessary  a point  of 
good-breeding,  to  go  off  as  if  you  stole  something 
out  of  the  house,  as  it  is  to  enter  as  if  you  came 
to  fire  it.  I do  not  know  one  thing  that  contri- 
butes so  much  to  the  lessening  the  esteem  men 
of  sense  have  to  the  fair  sex,  as  this  article  of 
visits.  A young  lady  cannot  be  married,  but  all 
impertinents  in  town  must  be  beating  the  tattoo 
from  one  quarter  of  the  town  to  the  other,  to 
show  they  know  what  passes.  If  a man  of  ho- 
nour should  once  in  an  age  marry  a woman  of 
merit  for  her  intrinsic  value,  the  envious  things 
are  all  in  motion  in  an  instant  to  make  it  known 
to  the  sisterhood  as  an  indiscretion,  and  publish 
to  the  town  how  many  pounds  he  might  have 
had  to  have  been  troubled  with  one  of  them. 
After  they  are  tired  with  that,  the  next  thing  is, 
to  make  their  compliments  to  the  married  cou- 
ple and  their  relations.  They  are  equally  busy 
at  a funeral,  and  the  death  of  a person  of  quality 
is  always  attended  with  the  murder  of  several 
sets  of  coach-horses  and  chairmen.  In  both 
cases,  the  visitants  are  wholly  unaffected,  either 
with  joy  or  sorrow  ; for  which  reason,  their  con- 
gratulations and  condolences  are  equally  words 
of  course  ; and  one  would  be  thought  wonder- 
fully ill-bred,  that  should  build  upon  such  ex- 
pressions as  encouragements  to  expect  from  them 
any  instance  of  friendship. 

Thus  are  the  true  causes  of  living,  and  the 
solid  pleasures  in  life,  lost  in  show,  imposture, 
and  impertinence.  As  for  my  part,  I think 
most  of  the  misfortunes  in  families  arise  from 
the  trifling  way  the  women  have  in  spending 
their  time,  and  gratifying  only  their  eyes  and 
ears,  instead  of  their  reason  and  understanding. 

A fine  young  woman,  bred  under  a visiting 
mother,  knows  all  that  is  possible  for  her  to  be 
acquainted  with  by  report,  and  sees  the  virtuous 
and  the  vicious  used  so  indifferently,  that  the 
fears  she  is  born  with  are  abated,  and  desires 
indulged,  in  proportion  to  her  love  of  that  light 
and  trifling  conversation.  I know  I talk  like 
an  old  man ; but  I must  go  on  to  say,  that  I 
think  the  general  reception  of  mixed  company, 
and  the  pretty  fellows  that  are  admitted  at  those 
assemblies,  give  a young  woman  so  false  an  idea 
of  life,  that  she  is  generally  bred  up  with  a scorn 
of  that  sort  of  merit  in  a man,  which  only  can 
make  her  happy  in  marriage;  and  the  wretch, 
to  whose  lot  she  falls,  very  often  receives  in  his 
arms  a coquette,  with  the  refuse  of  a heart  long 
before  given  away  to  a coxcomb. 

Having  received  from  the  society  of  uphold- 
ers sundry  complaints  of  the  obstinate  and  re- 
fractory behaviour  of  several  dead  persons,  who 
have  been  guilty  of  very  gieat  outrages  and 


218 


THE  TATLER. 


disorders,  and  by  that  means  elapsed  the  proper 
time  of  their  interment;  and  having,  on  the 
other  hand,  received  many  appeals  from  the 
aforesaid  dead  persons,  wherein  they  desire  to 
be  heard  before  such  their  interment ; I have 
set  apart  Wednesday,  the  twenty-first  instant, 
as  an  extraordinary  court-day  for  the  hearing 
of  both  parties.  If,  therefore,  any  one  can  al- 
ledge why  they,  or  any  of  their  acquaintance, 
should  or  should  not  be  buried,  I desire  they 
may  be  ready  with  their  witnesses  at  that 
time,  or  that  they  will  for  ever  after  hold  their 
tongues. 

N.  B.  This  is  the  last  hearing  on  this  sub- 
ject. 


No.  110.]  Thursday^  December  22,  1709. 

— 0,ua3  lucis  miseris  tam  dira  cupido 

Virg.  iEn.  vi.  721. 

Gods ! can  the  wretches  long  for  life  again  ? 

Pitt. 

Sheer -lane,  December  21. 

As  soon  as  I had  placed  myself  in  my  chair 
of  judicature,  I ordered  my  clerk,  Mr.  Lillie, 
to  read  to  the  assembly,  who  were  gathered  to- 
gather  according  to  notice,  a certain  declaration, 
by  way  of  charge,  to  open  the  purpose  of  my 
session,  which  tended  only  to  this  explanation, 
that  as  other  courts  were  often  called  to  demand 
the  execution  of  persons  dead  in  law  ; so  this 
was  held  to  give  the  last  orders  relating  to  those 
who  are  dead  in  reason.  The  solicitor  of  the 
new  company  of  upholders  near  the  Hay-market, 
appeared  in  behalf  of  that  useful  society,  and 
brought  in  an  accusation  of  a young  woman, 
who  herself  stood  at  the  bar  before  me.  Mr.  Lil- 
lie read  her  indictment,  which  was  in  substance, 
* That,  whereas,  Mrs.  Rebecca  Pindust,  of  the 
parish  of  Saint  Martin-in-the-Fields,  had,  by 
the  use  of  one  instrument  called  a looking-glass, 
and  by  the  further  use  of  certain  attire,  made 
either  of  cambrick,  muslin,  or  other  linen  wares, 
upon  her  head,  attained  to  such  an  evil  art  and 
magical  force  in  the  motion  of  her  eyes  and 
turn  of  her  countenance,  that  she,  the  said  Re- 
becca, had  put  to  death  several  young  men  of 
the  said  parish  ; and  that  the  said  young  men 
had  acknowledged  in  certain  papers,  commonly 
called  love-letters,  which  were  produced  in 
court,  gilded  on  the  edges,  and  sealed  with  a 
particular  wax,  with  certain  amorous  and  en- 
chanting words  wrought  upon  the  said  seals, 
that  they  died  for  the  said  Rebecca : and, 
whereas  the  said  Rebecca  persisted  in  the  said 
evil  practice  ; this  way  of  life  the  said  society 
construed  to  be,  according  to  former  edicts,  a 
state  of  death,  and  demanded  an  order  for  the 
interment  of  the  said  Rebecca.’ 

I looked  upon  the  maid  with  great  humanity, 
and  desired  her  to  make  answer  to  what  was 
said  against  her.  She  said,  ‘ It  was  indeed  true, 
that  she  had  practised  all  the  arts  and  means 
she  could,  to  dispose  of  herself  happily  in  mar- 
riage, but  thought  she  did  not  come  under  the 
censure  expressed  in  my  writings  for  the  same  ; | 


[No.  no. 

and  humbly  hoped  I would  not  condemn  her  for 
the  ignorance  of  her  accusers,  who,  according 
to  their  own  words,  had  rather  represented  her 
killing,  than  dead.’  She  further  alleged,  ‘ That 
the  expressions  mentioned  in  the  papers  written 
to  her  were  become  mere  words,  and  that  she  had 
been  always  ready  to  marry  any  of  those  who 
said  they  died  for  her  ; but  that  they  made  their 
escape  as  soon  as  they  found  themselves  pitied 
or  believed.’  She  ended  her  discourse,  by  de- 
siring I would  for  the  future  settle  the  meaning 
of  the  words  ‘ I die,’  in  letters  of  love. 

Mrs.  Pindust  behaved  herself  with  such  an 
air  of  innocence,  that  she  easily  gained  credit, 
and  was  acquitted.  Upon  which  occasion,  I 
gave  it  as  a standing  rule,  ‘ that  any  person, 
who,  in  any  letter,  billet,  or  discourse,  should 
tell  a woman  he  died  for  her,  should,  if  she 
pleased,  be  obliged  to  live  with  her,  or  be  im- 
rnediately  interred  upon  such  their  own  confes- 
sion, without  bail  or  mainprize.’ 

It  happened,  that  the  very  next  who  was 
brought  before  me  was  one  of  her  admirers,  who 
was  indicted  upon  that  very  head.  A letter, 
which  he  acknowledged  to  be  his  own  hand, 
was  read,  in  which  were  the  following  words  : 
‘Cruel  creature,  I die  for  you.’  It  was  observ- 
able that  he  took  snuff  all  the  time  his  accusa- 
tion  was  reading.  I asked  him,  ‘ how  he  came 
to  use  these  words,  if  he  were  not  a dead  man']’ 
He  told  me,  ‘ he  was  in  love  with  the  lady,  and 
did  not  know  any  other  way  of  telling  her  so  ; 
and  that  all  his  acquaintance  took  the  same 
method.’  Though  I w^as  moved  with  compas- 
sion towards  him,  by  reason  of  the  weakness 
of  his  parts,  yet  for  example-sake  I was  forced 
to  answer,  ‘Your  sentence  shall  be  a warning 
to  all  the  rest  of  your  companions,  not  to  tell 
lies  for  want  of  wit.’  Upon  this,  he  began  to 
beat  his  snuff-box  with  a very  saucy  air  ; and 
opening  it  again,  ‘ Faith,  Isaac,’  said  he,  ‘ thou 
art  a very  unaccountable  old  fellow. — Pr’ythee, 
who  gave  thee  power  of  life  and  death  ? What 
a-pox  hast  thou  to  do  with  ladies  and  lovers  ? 

I suppose  thou  wouldst  have  a man  be  in  com- 
pany with  his  mistress,  and  say  nothing  to  her. 
Dost  thou  call  breaking  a jest,  telling  a lie  ? 
Ha ! is  that  thy  wisdom,  old  stiffrump,  ha  V 
He  was  going  on  with  this  insipid  common-place 
mirth,  sometimes  opening  his  box,  sometimes 
shutting  it,  then  viewing  the  picture  on  the  lid, 
and  then  the  workmanship  of  the  hinge,  when, 
in  the  midst  of  his  eloquence,  I ordered  his  box 
to  be  taken  from  him  ; upon  which  he  was  im- 
mediately struck  speechless,  and  carried  off 
stone  dead. 

The  next  who  appeared  was  a hale  old  fellow 
of  sixty.  He  was  brought  in  by  his  relations, 
who  desired  leave  to  bury  him.  Upon  requiring 
a distinct  account  of  the  prisoner,  a credible 
witness  deposed,  ‘ that  he  always  rose  at  ten  of 
the  clock,  played  with  his  cat  until  twelve, 
smoked  tobacco  until  one,  was  at  dinner  until 
two,  then  took  another  pipe,  played  at  back- 
gammon until  six,  talked  of  one  madam  Fran- 
ces, an  old  mistress  of  his,  until  eight,  repeated 
the  same  account  at  the  tavern  until  ten,  tlien 
returned  home,  took  the  other  pipe,  and  then  to 
bed.’  I asked  him,  ‘ what  he  had  to  say  for 


No.  111.] 


THE  TATLER. 


219 


himself?’ — ‘ As  to  wliat,’  said  he,  ‘ they  men- 
tion concerning  Madam  Frances ’ 

I did  not  care  tor  hearing  the  Canterbury 
tale,  and,  therefore,  thought  myself  seasonably 
interrupted  by  a young  gentleman,  who  ap- 
peared in  the  behalf  of  the  old  man,  and  prayed 
an  arrest  of  judgment ; ‘ for  that  he,  the  said  young 
man,  held  certain  lands  by  his,  the  said  old 
man’s,  life.’  Upon  this,  the  solicitor  of  the  up- 
holders took  an  occasion  to  demand  him  also, 
and  thereupon  produced  several  evidences  that 
witnessed  to  his  life  and  conversation.  It  ap- 
peared, that  each  of  them  divided  their  hours  in 
matters  of  equal  moment  and  importance  to 
themselves  and  to  the  public.  They  rose  at  the 
same  hour  : while  the  old  man  was  playing  with 
his  cat,  the  young  one  was  looking  out  of  his 
window ; while  the  old  man  was  smoking  his 
pipe,  the  young  man  was  rubbing  his  teeth; 
while  one  was  at  dinner,  the  other  was  dressing; 
while  one  was  at  back-gammon,  the  other  was 
at  dinner ; while  the  old  fellow  was  talking  of 
madam  Frances,  the  young  one  was  either  at 
play,  or  toasting  women  whom  he  never  con- 
versed with.  The  only  difference  was,  that  the 
young  man  had  never  been  good  for  any  thing; 
the  old  man,  a man  of  worth  before  he  knew 
madam  Frances.  Upon  the  whole,  I ordered 
them  to  be  both  interred  together,  with  inscrip- 
tions proper  to  their  characters,  signifying,  that 
the  old  man  died  in  the  year  1689,  and  was 
buried  in  the  year  1709 ; and  over  the  young  one 
it  was  said,  that  he  departed  this  world  in  the 
twenty-fifth  year  of  his  death. 

The  next  class  of  criminals  were  authors  in 
prose  and  verse.  Those  of  them  who  had  pro- 
duced any  still-born  work  were  immediately 
dismissed  to  their  burial,  and  were  followed  by 
others,  who,  notwithstanding  some  sprightly 
issue  in  their  life-time,  had  given  proofs  of  their 
death  by  some  posthumous  children  that  bore 
no  resemblance  to  their  elder  brethren.  As  for 
those  who  were  the  fathers  of  a mixed  progeny, 
provided  always  they  could  prove  the  last  to  be 
a live  child,  they  escaped  with  life,  but  not  with- 
out loss  of  limbs ; for,  in  this  case,  I was  satis- 
fied with  amputation  of  the  parts  which  were 
mortified. 

These  were  followed  by  a great  crowd  of  su- 
perannuated benchers  of  the  inns  of  court, 
senior  fellows  of  colleges,  and  defunct  states- 
men ; all  whom  I ordered  to  be  decimated  in- 
differently, allowing  the  rest  a reprieve  for  one 
year,  with  a promise  of  a free  pardon  in  case  of 
resuscitation. 

There  were  still  great  multitudes  to  be  ex- 
amined ; but,  finding  it  very  late,  I adjourned 
the  court,  not  without  the  secret  pleasure  that 
I had  done  my  duty,  and  furnished  out  a hand- 
some execution. 

Going  out  of  the  court,  I received  a letter, 
informing  me,  ‘ that,  in  pursuance  of  the  edict 
of  justice  in  one  of  my  late  visions,  all  those  of 
the  fair  sex  began  to  appear  pregnant  who  had 
run  any  hazard  of  it ; as  was  manifest  by  a par- 
ticular swelling  in  the  petticoats  of  several  ladies 
in  and  about  this  great  city.’  I must  confess, 
I do  not  attribute  the  rising  of  this  part  of  the 
dress  to  this  occasion,  yet  must  own,  that  I am 
very  much  disposed  to  be  offended  with  such  a 


new  and  unaccountable  fashion.  I shall,  how- 
ever, pronounce  nothing  upon  it,  until  1 have 
examined  all  that  can  be  said  for  and  against  it. 
And,  in  the  mean  time,  think  fit  to  give  this 
notice  to  the  fair  ladies  who  are  now  making  up 
their  winter  suits,  that  they  may  abstain  from 
all  dresses  of  that  kind,  until  they  shall  find 
what  judgment  will  be  passed  upon  them ; for  it 
would  very  much  trouble  me,  that  they  should 
put  themselves  to  an  unnecessary  expense  ; and 
I could  not  but  think  myself  to  blame,  if  I should 
hereafter  forbid  them  the  wearing  of  such  gar- 
ments, when  they  have  laid  out  money  upon 
them,  without  having  given  them  any  previous 
admonition. 

N.  B.  A letter  of  the  sixteenth  instant  about 
one  of  the  fifth,  will  be  answered  according 
to  the  desire  of  the  party,  which  he  will  see  in 
a few  days. 


No.  111.]  Saturday,  December  24, 1709. 

Procul,  O I Procul,  este  profani ! 

Hence,  ye  profane  ! far  hence  be  gone ! 

Sheer-lane,  December  23. 

The  watchman,  who  does  me  particular  ho- 
nours, as  being  the  chief  man  in  the  lane,  gave 
so  very  great  a thump  at  my  door  last  night, 
that  I awakened  at  the  knock,  and  heard  my- 
self complimented  with  the  usual  salutation  of, 
‘ Good-morrow,  Mr.  Bickerstaff ; good-morrow, 
my  masters  all.’  The  silence  and  darkness  of 
the  night  disposed  me  to  be  more  than  ordinarily 
serious  ; and,  as  my  attention  was  not  drawn 
out  among  exterior  objects  by  the  avocations  of 
sense,  my  thoughts  naturally  fell  upon  myself. 
I was  considering,  amidst  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  what  was  the  proper  employment  of  a 
thinking  being?  what  were  the  perfections  it 
should  propose  to  itself?  and,  what  the  end  it 
should  aim  at  ? My  mind  is  of  such  a parti- 
cular cast,  that  the  falling  of  a shower  of  rain, 
or  the  whistling  of  wind,  at  such  a time,  is  apt 
to  fill  my  thoughts  with  something  awful  and 
solemn.  I was  in  this  disposition,  when  our 
bellman  began  his  midnight  homily,  which  he 
has  been  repeating  to  us  every  winter  night  for 
these  twenty  years,  with  the  usual  exordium  ; 

Oh ! mortal  man,  thou  that  art  born  in  sin !’ 
Sentiments  of  this  nature,  which  are  in  them- 
selves just  and  reasonable,  however  debased  by 
the  circumstances  that  accompany  them,  do  not 
fail  to  produce  their  natural  effect  in  a mind 
that  is  not  perverted  and  depraved  by  wrong 
notions  of  gallantry,  politeness,  and  ridicule. 
The  temper  which  I now  found  myself  in,  as 
well  as  the  time  of  the  year,  put  me  in  mind  of 
those  lines  in  Shakspeare,  wherein,  according 
to  his  agreeable  wildness  of  imagination,  he  has 
wrought  a country  tradition  into  a beautiful 
piece  of  poetry.  In  the  tragedy  of  Hamlet, 
where  the  ghost  vanishes  upon  the  cock’s  crow- 
ing,^ he  takes  occasion  to  mention  its  crowing 


* This  is  a very  ancient  superstition.  Philostratus, 
giving  an  account  of  the  apparition  of  Achilles’s  shade 
to  Apollonius  Tyaneus,  says,  that  it  vanished  with  a 
little  glimmer  as  soon  as  the  cock  crowed. 


220 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  111. 


all  hours  of  the  night  about  Christmas  time, 
and  to  insinuate  a kind  of  religious  veneration 
for  that  season. 

• It  faded  on  tlie  crowing  of  the  cock. 

Some  say,  that  ever  ’grainst  tliat  season  comes 

Wherein  onr  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated, 

The  bird  of  dawning  siiigeth  all  night  long. 

And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad  ; 

The  nights  are  wholesome  ; then  no  planets  strike, 

No  fairy  takes  ; no  witch  hath  power  to  charm ; 

So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time.’ 

This  admirable  author,  as  well  as  the  best 
and  greatest  men  of  all  ages,  and  of  all  nations, 
seems  to  have  had  his  mind  thoroughly  seasoned 
with  religion,  as  is  evident  by  many  passages 
in  his  plays,  that  would  not  be  suffered  by  a 
modern  audience ; and  are,  therefore,  certain 
instances  that  the  age  he  lived  in  had  a much 
greater  sense  of  virtue  than  the  present. 

It  is,  indeed,  a melancholy  reflection  to  con- 
sider, that  the  British  nation,  which  is  now  at 
a greater  height  of  glory  for  its  eouneils  and 
conquests  than  it  ever  was  before,  should  dis- 
tinguish itself  by  a certain  looseness  of  princi- 
ples, and  a falling-off  from  those  schemes  of 
thinking,  which  conduce  to  the  happiness  and 
perfection  of  human  nature.  This  evil  comes 
upon  us  from  the  works  of  a few  solemn  bloek- 
heads,  that  meet  together,  with  tlie  zeal  and 
seriousness  of  apostles,  to  extirpate  common 
sense,  and  propagate  infidelity.  These  are  the 
wretehes,  who,  without  any  show  of  wit,  learn- 
ing, or  reason,  publish  their  erude  coneeptions 
with  an  ambition  of  appearing  more  wise  than 
the  rest  of  mankind,  upon  no  other  pretence 
than  that  of  dissenting  from  them.  One  gets 
by  heart  a catalogue  of  title-pages  and  editions ; 
and,  immediately  to  become  conspicuous,  de- 
clares that  he  is  an  unbeliever.  Another  knows 
how  to  write  a reeeipt,  or  cut  up  a dog,  and 
forthwith  argues  against  the  immortality  of  the 
soul.  I have  known  many  a little  wit,  in  the 
ostentation  of  his  parts,  rally  the  truth  of  the 
scripture,  who  was  not  able  to  read  a chapter 
in  it.  These  poor  wretches  talk  blasphemy  for 
want  of  discourse,  and  are  rather  the  objects  of 
scorn  or  pity,  than  of  our  indignation  ; but  the 
grave  disputant,*  that  reads  and  writes,  and 
spends  all  his  time  in  convincing  himself  and 
the  world  that  he  is  no  better  than  a brute,  ought 
to  be  whipped  out  of  governm.ent,  as  a blot  to 
civil  society,  and  a defamer  of  mankind.  I love 
to  consider  an  infidel,  whether  distinguished  by 
the  title  of  deist,  atheist,  or  free-thinker,  in  three 
different  lights,  in  his  solitudes,  his  afflictions, 
and  his  last  moments. 

A wise  man  that  lives  up  to  the  principles  of 
reason  and  virtue,  if  one  considers  him  in  his 
solitude,  as  in  taking  in  the  system  of  the  uni- 
verse, observing  the  mutual  dependence  and 
harmony,  by  which  the  whole  frame  of  it  hangs 
together,  beating  down  his  passions,  or  swelling 
his  thoughts  with  magnificent  ideas  of  Provi- 
dence, makes  a nobler  figure  in  the  eye  of  an 
intelligent  being,  than  the  greatest  conqueror 
amidst  all  the  pomps  and  solemnities  of  a 
triumph.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  not  a more 


* Perhaps  the  author  here  alludes  to  Toland ; for  we 
are  told,  by  a contemporary  writer,  that  ‘ He  was  once 
the  butt  of  the  Taller.’ 


ridiculous  animal  than  an  atheist  in  his  retire- 
ment. His  mind  is  incapable  of  rapture  or 
elevation.  He  can  only  consider  himself  as  an 
insignificant  figure  in  a landscape,  and  wander- 
ing up  and  down  in  a field  or  a meadow,  under 
the  same  terms  as  the  meanest  animal  about 
him,  and  as  subject  to  as  total  a mortality  as 
they;  with  this  aggravation,  that  he  is  the  only 
one  amongst  them,  who  lies  under  the  appre- 
hension  of  it. 

In  distresses,  he  must  be  of  all  creatures  the 
most  helplesss  and  forlorn;  he  feels  the  whole 
pressure  of  a present  calamity,  without  being 
relieved  by  the  memory  of  any  thing  that  is 
past,  or  the  prospect  of  any  thing  that  is  to 
come.  Annihilation  is  the  greatest  blessing 
that  he  proposes  to  himself,  and  a halter  or  a 
pistol  the  only  refuge  he  can  fly  to.  But  if  you 
would  behold  one  of  these  gloomy  miscreants 
in  his  poorest  figure,  you  must  consider  him 
under  the  terrors,  or  at  the  approach,  of  death. 

About  thirty  years  ago  I was  a shipboard 
with  one  of  these  vermin,  when  there  arose  a 
brisk  gale,  w’hich  could  frighten  nobody  but 
himself.  Upon  the  rolling  of  the  ship,  he  fell 
upon  his  knees,  and  confessed  to  the  chaplain, 

‘ that  he  had  been  a vile  atheist,  and  had  de- 
nied a Supreme  Being  ever  since  he  came  to 
his  estate.’  The  good  man  was  astonished,  and 
a report  immediately  ran  through  the  ship, 

‘ that  there  was  an  atheist  upon  the  upper  deck.’ 
Several  of  the  common  seamen,  who  had  never 
heard  the  w’ord  before,  thought  it  had  been  some 
strange  fish;  but  they  were  more  surprised  when 
they  saw  it  was  a man,  and  heard  out  of  his 
own  mouth,  that  he  never  believed  until  that 
day  that  there  was  a God.  As  he  lay  in  the 
agonies  of  confession,  one  of  the  honest  tars 
whispered  to  the  boatsw’ain,  ‘ that  it  would  be  a 
good  deed  to  heave  him  overboard.’  But  we 
were  now  within  sight  of  port,  when  of  a sudden 
the  tvind  fell,  and  the  penitent  relapsed,  begging 
all  of  us  that  were  present,  ‘ as  w’e  were  gentle- 
men, not  to  say  any  thing  of  what  had  passed.’ 

He  had  not  been  ashore  above  twm  days, 
when  one  of  the  company  began  to  rally  him 
upon  his  devotion  on  shipboard,  which  the  other 
denied  in  so  high  terms,  that  it  produced  the 
lie  on  both  sides  and  ended  in  a duel.  The 
atheist  was  run  through  the  body,  and  after 
some  loss  of  blood,  became  as  good  a Christian 
as  he  was  at  sea,  until  he  found  that  his  W’ound 
was  not  mortal.  He  is  at  present  one  of  the 
free-thinkers  of  the  age,  and  now'  writing  a 
pamphlet  against  several  received  opinions  con- 
cerning the  existence  of  fairies. 

As  I have  taken  upon  me  to  censure  the 
faults  of  the  age  and  country  in  which  I live, 
I should  have  thought  myself  inexcusable  to 
have  passed  over  this  crying  one,  which  is  the 
subject  of  my  present  discourse.  I shall  there- 
fore, from  time  to  time,  give  my  countrymen 
particular  cautions  against  this  disternper  of 
the  mind,  that  is  almost  become  fashionable, 
and  by  that  means  more  likely  to  spread.  I 
have  somew'here  either  read  or  heard  a very 
memorable  sentence,  ‘ that  a man  would  be  a 
most  insupportable  monster,  should  he  have  the 
faults  that  are  incident  to  his  years,  constitution, 
profession,  family,  religion,  age,  and  country  ;’ 


THE  TATLER. 


221 


No.  112.] 

and  yet  every  man  is  in  danger  of  them  all. 
For  this  reason,  as  I am  an  old  man,  I take  par- 
ticular care  to  avoid  being  covetous,  and  telling 
long  stories.  As  I arn  choleric,  I forbear  not 
only  swearing,  but  all  interjections  of  fretting, 
as  pugh  ! or  pish ! and  the  like.  As  I am  a 
layman,  I resolve  not  to  conceive  an  aversion 
for  a wise  and  a good  man,  because  his  coat  is 
of  a different  colour  from  mine.  As  I am  de- 
scended of  the  ancient  family  of  the  Bickerstaffs, 
I never  call  a man  of  merit  an  upstart.  As  a 
protestant,  I do  not  suffer  my  zeal  so  far  to 
transport  me,  as  to  name  the  pope  and  the  devil 
together.  As  I am  fallen  into  this  degenerate 
age,  I guard  myself  particularly  against  the 
folly  I have  been  now  speaking  of.  And,  as  I 
am  an  Englishman,  I am  very  cautious  not  to 
hate  a stranger,  or  despise  a poor  Palatine. 


No.  112.]  Tuesday,  December  27,  1709. 

Accedat  siiavitas  qusedam  oportet  sermonum,  atque 
moruin,  haudquaquain  mediocre  condimentum  ainicitiaj : 
tristitia  autem,  et  in  omni  re  severitas  absit.  Habel  ilia 
quidem  gravitatem,  sed  amicitia  reinissior  esse  debel,  et 
liberior,  et  dulcior,  et  ad  omnem  comitatem  facilitatem- 
que  proclivior.  Cic.  De  Amicitia. 

There  should  be  added  a certain  sweetness  of  dis- 
course and  manners,  which  is  no  inconsiderable  sauce 
to  friendship.  But  by  all  means  throw  out  sadness  and 
severity  in  every  thing.  There  is  something  of  gravity 
indeed  in  it;  but  friendship  requires  a greater  remissness, 
freedom,  and  pleasantness,  and  an  inclination  to  good 
temper  and  affability. 

Sheer-lane,  December  26. 

As  I was  looking  over  my  letters  this  morn- 
ing, I chanced  to  cast  my  eye  upon  the  follow- 
ing one,  which  came  to  my  hands  about  two 
months  ago  from  an  old  friend  of  mine,  who,  as 
I have  since  learned,  writ  the  agreeable  epistle 
inserted  in  my  paper  of  the  third  of  the  last 
month.  It  is  of  the  same  turn  with  the  other, 
and  may  be  looked  upon  as  a specimen  of  right 
country  letters. 

‘ Sir, — This  sets  out  to  you  from  my  summer- 
house  upon  the  terrace,  where  I am  enjoying  a 
few  hours  sunshine,  the  scanty  sweet  remains 
of  a fine  autumn.  The  year  is  almost  at  the 
lowest ; so  that,  in  all  appearance,  the  rest  of 
my  letters  between  this  and  spring  will  be  dated 
from  my  parlour  fire,  where  the  little  fond  prat- 
tle of  a wife  and  children  will  so  often  break  in 
upon  the  connexion  of  my  thoughts,  that  you 
will  easily  discover  it  in  my  style.  If  this  winter 
should  prove  as  severe  as  the  last,  I can  tell  you 
beforehand,  that  I am  likely  to  be  a very  misera- 
ble man,  through  the  perverse  temper  of  my 
eldest  boy.  When  the  frost  was  in  its  extremity, 
you  must  know  that  most  of  the  blackbirds, 
robins,  and  finches  of  the  parish,  v;hose  music 
had  entertained  me  in  the  summer,  took  refuge 
under  my  roof.  Upon  this,  my  care  was,  to 
rise  every  morning  before  day,  to  set  open  my 
windows  for  the  reception  of  the  cold  and  the 
hungry,  whom,  at  the  same  time,  I relieved 
with  a very  plentiful  alms,  by  strewing  corn 
and  seeds  upon  the  floor  and  shelves.  But 
Dicky,  without  any  regard  to  the  laws  of  hos- 
pitality,  considered  the  casements  as  so  many 


traps,  and  used  every  bird  as  a prisoner  at  dis- 
cretion. Never  did  tyrant  exercise  more  various 
cruelties.  Some  of  the  poor  creatures  he  chased 
to  death  about  the  room  ; others  he  drove  into 
the  jaws  of  a blood-thirsty  cat;  and  even  in  his 
greatest  acts  of  mercy,  either  clipped  the  wings, 
or  singed  the  tails,  of  his  innocent  captives. 
You  will  laugh,  when  I tell  you  I sympathized 
with  every  bird  in  its  misfortunes;  but  I believe 
you  will  think  me  in  the  right  for  bewailing  the 
child’s  unlucky  humour.  On  the  other  hand, 
I am  extremely  pleased  to  see  his  younger 
brother  carry  a universal  benevolence  towards 
every  thing  that  has  life.  When  he  was  be- 
tween four  and  five  years  old,  I caught  him 
weeping  over  a beautiful  butterfly,  which  he 
chanced  to  kill  as  he  was  playing  with  it ; and 
I am  informed,  that  this  morning  he  has  given 
his  brother  three-halfpence,  which  was  his 
whole  estate,  to  spare  the  life  of  a tom-tit. 
These  are  at  present  the  matters  of  greatest 
moment  witliin  my  observation,  and  I know 
are  too  trifling  to  be  communicated  to  any  but 
so  wise  a man  as  yourself,  and  from  one  who 
has  the  happiness  to  be  your  most  faithful,  and 
most  obedient  servant.’ 

The  best  critic  that  ever  wrote,  speaking  of 
some  passages  in  Homer  which  appear  extra- 
vagant or  frivolous,  says,  indeed,  that  they  are 
dreams,  but  the  dreams  of  Jupiter.  My  friend’s 
letter  appears  to  me  in  the  same  light.  One 
sees  him  in  an  idle  hour  ; but  at  the  same  time 
in  the  idle  hour  of  a wise  man.  A great  mind 
has  something  in  it  too  severe  and  forbidding, 
that  is  not  capable  of  giving  itself  such  little 
relaxations,  and  of  condescending  to  these 
agreeable  ways  of  trifling.  Tully,  when  he 
celebrates  the  friendship  of  Scipio  and  Laelius, 
who  were  the  greatest  as  well  as  the  politest 
men  of  their  age,  represents  it  as  a beautiful 
passage  in  their  retirement,  that  they  used  to 
gather  up  shells  on  the  sea-shore,  and  amuse 
themselves  with  the  variety  of  shape  and  colour 
which  they  met  with  in  those  little  unregarded 
works  of  nature.  The  great  Agesilaus  could 
be  a companion  to  his  own  children,  and  was 
surprised  by  the  ambassadors  of  Sparta,  as  he 
was  riding  among  them  upon  a hobby-horse. 
Augustus,  indeed,  had  no  play-fellows  of  his 
own  begetting ; but  is  said  to  have  passed  many 
of  his  hours  with  little  Moorish  boys  at  a game 
of  marbles,  not  unlike  our  modern  taw.  There 
is,  methinks,  a pleasure  in  seeing  great  men 
thus  fall  into  the  rank  of  mankind,  and  entertain 
themselves  with  diversions  and  amusements 
that  are  agreeable  to  the  very  weakest  of  their 
species.  I must  frankly  confess,  that  it  is  to 
me  a beauty  in  Cato’s  character,  that  he  would 
drink  a cheerful  bottle  with  his  friend ; and  I 
cannot  but  own,  that  I have  seen  with  great 
delight,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  authors  of 
the  last  age  feeding  the  ducks  in  St.  James’s 
Park.  By  instances  of  this  nature,  the  heroes, 
the  statesmen,  the  philosophers,  become  as  it 
were,  familiar  with  us,  and  grow  the  more  amia- 
ble, the  less  they  endeavour  to  appear  awful. 
A man  who  always  acts  in  the  severity  of  wis- 
dom, or  the  haughtiness  of  quality,  seems  to  move 
in  a personated  part.  It  looks  too  constrained 


222 


THE  TATLER'. 


[No.  113. 


and  theatrical,  for  a man  to  be  always  in  that 
character  which  distinguishes  him  from  others ; 
besides  that  the  slackening  and  unbending  our 
minds  on  some  occasions,  makes  them  exert 
themselves  with  greater  vigour  and  alacrity, 
when  they  return  to  their  proper  and  natural 
state. 

As  this  innocent  way  of  passing  a leisure  hour 
is  not  only  consistent  with  a great  character, 
but  very  graceful  in  it ; so  there  are  two  sorts 
of  people  to  whom  I would  most  earnestly  re- 
commend it.  The  first  are  those  vt^ho  are  un- 
easy out  of  want  of  thought;  the  second  are 
those  who  are  so  out  of  a turbulence  of  spirit. 
The  first  are  the  impertinent,  and  the  second 
the  dangerous  part  of  mankind. 

It  grieves  me  to  the  very  heart,  when  I see 
several  young  gentlemen,  descended  of  honest 
parents,  run  up  and  down,  hurrying  from  one 
end  of  the  town  to  the  other,  calling  in  at  every 
place  of  resort,  without  being  able  to  fix  a quar- 
ter of  an  hour  in  any,  and  in  a particular  haste 
without  knowing  for  what.  It  would,  methinks, 
be  some  consolation,  if  I could  persuade  these 
precipitate  young  gentlemen  to  compose  this 
restlessness  of  mind,  and  apply  themselves  to 
any  amusement,  how  trivial  soever,  that  might 
give  them  employment,  and  keep  them  out  of 
harm’s  way.  They  cannot  imagine  how  great 
a relief  it  would  be  to  them,  if  they  could  grow 
sedate  enough  to  play  for  two  or  three  hours  at 
a game  of  push-pin.  But  these  busy,  idle  ani- 
mals are  only  their  own  tormentors.  The  tur- 
bulent and  dangerous  are  for  embroiling  coun- 
cils, stirring  up  seditions,  and  subverting  con- 
stitutions, out  of  a mere  restlessness  of  temper 
and  an  insensibility  of  all  the  pleasures  of  life 
that  are  calm  and  innocent.  It  is  impossible 
for  a man  to  be  so  much  employed  in  any  scene 
of  action,  as  to  have  great  and  good  affairs 
enough  to  fill  up  his  whole  time ; there  will  still 
be  chasms  and  empty  spaces,  in  which  a work- 
ing mind  will  employ  itself  to  its  own  prejudice, 
or  that  of  others,  unless  it  can  be  at  ease  in  the 
exercise  of  such  actions  as  are  in  themselves 
indifferent.  How  often  have  I wished,  for  the 
good  of  the  nation,  that  several  famous  politi- 
cians could  take  any  pleasure  in  feeding  ducks  ! 
I look  upon  an  able  statesman  out  of  business, 
like  a huge  whale,  that  will  endeavour  to  over- 
turn the  ship,  unless  he  has  an  empty  cask  to 
play  with. 

But  to  return  to  my  good  friend  and  corres- 
pondent : I am  afraid  we  shall  both  be  laughed 
at,  when  I confess,  that  we  have  often  gone  out 
into  the  field  to  look  upon  a bird’s  nest ; and 
have  more  than  once  taken  an  evening’s  walk 
together  on  purpose  to  see  the  sun  set.  I shall 
conclude  with  my  answer  to  his  foregoing 
letter : — 

‘ Dear  sir, — I thank  you  for  your  obliging 
letter,  and  your  kindness  to  the  distressed,  who 
will  doubtless  express  their  gratitude  to  you 
themselves  the  next  spring.  As  for  Dick,  the 
tyrant,  T must  desire  you  will  put  a stop  to  his 
proceedings ; and,  at  the  same  time,  take  care 
that  his  little  brother  be  no  loser  by  his  mercy 
to  the  tom-tit.  For  my  own  part,  I am  excluded 
all  conversation  with  animals  that  delight  only 


in  a country  life,  and  am  therefore  forced  to 
entertain  myself  as  well  as  I can  v/ith  my  little 
dog  and  cat.  They  both  of  them  sit  by  my 
fire  every  night,  expecting  my  coming  home 
with  impatience  ; and,  at  my  entrance,  never 
fail  of  running  up  to  me,  and  bidding  me  wel- 
come, each  of  them  in  his  proper  language.  As 
they  have  been  bred  up  together  from  their 
infancy,  and  seen  no  other  company,  they  have 
learned  each  other’s  manners,  so  that  the  dog 
often  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a cat,  and  the  cat, 
in  several  of  her  motions  and  gestures,  aflfects 
the  behaviour  of  the  little  dog.  When  they  are 
at  play,  I often  make  one  with  them  : and  some- 
times please  myself  with  considering  how  much 
reason  and  instinct  are  capable  of  delighting 
each  other.  Thus,  you  see,  I have  communicated 
to  you,  the  material  occurrences  in  my  family, 
with  the  same  freedom  that  you  use  to  me,  as  I 
am,  with  the  same  sincerity  and  aflfection,  your 
most  faithful  humble  servant, 

‘ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF.’ 


No.  113.]  Thursday^  December  29,  1709 

Ecce  iterum  Crispinus ! 

Once  more  Crispinus  comes  upon  the  stage 
Hay-market,  December  23. 


Juv. 


Whereas,  the  gentleman  that  behaved  him- 
self in  a very  disobedient  and  obstinate  manner 
at  his  late  trial  in  Sheer-lane,  on  the  twentieth 
instant,  and  was  carried  off  dead  upon  taking 
away  of  his  snuff-box,  remains  still  unburied  ; 
the  company  of  upholders,  not  knowing  other- 
wise how  they  should  be  paid,  have  taken  his 
goods  in  execution,  to  defray  the  charge  of  his 
funeral.  His  said  effects  are  to  be  exposed  to 
sale  by  auction,  at  their  office  in  the  Hay-mar- 
ket, on  the  fourth  of  January  next,  and  are  as 
follows. 

A very  rich  tweezer-case,  containing  twelve 
instruments  for  the  use  of  each  hour  in  the  day. 

Four  pounds  of  scented  snuff,  with  three  gilt 
snuff-boxes ; one  of  them  with  an  invisible 
hinge,  and  a looking  glass  in  the  lid. 

Two  more  of  ivory,  with  the  portraitures  on 
their  lids  of  two  ladies  of  the  town  ; the  originals 
to  be  seen  every  night  in  the  side-boxes  of  the 
playhouse. 

A sword,  with  a steel  diamond  hilt,  never 
drawn  but  once  at  May-fair. 

Six  clean  packs  of  cards,  a quart  of  orange- 
flower-water,  a pair  of  French  scissars,a  tooth- 
pick-case, and  an  eye-brow  brush. 

A large  glass  case,  containing  the  linen  and 
clothes  of  the  deceased  ; among  which  are,  two 
embroidered  suits,  a pocket  perspective,  a dozen 
pair  of  red-heeled  shoes,  three  pair  of  red  silk 
stockings,  and  an  amber-headed  cane. 

The  strong  box  of  the  deceased,  wherein 
were  found,  five  billet-doux,  a Bath  shilling,  a 
crooked  sixpence,  a silk  garter,  a lock  of  hair, 
and  three  broken  fans. 

A press  for  books  ; containing,  on  the  upper 
shelf. 

Three  bottles  of  diet-drink. 


No.  114,] 


THE  TATLER. 


223 


Two  boxes  of  pills. 

A syringe,  and  other  mathematical  instru- 
ments. 

On  the  second  shelf  are  several  miscellaneous 
works ; as, 

Lampoons. 

Plays. 

Tailors’  bills. 

And  an  almanack  for  the  year  seventeen  hun- 
dred. 

On  the  third  shelf, 

A bundle  of  letters  unopened,  endorsed  in  the 
hand  of  the  deceased,  ‘ Letters  from  the  old 
Gentleman.’ 

Lessons  for  the  flute. 

Toland’s  ‘ Christianity  not  mysterious  ;’  and 
a paper  filled  with  patterns  of  several  fashion- 
able stuffs. 

On  the  lower  shelf, 

One  shoe. 

A pair  of  snuffers. 

A French  grammar. 

A mourning  hatband ; and  half  a bottle  of 
usquebaugh. 

There  will  be  added  to  these  goods,  to  make 
a complete  auction,  a collection  of  gold  snuff- 
boxes and  clouded  canes,  which  are  to  continue 
in  fashion  for  three  months  after  the  sale. 

The  whole  are  to  be  set  up  and  prized  by 
Charles  Bubbleboy,  who  is  to  open  the  auction 
with  a speech. 

I find  I am  so  very  unhappy,  that,  while  I 
am  busy  in  correcting  the  folly  and  vice  of  one 
sex,  several  exorbitances  break  out  in  the  other. 
I have  not  thoroughly  examined  their  new 
fashioned  petticoats,  but  shall  set  aside  one 
day  in  the  next  week  for  that  purpose.  The 
following  petition  on  this  subject  was  presented 
to  me  this  morning  : 

‘The  humble  petition  of  William  Jingle, 
Coach-maker  and  Chair-maker,  of  the 
liberty  of  Westminster  ; 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire,  Censor  of 
Great  Britain  ; 

‘ Showeth, — That  upon  the  late  invention  of 
Mrs.  Catherine  Cross-stich,  mantua-maker,  the 
petticoats  of  ladies  were  too  wide  for  entering 
into  any  coach  or  chair  which  was  in  use  before 
the  said  invention. 

‘ That  for  the  service  of  the  said  ladies,  your 
petitioner  has  built  a round  chair,  in  the  form 
of  a lantern,  six  yards  and  a half  in  circum- 
ference, with  a stool  in  the  centre  of  it ; the 
said  vehicle  being  so  contrived,  as  to  receive 
the  passenger  by  opening  in  two  in  the  mid- 
dle, and  closing  mathematically  when  she  is 
seated. 

‘ That  your  petitioner  has  also  invented  a 
coach  for  the  reception  of  one  lady  only,  who 
is  to  be  let  in  at  the  top. 

‘ That  the  said  coach  has  been  tried  by  a 
lady’s  woman  in  one  of  these  full  petticoats,  who 
was  let  down  from  a balcony,  and  drawn  up 
again  by  pullies,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  her 
lady  and  all  who  beheld  her. 

‘ Your  petitioner,  therefore,  most  humbly 
prays,  that,  for  the  encouragement  of  ingenuity 


and  useful  inventions,  he  may  be  heard  before 
you  pass  sentence  upon  the  petticoats  aforesaid. 

‘And  your  petitioner,  «&c.’ 

I have  likewise  received  a female  petition, 
signed  by  several  thousands,  praying  that  I 
would  not  any  longer  defer  giving  judgment  in 
the  case  of  the  petticoat,  many  of  them  having 
put  off  the  making  new  clothes,  until  such  time 
as  they  know  what  verdict  will  pass  upon  it.  I 
do  therefore,  hereby  certify  to  all  whom  it  may 
concern,  that  I do  design  to  set  apart  Tuesday 
next  for  the  final  determination  of  that  matter, 
having  already  ordered  a jury  of  matrons  to  be 
impannelled,  for  the  clearing  up  of  any  difficult 
points  that  may  arise  in  the  trial. 

Being  informed  that  several  dead  men,  in 
and  about  this  city,  do  keep  out  of  the  way 
and  abscond,  for  fear  of  being  buried  ; and, 
being  willing  to  respite  their  interment,  in  con- 
sideration of  their  families,  and  in  hopes  of 
their  amendment,  I shall  allow  them  certain 
privileged  places,  where  they  may  appear  to 
one  another,  without  causing  any  let  or  moles- 
tation to  the  living,  or  receiving  any,  in  their 
own  persons,  from  the  company  of  upholders. 
Between  the  hours  of  seven  and  nine  in  the 
morning,  they  may  appear  in  safety  at  St. 
James’s  coffee-house,  or  at  White’s,  if  they  do 
not  keep  their  beds,  which  is  more  proper  for 
men  in  their  condition.  From  nine  to  eleven,  I 
allow  them  to  walk  from  Story’s  to  Rosamond’s 
pond*  in  the  Park,  or  in  any  other  public  walks 
which  are  not  frequented  by  the  living  at  that 
time.  Between  eleven  and  three,  they  are  to 
vanish  and  keep  out  of  sight  until  three  in  the 
afternoon,  at  which  time  they  may  go  to  the 
Exchange  until  five  ; and  then,  if  they  please, 
divert  themselves  at  the  Hay-market,  or  Drury- 
lane,  until  the  play  begins.  It  is  further  grant- 
ed in  favour  of  these  persons,  that  they  may 
be  received  at  any  table  where  there  are  more 
present  than  seven  in  number : provided  that 
they  do  not  take  upon  them  to  talk,  judge,  com- 
mend, or  find  fault  with  any  speech,  action,  or 
behaviour  of  the  living.  In  which  case,  it  shall 
be  lawful  to  seize  their  persons  at  any  place  or 
hour  whatsoever,  and  to  convey  their  bodies  to 
the  next  undertaker’s  ; any  thing  in  this  adver- 
tisement to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 


No.  114.]  Saturday,  December  31,  1709. 

Ut  in  vita,  sic  in  studiis,  pulcherrimum  et  humanissi- 
mum  existimo,  severitatem  comitatemque  miscere,  ne 
ilia  in  tristitiam,  hsec  in  petulantiam  procedat. 

Plin.  Epist. 

As  jn  a man’s  life,  so  in  his  studies,  I think  it  the 
most  beautiful  and  humane  thing  in  the  world,  so  to 
mingle  gravity  with  pleasantry,  that  the  one  may  not 
sink  into  melancholy,  nor  the  other  rise  up  into  wan- 
tonness. 

Sheer-lane,  December,  30. 

I WAS  walking  about  my  chamber  this  morn- 
ing in  a very  gay  humour,  when  I saw  a coach 
stop  at  my  door,  and  a youth  about  fifteen 

* Story’s  Gate,  at  one  end  of  the  Birdcage-walk,  still 
retains  its  name ; hut  Rosamond’s-pond,  at  the  other 
end,  has  been  filled  up  within  these  few  years, 


224 


THE  TATLER. 


alighting  out  of  it,  whom  I perceived  to  be  the 
eldest  son  of  my  bosom  friend  that  I gave  some 
account  of  in  my  pap>er  of  the  seventeenth  of  the 
last  month.  I fblt  a sensible  pleasure  rising  in 
me  at  the  sight  of  him,  my  acquaintance  having 
begun  with  his  father  when  he  was  just  such  a 
stripling,  and  about  that  very  age.  When  he 
came  up  to  me,  he  took  me  by  the  hand,  and 
burst  out  in  tears.  I was  extremely  moved,  and 
immediately  said,  ‘ Child,  how  does  your  father 

do  V He  began  to  reply,  ‘ My  mother ’ but 

could  not  go  on  for  weeping.  I went  down 
with  him  into  the  coach,  and  gathered  out  of 
him,  ‘ that  his  mother  was  then  dying,  and  that, 
while  the  holy  man  was  doing  the  last  offices 
to  her,  he  had  taken  that  time  to  come  and  call 
me  to  his  father,  who,  he  said,  would  certainly 
break  his  heart,  if  I did  not  go  and  comfort  him.’ 
The  child’s  discretion  in  coming  to  me  of  his 
own  head,  and  the  tenderness  he  showed  for  his 
parents,  would  have  quite  overpowered  me,  had 
I not  resolved  to  fortify  myself  for  the  seasona- 
ble performances  of  those  duties  which  I owed 
to  my  friend.  As  we  w'ere  going,  I could  not 
but  reflect  upon  the  character  of  that  excellent 
woman,  and  the  greatness  of  his  grief  for  the 
loss  of  one  who  has  ever  been  the  support  of 
him  under  all  other  afflictions.  How,  thought 
I,  will  he  be  able  to  bear  the  horror  of  her  death, 
that  could  not,  when  I was  lately  with  him, 
speak  of  a sickness,  which  was  then  past,  with- 
out sorrow  ! We  were  now  got  pretty  far  into 
Westminster,  and  arrived  at  my  friend’s  house. 
At  the  door  of  it  I met  Favonius,  not  without  a 
secret  satisfaction  to  find  he  had  been  there.  I 
had  formerly  conversed  with  him  at  this  house ; 
and  as  he  abounds  with  that  sort  of  virtue  and 
knowledge  which  makes  religion  beautiful,  and 
never  leads  the  conversation  into  the  violence 
and  rage  of  party-disputes,  I listened  to  him 
with  great  pleasure.  Our  discourse  chanced  to 
be  upon  the  subject  of  death,  which  he  treated 
with  such  a strength  of  reason,  and  greatness 
of  soul,  that,  instead  of  being  terrible,  it  ap- 
peared to  a mind  rightly  cultivated,  altogether 
to  be  contemned,  or  rather  to  be  desired.  As 
I met  him  at  the  door,  I saw  in  his  face  a cer- 
tain glowing  of  grief  and  humanity,  heightened 
with  an  air  of  fortitude  and  resolution,  which, 
as  I afterwards  found,  had  such  an  irresistible 
force,  as  to  suspend  the  pains  of  the  dying,  and 
the  lamentation  of  the  nearest  friends  \vho  at- 
tended her.  I went  up  directly  to  the  room  where 
she  lay,  and  was  met  at  the  entrance  by  my 
friend,  who,  notwithstanding  his  thoughts  had 
been  composed  a little  before,  at  the  sight  of  me 
turned  away  his  face  and  wept.  The  little  family 
of  children  renewed  the  expressions  of  their  sor- 
row according  to  their  several  ages  and  degrees 
of  understanding.  The  eldest  daughter  was  in 
tears,  busied  in  attendance  upon  her  mother  ; 
others  were  kneeling  about  the  bed  side ; and 
what  troubled  me  most  w’as,  to  see  a little  boy, 
who  was  too  young  to  know  the  reason,  weep- 
ing only  because  his  sister  did.  The  only  one 
in  the  room  who  seemed  resigned  and  comforted 
was  the  dying  person.  At  my  approach  to  the 
bed  side,  she  told  me,  with  a low  broken  voice, 

‘ This  is  kindly  done — Take  care  of  your  friend 
— do  not  go  from  him  !’  She  had  before  taken 


fNo.  114. 

leave  of  her  husband  and  children,  in  a manner 
proper  for  so  solemn  a parting,  and,  with  a 
gracefulness  peculiar  to  a woman  of  her  cha- 
racter. My  heart  was  torn  in  pieces,  to  see  the 
husband  on  one  side,  suppressing  and  keeping 
down  the  swellings  of  his  grief,  lor  fear  of  dis- 
turbing her  in  her  last  moments ; and  the  wife, 
even  at  that  time,  concealing  the  pains  she  en- 
dured,  for  fear  of  increasing  his  affliction.  She 
kept  her  eyes  upon  him  for  some  moments  after 
she  grew  speechless,  and  soon  after  closed  them 
for  ever.  In  the  moment  of  her  departure,  my 
friend,  who  had  thus  far  commanded  himself, 
gave  a deep  groan,  and  fell  into  a swoon  by  her 
bed  side.  The  distraction  of  the  children,  who 
thought  they  saw  both  their  parents  expiring  to- 
gether, and  now  lying  dead  before  them,  would 
have  melted  the  hardest  heart ; but  they  soon 
perceived  their  father  recover,  whom  I helped 
to  remove  into  another  room,  with  a resolution 
to  accompany  him  until  the  first  pangs  of  his 
affliction  were  abated.  I knew  consolation 
would  now  be  impertinent ; and  therefore  con- 
tented myself  to  sit  by  him,  and  condole  with 
him  in  silence.  For  I shall  here  use  the  method 
of  an  ancient  author,  who,  in  one  of  his  epistles, 
relating  the  virtues  and  death  of  Macrinus’s  wife, 
expresses  himself  thus  : ‘ I shall  suspend  my 
advice  to  this  best  of  friends,  until  he  is  made 
capable  of  receiving  it  by  those  three  great  re- 
medies, the  necessity  of  submission,  length  of 
time,  and  satiety  of  grief.’ 

In  the  mean  time,  I cannot  but  consider, 
with  much  commiseration,  the  melancholy 
state  of  one  who  has  had  such  a part  of  himself 
torn  from  him,  and  which  he  misses  in  every 
circumstance  of  life.  His  condition  is  like  that 
of  one  who  has  lately  lost  his  right  arm,  and  is 
every  moment  offering  to  help  himself  with  it. 
He  does  not  appear  to  himself  the  same  person 
in  his  house,  at  his  table,  in  company,  or  in  re- 
tirement ; and  loses  the  relish  of  all  the  pleasures 
and  diversions  that  were  before  entertaining  to 
him  by  her  participation  of  them.  The  most 
agreeable  objects  recall  the  sorrow  for  her  with 
whom  he  used  to  enjoy  them.  This  additional 
satisfaction,  from  the  taste  of  pleasures  in  the 
society  of  one  we  love,  is  admirably  described 
by  Milton,  who  represents  Eve,  though  in  Para- 
dise  itself,  no  further  pleased  with  the  beautiful 
objects  around  her,  than  as  she  sees  them  in 
company  with  Adam,  in  that  passage  so  inex- 
pressibly charming  :* 

‘ With  thee  conversing,  I forget  all  time ; 

All  seasons,  anri  their  change ; all  please  alike. 

Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ; pleasant  the  sun, 

When  first  on  this  delightful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower. 
Glistening  with  dew;  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
After  soft  showers  ; and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  arateful  evening  mild  ; the  silent  night. 

With  this  her  solemn  bird,  and  this  fair  moon. 

And  these  the  gems  of  heaven,  her  starry  train. 

But  neither  breath  of  morn  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds ; nor  rising  sun 
On  this  delightful  land  ; nor  herb,  fruit,  flower, 
Glistering  with  dew ; nor  fragrance  after  showers  , 

Nor  grateful  evening  mild  ; nor  silent  night, 

W^ith  this  her  solemn  bird,  nor  walk  by  moon. 

Or  glittering  star-light,  without  thee  is  sweet.’ 


* Paradise  Lost,  book  iv.  ver.  630. 


THE  TATLER. 


225 


No.  115.] 

The  variety  of  images  in  this  passage  is  infi- 
nitely pleasing,  and  the  recapitulatio’n  of  each 
particular  image,  with  a little  varying  of  the  ex- 
pression, makes  one  of  the  finest  turns  of  words 
that  I have  ever  seen ; which  I rather  mention, 
because  Mr.  Dryden  has  said  in  his  preface  to 
Juvenal,  that  he  could  meet  with  no  turn  of 
words  in  Milton. 

It  may  be  further  observed,  that  though  the 
sweetness  of  these  verses  has  something  in  it 
of  a pastoral,  yet  it  excels  the  ordinary  kind, 
as  much  as  the  scene  of  it  is  above  an  ordinary 
field  or  meadow.  1 might  here,  since  I am  ac- 
cidentally led  into  this  subject,  show  several 
passages  in  Milton  that  have  as  excellent  turns 
of  this  nature  as  any  of  our  English  poets 
whatsoever  ; but  shall  only  mention  that  which 
follows,  in  which  he  describes  the  fallen  angels 
engaged  in  the  intricate  disputes  of  predesti- 
nation, free-will,  and  fore-knowledge  ; and,  to 
humour  the  perplexity,  makes  a kind  of  laby- 
rinth in  the  very  words  that  describe  it. 

‘ Others  apart  sat  on  a hill  retired, 

In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  reasoned  high 
Of  providence,  fore  knowledge,  will,  and  fate. 

Fixed  fate,  free-will,  fore-knbwledge  absolute. 

And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost.’* 


No.  115.]  Tuesday,  January  3,  1709-10. 

Novum  intervenit  vitium  et  calamitas, 

Ut  neque  spectari,  neque  cognosci  potuerit ; 

Ita  populus  studio  stupidus  in  funambulo 
Animum  occuparat.  Ter.  Prol.  de  Hecyra. 

A tumult  so  uncommon  intervened. 

As  neither  could  be  seen,  nor  understood  ; 

So  taken  were  the  people,  so  engaged 

With  a rope-dancer ! Coleman. 

Sheer-lane,  January  2. 

I WENT  on  Friday  last  to  the  opera,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  a thin  house  at  so  noble  an 
entertainment,  until  I heard  that  the  tumbler 
was  not  to  make  his  appearance  that  night. 
For  my  own  part,  I was  fully  satisfied  with  the 
sight  of  an  actor,  who,  by  the  grace  and  pro- 
priety of  his  action  and  gesture,  does  honour  to 
a human  figure,  as  much  as  the  other  vilifies 
and  degrades  it.  Every  one  will  easily  imagine 
I mean  signior  Nicolini,  who  sets  off  the  charac- 
ter he  bears  in  an  opera  by  his  action,  as  much 
as  he  does  the  words  of  it  by  his  voice.  Every 
limb,  and  every  finger,  contributes  to  the  part 
he  acts,  insomuch  that  a deaf  man  might  go 
along  with  him  in  the  sense  of  it.  There  is 
scarce  a beautiful  posture  in  an  old  statue  which 
he  does  not  plant  himself  in,  as  the  different 
circumstances  of  the  story  give  occasion  for  it. 
He  performs  the  most  ordinary  action  in  a man- 
ner suitable  to  the  greatness  of  his  character, 
and  shows  the  prince  even  in  the  giving  of  a 
letter,  or  despatching  of  a message.  Our  best 
actors  are  somewhat  at  a loss  to  support  them- 
selves with  proper  gesture,  as  they  move  from 
any  considerable  distance  to  the  front  of  the 
.stage ; but  I have  seen  the  person  of  whom  I 
am  novv  speaking,  enter  alone  at  the  remotest 
part  of  it,  and  advance  from  it,  with  such  great, 
ness  of  air  and  mien,  as  seemed  to  fill  the  stage 


and,  at  the  same  time,  commanded  the  attention 
of  the  audience  with  the  majesty  of  his  appear- 
ance. But,  notwithstanding  the  dignity  and  ele- 
gance of  this  entertainment,  I find  for  some 
nights  past,  that  Punchinello  has  robbed  this 
gentleman  of  the  greater  part  of  his  female 
spectators.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I find  it  so  very 
hard  a task  to  keep  that  sex  under  any  manner 
of  government,  that  I have  often  resolved  to 
give  them  over  entirely,  and  leave  them  to  their 
own  inventions.  I was  in  hopes  that  I had 
brought  them  to  some  order,  and  was  employ- 
ing my  thoughts  on  the  reformation  of  their 
petticoats,  when,  on  a sudden,  I received  infor- 
mation from  all  parts,  that  they  run  gadding 
after  a puppet-show.  I know  very  well,  that 
what  I here  say  will  be  thought  by  some  mali- 
cious persons  to  flow  from  envy  to  Mr.  Powell ; 
for  which  reason  I shall  set  the  late  dispute  be- 
tween us  in  a true  light.  Mr.  Powell  and  I had 
some  difference  about  four  months  ago,  which 
we  managed  by  way  of  letter,  as  learned  men 
ought  to  do ; and  I was  very  well  contented  to 
bear  such  sarcasms  as  he  was  pleased  to  throw 
upon  me,  and  answered  them  with  the  same 
freedom.  In  the  midst  of  this  our  misunder- 
standing and  correspondence,  I happened  to 
give  the  world  an  account  of  the  order  of  Es- 
quires; upon  which  Mr.  Powell  was  so  disin- 
genuous, as  to  make  one  of  his  puppets,  I wish 
I knew  which  of  them  it  was,  declare,  by  way 
of  prologue,  ‘ that  one  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  a pre- 
tended esquire,  had  written  a scurrilous  piece, 
to  the  dishonour  of  that  rank  of  men and 
then,  with  more  art  than  honesty,  concluded, 

‘ that  all  the  esquires  in  the  pit  were  abused  by 
his  antagonist  as  much  as  he  was.’  This  public 
accusation  made  all  the  esquires  of  that  county, 
and  several  of  other  parts,  m}’^  professed  enemies. 
I do  not  in  the  least  question  but  that  he  will 
proceed  in  his  hostilities ; and  I am  informed, 
that  part  of  his  design  in  coming  to  town,  was 
to  carry  the  war  into  my  own  quarters.  I do 
therefore  solemnly  declare,  notwithstanding  that 
I am  a great  lover  of  art  and  ingenuity,  that  if 
I hear  he  opens  any  of  his  people’s  mouths 
against  me,  I shall  not  fail  to  write  a critique 
upon  his  whole  performance  ; lor  I must  confess, 
that  I have  naturally  so  strong  a desire  of  praise, 
that  I cannot  bear  reproach,  though  from  a 
piece  of  timber.  As  for  Punch,  who  takes  all 
opportunities  of  bespattering  me,  I know  very 
well  his  original,  and  have  been  assured  by  the 
joiner  who  put  him  together,  ‘ that  he  was  in 
long  dispute  with  himself,  whether  he  should 
turn  him  into  several  pegs  and  utensils,  or  make 
him  the  man  he  is.’  The  same  person  confessed 
to  me,  ‘ that  he  had  once  actually  laid  aside  his 
head  for  a nut-cracker.’  As  for  his  scolding 
wife,  however  she  may  value  herself  at  present, 
it  is  very  well  known,  that  she  is  but  a piece  of 
crab-tree.  This  artificer  further  whispered  in 
my  ear,  ‘that  all  his  courtiers  and  nobles  were 
taken  out  of  a quickset  hedge  not  far  from 
Islington  ; and  that  doctor  Faustus  himself,  who 
is  now  so  great  a conjurer,  is  supposed  to  have 
learned  his  whole  art  from  an  old  woman  in 
that  neighbourhood,  whom  he  long  served  in  the 
figure  of  a broom-staff.’ 

But  perhaps  it  may  look  trivial  to  insist  so 


* Paradise  Lost,  book  ii.  ver.  55. 

2 F 


226 


THE  TATLER. 


much  upon  men’s  persons ; I shall,  therefore, 
turn  my  thoughts  rather  to  examine  their  be- 
haviour,  and  consider,  whether  the  several  parts 
are  written  up  to  that  character  which  Mr. 
Powell  piques  himself  upon,  of  an  able  and 
judicious  dramatist.  I have  for  this  purpose 
provided  myself  with  the  works  of  above  twenty 
French  critics,  and  shall  examine,  by  the  rules 
which  they  have  laid  down  upon  the  art  of  the 
stage,  whether  the  unity  of  time,  place,  and 
action,  be  rightly  observed  in  any  one  of  this 
celebrated  author’s  productions;  as  also,  whether 
in  the  parts  of  his  several  actors,  and  that  of 
Punch  in  particular,  there  is  not  sometimes  an 
impropriety  of  sentiments,  and  an  impurity  of 
diction. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  January  2. 

I came  in  here  to-day  at  an  hour,  when  only 
the  dead  appear  in  places  of  resort  and  gallantry, 
and  saw  hung  up  the  escutcheon  of  sir  Hannibal, 
a gentleman  who  used  to  frequent  this  place, 
and  was  taken  up  and  interred  by  the  company 
of  upholders,  as  having  been  seen  here  at  an 
unlicensed  hour.  The  coat  of  the  deceased  is, 
three  bowls  and  a jack  in  a green  field;  the 
crest,  a dice-box,  with  the  king  of  clubs  and 
pam  for  supporters.  Some  days  ago  the  body 
was  carried  out  of  town  with  great  pomp  and 
ceremony,  in  order  to  be  buried  with  his  ances- 
tors at  the  Peak.  It  is  a maxim  in  morality,  that 
we  are  to  speak  nothing  but  truth  of  the  living, 
nothing  but  good  of  the  dead.  As  I have  care- 
fully  observed  the  first  during  his  life-time,  I 
shall  acquit  myself  as  to  the  latter  now  he  is 
deceased. 

He  was  knighted  very  young,  not  in  the 
ordinary  form,  but  by  the  common  consent  of 
mankind. 

He  was  in  his  person  between  round  and 
square  ; in  the  motion  and  gesture  of  his  body 
he  was  unaffected  and  free,  as  not  having  too 
great  a respect  for  superiors.  He  was  in  his 
discourse  bold  and  intrepid  ; and  as  every  one 
has  an  excellence,  as  well  as  a failing,  which 
distinguishes  him  from  other  men,  eloquence 
was  his  predominant  quality,  which  he  had  to 
so  great  perfection,  that  it  was  easier  to  him  to 
speak,  than  to  hold  his  tongue.  This  some- 
times exposed  liirn  to  the  derision  of  men  who 
had  much  less  parts  than  himself;  and,  indeed, 
his  great  volubility,  and  inimitable  manner  of 
speaking,  as  well  as  the  great  courage  he 
showed  on  those  occasions,  did  sometimes  be- 
tray him  into  that  figure  of  speech  which  is 
commonly  distinguished  by  the  name  of  Gas- 
conade. To  mention  no  other,  he  professed  in 
this  very  place,  some  days  before  he  died,  ‘ that 
he  would  be  one  of  the  six  that  would  undertake 
to  assault  me;’  for  which  reason  I have  had  his 
figure  upon  my  wall  until  the  hour  of  his  death  ; 
and  am  resolved  for  the  future  to  bury  every  one 
forthwith  who  I hear  has  an  intention  to  kill  me. 

Since  I am  upon  the  subject  of  my  adver- 
saries, I shall  here  publish  a short  letter,  which 
I have  received  from  a well-wisher,  and  is  as 
follows  : 

‘Sage  sir, — You  cannot  but  know,  there  are 
many  scribblers,  and  others,  who  revile  you  and 


[No.  116. 

your  writings.  It  is  wondered  that  you  do  not 
exert  yourself,  and  crush  them  at  once.  I am, 
Sir,  with  great  respect,  your  most  humble  ad- 
mirer and  disciple.’ 

In  answer  to  this,  I shall  act  like  my  pre- 
decessor ^sop,  and  give  him  a fable  instead 
of  a reply. 

It  happened  one  day,  as  a stout  and  honest 
mastiff*,  that  guarded  the  village  where  he  lived 
against  thieves  and  robbers,  was  very  gravely 
walking,  with  one  of  his  puppies  by  his  side, 
all  the  little  dogs  in  the  street  gathered  about 
him  and  barked  at  him.  The  little  puppy  was 
so  offended  at  this  affront  done  to  his  sire,  that 
he  asked  him  why  he  would  not  fall  upon  them, 
and  tear  them  to  pieces  ? To  which  the  sire 
answered,  with  great  composure  of  mind,  ‘ If 
there  were  no  curs,  I should  be  no  mastiff.’ 


No.  116.]  Tuesday,  January  5,  1709-10. 

Pars  minima  est  ipsa  puella  sui.  Ovid. 

The  young  lady  is  the  least  part  of  herself. 

Sheer-lane,  January  4. 

The  court  being  prepared  for  proceeding  on 
the  cause  of  the  petticoat,  I gave  orders  to  bring 
in  a criminal,  who  was  taken  up  as  she  went 
out  of  the  puppet-show  about  three  nights  ago, 
and  was  now  standing  in  the  street,  with  a 
great  concourse  of  people  about  her.  Word 
was  brought  me,  that  she  had  endeavoured 
twice  or  thrice  to  come  in,  but  could  not  do  it 
by  reason  of  her  petticoat,  which  was  too  large 
for  the  entrance  of  my  house,  though  I had 
ordered  both  the  folding-doors  to  be  thrown 
open  for  its  reception.  Upon  this,  I desired  the 
jury  of  matrons,  who  stood  at  my  right  hand, 
to  inform  themselves  of  her  condition,  and  know 
whether  there  were  any  private  reasons  why 
she  might  not  make  her  appearance  separate 
from  her  petticoat.  This  was  managed  with 
great  discretion,  and  had  such  an  effect,  that 
upon  the  return  of  the  verdict  from  the  bench 
of  matrons,  I issued  out  an  order  forthwith, 
‘that  the  criminal  should  be  stripped  of  her 
incumbrances,  until  she  became  little  enough 
to  enter  my  house.’  I had  before  given  direc- 
tions  for  an  engine  of  several  legs,  that  could 
contract  or  open  itself  like  the  top  of  an  umbrella, 
in  order  to  place  the  petticoat  upon  it,  by  which 
means  I might  leisurely  take  a survey  of  it,  as  it 
should  appear  in  its  proper  dimensions.  This 
was  all  done  accordingly  ; and,  forthwith,  upon 
the  closing  of  the  engine,  the  petticoat  was 
brought  into  court.  I then  directed  the  machine 
to  be  set  upon  the  table,  and  dilated  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  show  the  garment  in  its  utmost 
circumference ; but  my  great  hall  was  too  nar- 
row for  the  experiment ; for  before  it  was  half 
unfolded,  it  described  so  immoderate  a circle, 
that  the  lower  part  of  it  brushed  upon  my  face 
as  I sat  in  my  chair  of  judicature.  I then  in- 
quired for  the  person  that  belonged  to  the  petti- 
coat ; and  to  my  great  surprise  was  directed  to 
a very  beautiful  young  damsel,  with  so  pretty  a 
face  and  shape,  that  I bid  her  come  out  of  the 
crowd,  and  seated  her  upon  a little  crock  at  my 


No.  117.] 


THE  TATLER. 


227 


left  hand,  ‘ I\Iy  pretty  maid,’  said  I,  ‘ do  you 
own  yourself'  to  have  been  the  inhabitant  of  the 
garment  before  us  ?’  The  girl,  I found,  had 
good  sense,  and  told  me,  with  a smile,  that, 
* notwithstanding  it  was  her  own  petticoat,  she 
should  be  very  glad  to  see  an  example  made  of 
it ; and  that  she  wore  it  for  no  other  reason,  but 
that  she  had  a mind  to  look  as  big  and  burly  as 
other  persons  of  her  quality  ; that  she  had  kept 
out  of  it  as  long  as  she  could,  and  until  she  be- 
gan to  appear  little  in  the  eyes  of  her  acquaint- 
ance;  that,  if  she  laid  it  aside,  people  would 
think  she  was  not  made  like  other  women.’  I 
always  give  great  allowances  to  the  fair  sex 
upon  account  of  the  fashion,  and,  therefore,  was 
not  displeased  with  the  defence  of  my  pretty 
criminal.  I then  ordered  the  vest  which  stood 
before  us  to  be  drawn  up  by  a pully  to  the  top 
of  my  great  hall,  and  afterwards  to  be  spread 
open  by  the  engine  it  was  placed  upon,  in  such 
a manner,  that  it  formed  a very  splendid  and 
ample  canopy  over  our  heads,  and  covered  the 
whole  court  of  judicature  with  a kind  of  silken 
rotunda,  in  its  form  not  unlike  the  cupola  of 
Saint  Paul’s.  I entered  upon  the  whole  cause 
with  great  satisfaction,  as  I sat  under  the 
shadow  of  it. 

The  counsel  for  the  petticoat  were  now  called 
in,  and  ordered  to  produce  what  they  had  to  say 
against  the  popular  cry  which  was  raised  against 
it.  They  answered  the  objections  with  great 
strength  and  solidity  of  argument,  and  expati- 
ated in  very  florid  harangues,  which  they  did  not 
fail  to  set  off  and  furbelow,  if  I may  be  allowed 
the  metaphor,  with  many  periodical  sentences 
and  turns  of  oratory.  The  chief  arguments  for 
their  client  were  taken,  first,  from  the  great 
benefit  that  might  arise  to  our  woollen  manufac- 
tory from  this  invention,  which  was  calculated 
as  follows.  The  common  petticoat  has  not  above 
four  yards  in  the  circumference ; whereas  this 
over  our  heads  had  more  in  the  semi-diameter ; 
so  that,  by  allowing  it  twenty-four  yards  in  the 
circumference,  the  five  millions  of  woollen  petti- 
coats which,  according  to  sir  William  Petty, 
supposing  what  ought  to  be  supposed  in  a well- 
governed  state,  that  all  petticoats  are  made  of 
that  stuff,  would  amount  to  thirty  millions  of 
those  of  the  ancient  mode.  A prodigious  im- 
provement of  the  woollen  trade  ! and  what  could 
not  fail  to  sink  the  power  of  France  in  a few  years. 

To  introduce  the  second  argument,  they 
begged  leave  to  read  a petition  of  the  rope- 
makers,  wherein  it  was  represented,  ‘ that  the 
demand  for  cords,  and  the  price  of  them,  were 
much  risen  since  this  fashion  came  up.’  At 
this,  all  the  company  who  were  present  lifted  up 
their  eyes  into  the  vault ; and,  I must  confess, 
we  did  discover  many  traces  of  cordage,  which 
were  interwoven  in  the  stiffening  of  the  drapery. 

^ A third  argument  was  founded  upon  a pe- 
tition of  the  Greenland  trade,  which  likewise 
represented  the  great  consumption  of  whale- 
bone which  would  be  occasioned  by  the  present 
fashion,  and  the  benefit  which  would  thereby 
accrue  to  that  branch  of  the  British  trade. 

To  conclude,  they  gently  touched  upon  the 
weight  and  unwieldiness  of  the  garment,  which, 
they  insinuated,  might  be  of  great  use  to  pre- 
serve the  honour  of  families. 


These  arguments  would  have  wrought  very 
much  upon  me,  as  I then  told  the  company  in 
a long  and  elaborate  discourse,  had  I not  con- 
sidered the  great  and  additional  expence  which 
such  fashions  would  bring  upon  fathers  and 
husbands ; and,  therefore,  by  no  means  to  be 
thought  of  until  some  years  after  a peace.  I 
further  urged,  that  it  would  be  a prejudice  to 
the  ladies  themselves,  who  could  never  expect 
to  have  any  money  in  the  pocket,  if  they  laid 
out  so  much  on  the  petticoat.  To  this  I added, 
the  great  temptation  it  might  give  to  virgins, 
of  acting  in  security  like  married  women,  and 
by  that  means  give  a check  to  matrimony,  an 
institution  always  encouraged  by  wise  societies. 

At  the  same  time,  in  answer  to  the  several 
petitions  produced  on  that  side,  I showed  one 
subscribed  by  the  women  of  several  persons  of 
quality,  humbly  setting  forth,  ‘ that,  since  the 
introduction  of  this  mode,  their  respective  la- 
dies had,  instead  of  bestowing  on  them  their 
cast  gowms,  cut  them  into  shreds,  and  mixed 
them  with  the  cordage  and  buckram,  to  complete 
the  stiffening  of  their  under  petticoats.’  For 
which,  and  sundry  oilier  reasons,  I pronounced 
the  petticoat  a forfeiture : but,  to  show  that  I did 
not  make  that  judgment  for  the  sake  of  filthy 
lucre,  I ordered  it  to  be  folded  up,  and  sent  it 
as  a present  to  a widow-gentlewoman,  who  has 
five  daughters  ; desiring  she  would  make  each  of 
them  a petticoat  out  of  it,  and  send  me  back  the 
remainder,  which  I design  to  cut  into  stomachers, 
caps,  facings  of  my  waiscoat  sleeves,  and  other 
garnitures  suitable  to  my  age  and  quality. 

I would  not  be  understood,  that,  while  I dis- 
card this  rponstrous  invention,  I am  an  enemy 
to  the  proper  ornaments  of  the  fair  sex.  On 
the  contrary,  as  the  hand  of  nature  has  poured 
on  them  such  a profusion  of  charms  and  graces, 
and  sent  them  into  the  world  more  amiable  and 
finished  than  the  rest  of  her  works  ; so  I would 
have  them  bestow  upon  themselves  all  the  ad- 
ditional beauties  that  art  can  supply  them  with, 
provided  it  does  not  interfere  with,  disguise,  or 
pervert  those  of  nature. 

I consider  woman  as  a beautiful  romantic 
animal,  that  may  be  adorned  with  furs  and  fea- 
thers, pearls  and  diamonds,  ores  and  silks.  The 
lynx  shall  cast  its  skin  at  her  feet  to  make  her 
a tippet ; the  peacock,  parrot,  and  swan  shall 
pay  contributions  to  her  muff ; the  sea  shall  be 
searched  for  shells,  and  the  rocks  for  gems  ; and 
every  part  of  nature  furnish  out  its  share  to- 
wards the  embellishment  of  a creature  that  is 
the  most  consummate  work  of  it.  All  this  I shall 
indulge  them  in ; but  as  for  the  petticoat  I have 
been  speaking  of,  I neither  can  nor  will  allow  it. 


No.  117.]  Saturday,  January  7,  1709-10. 

Durate,  et  vosmet  rebus  servate  secundis. 

Virg.  iEn.  i.  211. 

Endure  the  hardship  of  your  present  state. 

Live,  and  reserve  yourselves  for  better  fate.  Dryden. 

Sheer-lane,  January  6. 

When  I look  into  the  frame  and  constitution 
of  my  own  mind,  there  is  no  part  of  it  which  I 


228 


THE  TATLER. 


observe  with  greater  satisfaction,  than  that  ten- 
derness and  concern  which  it  bears  for  the  good 
and  happiness  of  mankind.  My  own  circum- 
stances are  indeed  so  narrow  and  scanty,  that  I 
should  taste  but  very  little  pleasure,  could  I re- 
ceive it  only  from  those  enjoyments  which  are 
in  my  own  possession  ; but  by  this  great  tincture 
of  humanity,  which  I find  in  all  my  thoughts 
and  reflections,  I am  happier  than  any  single 
person  can  be,  with  all  the  wealth,  strength, 
beauty,  and  success,  that  can  be  conferred  upon 
a mortal,  if  he  only  relishes  such  a proportion 
of  these  blessings  as  is  vested  in  himself,  and  in 
his  own  private  property.  By  this  means,  every 
man  that  does  himself  any  real  service  does  me  a 
kindness.  I come  in  for  my  share  in  all  the 
good  that  happens  to  a man  of  merit  and  virtue, 
and  partake  of  many  gifts  of  fortune  and  power 
that  I was  never  born  to.  There  is  nothing  in 
particular  in  which  I so  much  rejoice  as  the  de- 
liverance of  good  and  generous  spirits  out  of 
dangers,  difficulties,  and  distresses.  And  be- 
cause the  world  does  not  supply  instances  of  this 
kind  to  furnish  out  sufficient  entertainments  for 
such  a humanity  and  benevolence  of  temper,  I 
have  ever  delighted  in  reading  the  history  of 
ages  past,  which  draws  together  into  a narrow 
compass  the  great  occurrences  and  events  that 
are  but  thinly  sown  in  those  tracts  of  time, 
which  lie  within  our  own  knowledge  and  ob- 
servation. When  I see  the  life  of  a great  man, 
who  has  deserved  well  of  his  country,  after  hav- 
ing struggled  through  all  the  oppositions  of 
prejudice  and  envy,  breaking  out  with  lustre, 
and  shining  forth  in  all  the  splendour  of  success, 
I close  my  book,  and  am  a happy  man  for  a 
whole  evening. 

But,  since,  in  history,  events  are  of  a mixed 
nature,  and  often  happen  alike  to  the  worthless 
and  the  deserving,  insomuch,  that  we  frequently 
see  a virtuous  man  dying  in  the  midst  of  disap- 
pointments and  calamities,  and  the  vicious  end- 
ing their  days  in  prosperity  and  peace,  I love 
to  amuse  myself  with  the  accounts  I meet  with 
in  fabulous  histories  and  fictions ; for  in  this 
kind  of  writing  we  have  always  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  vice  punished,  and  virtue  rewarded.  In- 
deed, were  we  able  to  view  a man  in  the  whole 
circle  of  his  existence,  we  should  have  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  it  close  with  happiness  or  mi- 
sery, according  to  his  proper  merit : but  though 
our  view  of  him  is  interrupted  by  death  before 
the  finishing  of  his  adventures,  if  I may  so 
speak,  we  may  be  sure  that  the  conclusion  and 
catastrophe  is  altogether  suitable  to  his  beha- 
viour. On  the  contrary,  the  whole  being  of  a 
man,  considered  as  a hero  or  a knight-errant, 
is  comprehended  within  the  limits  of  a poem  or 
romance,  and,  therefore,  always  ends  to  our  sa- 
tisfaction ; so  that  inventions  of  this  kind  are 
like  food  and  exercise  to  a good-natured  disposi- 
tion, w’hich  they  please  and  gratify  at  the  same 
tin)e  that  they  nourish  and  strengthen.  The 
greater  the  affliction  is  in  which  we  see  our  fa- 
vourites in  these  relations  engaged,  the  greater 
is  the  pleasure  we  take  in  seeing  them  relieved. 

Among  the  many  feigned  histories  which  I 
have  met  with  in  my  reading,  there  is  none  in 
which  the  hero’.s  perplexity  is  greater,  and  the 
winding  out  of  it  more  difficult,  than  that  in  a 


[No.  117. 

French  author  whose  name  I have  forgot.  It  so 
happens,  that  the  hero’s  mistress  was  the  sister 
of  his  most  intimate  friend,  who,  for  certain 
reasons,  was  given  out  to  be  dead,  while  he  was 
preparing  to  leave  his  country  in  quest  of  adven- 
tures. The  hero  having  heard  of  his  friend’s 
death,  immediately  repaired  to  his  mistress,  to 
condole  with  her,  and  comfort  her.  Upon  his  ar- 
rival in  her  garden,  he  discovered  at  a distance  a 
man  clasped  in  her  arms,  and  embraced  wnth  the 
most  endearing  tenderness.  What  should  he  do? 
It  did  not  consist  with  the  gentleness  of  a 
knight-errant  either  to  kill  his  mistress,  or  the 
man  whom  she  was  pleased  to  favour.  At  the 
same  time,  it  would  have  spoiled  a romance, 
should  he  have  laid  violent  hands  on  himself. 
In  short,  he  immediately  entered  upon  his  ad- 
ventures;  and,  after  a long  series  of  exploits, 
found  out  by  degrees  that  the  person  he  saw  in 
his  mistress’s  arms  was  her  own  brother,  taking 
leave  of  her  before  he  left  his  country,  and  the 
embrace  she  gave  him  nothing  else  but  the  af- 
fectionate faerwell  of  a sister  : so  that  he  had  at 
once  the  two  greatest  satisfactions  tiiat  could  enter 
into  the  heart  of  man,  in  finding  his  friend  alive, 
whom  he  thought  dead  ; and  his  mistress  faith- 
ful, whom  he  had  believed  inconstant. 

There  are  indeed  some  disasters  so  very  fatal, 
that  it  is  impossible  for  any  accidents  to  rectify 
them.  Of  this  kind  was  that  of  poor  Lucretia  ; 
and  yet  we  see  Ovid  has  found  an  expedient 
even  in  this  case.  He  describes  a beautiful  and 
royal  virgin  walking  on  the  sea  shore,  where 
she  was  discovered  by  Neptune,  and  violated 
after  a long  and  unsuccessful  importunity.  To 
mitigate  her  sorrow,  he  offers  her  whatever  she 
could  wish  for.  Never  certainly  was  the  wit 
of  woman  more  puzzled  in  finding  out  a strata- 
gem to  retrieve  her  honour.  Had  she  desired  to 
be  changed  into  a slock  or  stone,  a beast,  fish, 
or  fowl,  she  would  have  been  a loser  by  it : or, 
had  she  desired  to  have  been  made  a sea  nymph, 
or  a goddess,  her  immortality  would  but  have 
perpetuated  her  disgrace.  ‘ Give  me,  therefore,* 
said  she,  ‘ such  a shape  as  may  make  me  inca- 
pable of  suffering  again  the  like  calamity,  or  of 
being  reproached  for  what  I have  already  suffer- 
ed.’ To  be  short,  she  w’as  turned  into  a man, 
and,  by  that  only  means,  avoided  the  danger  and 
imputation  she  so  much  dreaded. 

I was  once  myself  in  agonies  of  grief  that 
are  unutterable,  and  in  so  great  a distraction  of 
mind  that  I thought  myself  even  out  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  receiving  comfort.  The  occasion  was 
as  follow's.  When  I was  a youth  in  a part  of 
the  army  which  was  then  quartered  at  Dover,  I 
fell  in  love  with  an  agreeable  young  w'oman,  of 
a good  family  in  those  parts,  and  had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  my  addresses  kindly  received, 
which  occasioned  the  perplexity  I am  going  to 
relate. 

We  w'ere  in  a calm  evening  diverting  our- 
selves, upon  the  top  of  the  cliff,  with  the  prospect 
of  the  sea,  and  trifling  aw'ay  the  time  in  such 
little  fondnesses  as  are  most  ridiculous  to  people 
in  business,  and  most  agreeable  to  those  in  love. 

In  the  midst  of  these  our  innocent  endear- 
ments, she  snatched  a paper  of  verses  out  of  my 
hand,  and  ran  away  with  them.  I was  follow- 
ing her,  w’hen  on  a sudden  the  ground,  though 


No.  118.] 


THE  TATLER. 


229 


at  a considerable  distance  from  the  verge  of  the 
precipice,  sunk  under  her,  and  threw  her  down 
from  so  prodigious  a height  upon  such  a range 
of  rocks,  as  would  have  dashed  her  into  ten 
thousand  pieces,  had  her  body  been  made  of 
adamant.  It  is  much  easier  tor  my  reader  to 
imagine  my  state  of  mind  upon  such  an  occa- 
sion, than  for  me  to  express  it.  I said  to  myself, 
it  is  not  in  the  power  of  heaven  to  relieve  me  ! 
when  I awaked,  equally  transported  and  aston- 
ished, to  see  myself  drawn  out  of  an  affliction 
which  the  very  moment  before  appeared  to  me 
altogether  inextricable. 

The  impressions  of  grief  and  horror  were  so 
lively  on  this  occasion,  that  while  they  lasted 
they  made  me  more  miserable  than  I was  at  the 
real  death  of  this  beloved  person,  which  happen- 
ed a few  months  after,  at  a time  when  the  match 
between  us  was  concluded  ; inasmuch  as  the 
imaginary  death  was  untimely,  and  I myself 
in  a sort  an  accessary  ; whereas  her  real  disease 
had  at  least  these  alleviations,  of  being  natural 
and  inevitable. 

The  memory  of  the  dream  I have  related  still 
dwells  so  strongly  upon  me,  that  I can  never 
read  the  description  of  Dover-cliff  in  Shaks- 
peare’s  tragedy  of  King  Lear,  without  a fresh 
sense  of  my  escape.  The  prospect  from  that 
place  is  drawn  with  such  proper  incidents,  that 
whoever  can  read  it  without  growing  giddy, 
must  have  a good  head,  or  a very  bad  one. 

Come  on,  sir,  here’s  the  place ; stand  still ! how  fearful 
And  dizzy  ’tis  to  cast  one’s  eyes  so  low ! 

The  crows  and  choughs  that  wing  the  midway  air. 
Show  scarce  as  gross  as  beetles.  Half  way  down 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire— Dreadful  trade  ! 
Metiiinks  he  seems  no  bigger  than  his  head. 

The  fishermen  that  walk  upon  the  beach 
Appear  like  mice,  and  yon  tall  anchoring  bark 
Diminished  to  her  boat ; her  boat!  a buoy 
Almost  too  small  lor  sight.  The  murmuring  surge. 
That  on  th’  unnumbered  idle  pebbles  beats. 

Cannot  be  heard  so  high.  I’ll  look  no  more, 

Lest  my  brain  turn. 


No.  118.]  Tuesday,  January  10,  1709-10. 

Lusisti  satis,  edisti  satis,  atque  bibisti, 

Tempus  abire  tibi Hor.  2.  Ep.  ii.  214. 

Already  glutted  with  a farce  of  age, 

‘Tis  time  for  thee  to  quit  the  wanton  stage. 

Francis. 

Vrom  my  own  Apartment,  January  8. 

i THOUGHT  to  have  given  over  my  prosecu- 
Uon  of  the  dead  for  this  season,  having  by  me 
many  other  projects  for  the  reformation  of 
mankind ; but  I have  received  so  many  com- 
plaints from  such  different  hands,  that  I shall 
disoblige  multitudes  of  my  correspondents,  if 
I do  not  take  notice  of  them.  Some  of  the 
deceased,  who,  I thought,  had  been  laid  quietly 
in  their  graves,  are  such  hobgoblins  in  public 
assemblies,  that  I must  be  forced  to  deal  with 
them  as  Evander  did  with  his  triple-iived  ad- 
versary ; who,  according  to  Virgil,  was  forced 
to  kill  him  thrice  over,  before  he  could  despatch 
him. 

Ter  letho  sternendus  erat. 

Thrice  T sent  him  to  the  Stygian  shore. 


I am  likewise  informed,  that  several  wives 
of  my  dead  men  have,  since  the  decease  of  their 
husbands,  been  seen  in  many  public  places, 
without  mourning  or  regard  to  common  decency. 

1 am  further  advised,  that  several  of  the  de- 
funct, contrary  to  the  woollen  act,  presume  to 
dress  themselves  in  lace,  embroidery,  silks, 
muslins,  and  other  ornaments  forbidden  to  per- 
sons in  their  condition.  These  and  other  the 
like  informations  moving  me  thereunto,  I must 
desire,  for  distinction  sake,  and  to  conclude  this 
subject  for  ever,  that  when  any  of  these  posthu- 
mous persons  appear,  or  are  spoken  of,  that  their 
wives  may  be  called  widows ; their  houses, 
sepulchres ; their  chariots,  hearses ; and  their 
garments,  flannel : on  which  condition,  they 
shall  be  allowed  all  the  conveniences  that  dead 
men  can  in  reason  desire. 

As  I was  writing  this  morning  on  this  sub- 
ject, I received  the  following  letter : 

From  the  banks  of  Styx. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I must  confess,  I treated 
you  very  scurrilously  when  you  first  sent  me 
hither  ; but  you  have  despatched  such  multi- 
tudes after  me  to  keep  me  in  countenance,  that  I 
am  very  well  reconciled  both  to  you  and  my 
condition.  We  live  very  lovingly  together ; for, 
as  death  makes  us  all  equal,  it  makes  us  very 
much  delight  in  one  another’s  company.  Our 
time  passes  away  much  after  the  same  manner 
as  it  did  when  we  were  among  you : eating, 
drinking,  and  sleeping,  are  our  chief  diversions. 
Our  Quidnuncs  between  whiles  go  to  a coffee- 
house, where  they  have  several  warm  liquors 
made  of  the  waters  of  Lethe,  with  very  good 
poppy-tea.  We  that  are  the  sprightly  geniuses 
of  the  place  refresh  ourselves  frequently  with  a 
bottle  of  mum,  and  tell  stories  until  we  fall 
asleep.  You  would  do  well  to  send  among  us 
Mr.  Dod well’s  book  against  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  which  would  be  of  great  consolation  to 
our  whole  fraternity,  who  would  be  very  glad 
to  find  that  they  are  dead  for  good  and  all,  and 
would,  in  particular,  make  me  rest  for  ever 
yours,  JOHN  PARTRIDGE. 

‘ P.  S.  Sir  James  is  just  arrived  here  in  good 
health.’ 

The  foregoing  letter  was  the  more  pleasing 
to  me,  because  1 perceived  some  little  .symptoms 
in  it  of  a resuscitation;  and  having  lately  seen 
the  predictions  of  this  author,  which  are  written 
in  a true  protestant  spirit  of  prophecy,  and  a 
particular  zeal  against  the  French  king,  I have 
some  thoughts  of  sending  for  him  from  the 
banks  of  Styx,  and  reinstating  him  in  his  own 
house,  at  the  sign  of  the  Globe  in  Salisbury- 
street.  For  the  encouragement  of  him  and 
others,  I shall  offer  to  their  consideration  a 
letter,  which  gives  me  an  account  of  the  revival 
of  one  of  their  brethren. 

December  31. 

‘Sir — I have  perused  your  Tatler  of  this  day, 
and  have  wept  over  it  with  great  pleasure ; I 
wish  you  would  be  more  frequent  in  your 
family-pieces.  For,  as  I consider  you  under 
the  notion  of  a great  designer,  I think  these  are 
not  your  least  valuable  performances.  I am 


230 


THE  TATLER. 


glad  to  find  you  have  given  over  your  face-paint- 
ing for  some  time,  because  I think  you  have 
employed  yourself  more  in  grotesque  figures 
than  in  beauties;  for  which  reason  I would 
rather  see  you  work  upon  history-pieces,  than 
on  single  portraits.  Your  several  draughts  of 
dead  men  appear  to  me  as  pictures  of  still-life, 
and  have  done  great  good  in  the  place  where  I 
live.  The  esquire  of  a neighbouring  village,  who 
had  been  a long  time  in  the  number  of  non-en- 
tities, is  entirely  recovered  by  them.  For  these 
several  years  past,  there  was  not  a hare  in  the 
county  that  could  be  at  rest  for  him;  and  I 
think,  the  greatest  exploit  he  ever  boasted  of 
was,  that  when  he  was  high-sheriff  of  the  county, 
he  hunted  a fox  so  far,  that  he  could  not  follow 
him  any  farther  by  the  laws  of  the  land.  All 
the  hours  he  spent  at  home,  were  in  swelling^ 
himself  with  October,  and  rehearsing  the  won- 
ders he  did  in  the  field.  Upon  reading  your 
papers,  he  has  sold  his  dogs,  shook  off  his  dead 
companions,  looked  into  his  estate,  got  the 
multiplication-table  by  heart,  paid  his  tithes, 
and  intends  to  take  upon  him  the  office  of 
church-warden  next  year.  I wish  the  same 
success  with  your  other  patients,  and  am,  &c.’ 

Ditto,  January  9. 

When  I came  home  this  evening,  a very 
tight  middle-aged  woman  presented  to  me  the 
following  petition : 

‘ To  the  worshipful  Isaac  Bicherstaff,  Esquire, 
Censor  of  Great-Britain. 

‘The  humble  petition  of  Penelope  Prim, 
widow  ; showeth, 

‘ That  your  petitioner  was  bred  a clear- 
starcher  and  sempstress,  and  for  many  years 
worked  to  the  Exchange,  and  to  several  aider- 
men’s  wives,  lawyers’  clerks,  and  merchants’ 
apprentices. 

‘ That  through  the  scarcity  caused  by  re- 
grators  of  bread  corn,  of  which  starch  is  made, 
and  the  gentry’s  immoderate  frequenting  the 
operas,  the  ladies,  to  save  charges,  have  their 
heads  washed  at  home,  and  the  beaux  put  out 
their  linen  to  common  laundresses.  So  that 
your  petitioner  has  little  or  no  work  at  her 
trade ; for  want  of  which,  she  is  reduced  to  sucli 
necessity,  that  she  and  her  seven  fatherless 
children  must  inevitably  perish,  unless  relieved 
by  your  worsliip. 

‘That  your  petitioner  is  informed,  that  in 
contempt  of  your  judgment  pronounced  on 
Tuesday  the  third  instant  against  the  new- 
fashioned  petticoat,  or  oldfasliioned  fardingal, 
the  ladies  design  to  go  on  in  that  dress.  And 
since  it  is  presumed  your  worship  will  not  sup- 
press them  by  force,  your  petitioner  humbly 
desires  you  would  order,  that  ruffs  may  be 
added  to  the  dress ; and  tliat  she  may  be  heard 
by  her  counsel,  who  has  assured  your  petitioner, 
he  has  such  cogent  reasons  to  offer  to  your 
court,  that  ruffs  and  fardingals  are  inseparable, 
that  he  questions  not  but  two-thirds  of  the 
greatest  beauties  about  town  will  have  cambric 
collars  on  their  necks  before  the  end  of  Easter 
term  next.  He  further  says,  that  the  design 
of  our  great  grandmothers  in  this  petticoat,  was 


[No.  119. 

to  appear  much  bigger  than  the  life ; for  which 
reason  they  had  false  shoulder  blades,  like 
wings,  and  the  ruff  above  mentioned,  to  make 
the  upper  and  lower  parts  of  their  bodies  appear 
proportionable ; whereas  the  figure  of  a woman 
in  the  present  dress  bears,  as  he  calls  it,  the 
figure  of  a cone,  which,  as  he  advises,  is  the 
same  with  that  of  an  extinguisher,  with  a little 
knob  at  the  upper  end,  and  widening  downward, 
until  it  ends  in  a basis  of  a most  enormous  cir- 
cumference. 

‘Your  petitioner,  therefore,  most  humbly 
prays,  that  you  would  restore  the  ruff  to  the 
fardingal,  which  in  their  nature  ought  to  be  as 
inseparable  as  the  two  Hungarian  twins.* 

‘ And  your  petitioner  shall  ever  pray.’ 

I have  examined  into  the  allegations  of  this 
petition,  and  find,  by  several  ancient  pictures 
of  my  own  predecessors,  particularly  that  of 
dame  Deborah  Bickerstaff,  my  great  grand- 
mother, that  the  ruff  and  fardingal  are  made 
use  of  as  absolutely  necessary  to  preserve  the 
symmetry  of  the  figure ; and  Mrs.  Pyramid 
Bickerstaff,  her  second  sister,  is  recorded  in 
our  family  book,  with  some  observations  to  her 
disadvantage,  as  the  first  female  of  our  house 
that  discovered,  to  any  besides  her  nurse  and 
her  husband,  an  inch  below  her  chin,  or  above 
her  instep.  This  convinces  me  of  the  reasona- 
bleness of  Mrs.  Prim’s  demand  ; and,  therefore, 
I sliall  not  allow  the  reviving  of  any  one  part  of 
that  ancient  mode,  except  the  whole  is  complied 
with.  Mrs.  Prim  is  therefore  hereby  em- 
powered to  carry  home  ruffs  to  such  as  she 
shall  see  in  the  above  mentioned  petticoats,  and 
require  payment  on  demand. 

Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  under  consideration 
the  offer  from  the  corporation  of  Colchester  of 
four  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  to  be  paid 
quarterly,  provided  that  all  his  dead  persons 
shall  be  obliged  to  wear  the  baize  of  that  place. 


No.  119.]  Thursday,  January  12,  1709-10. 

la  tenui  labor Virg.  Georg,  lib.  iv.  G. 

In  wisdom  hast  thou  made  them  all ! 

Psalm  civ.  24. 

Sheer-lane,  January  11. 

I H.WE  lately  applied  myself  with  much  sa- 
tisfaction to  the  curious  discoveries  that  have 
been  made  by  the  help  of  microscopes,  as  they 
are  related  by  authors  of  our  own  and  other  na- 
tions. There  is  a great  deal  of  pleasure  in 
prying  into  this  wmrld  of  tvonders,  which  nature 
has  laid  out  of  sight,  and  seems  industrious  to 
conceal  from  us.  Philosophy  had  ranged  over 
all  the  visible  creation,  and  began  to  w^ant  ob- 
jects  for  her  inquiries,  when  the  present  ag-e, 
by  the  invention  of  glasses,  opened  a new  and  in- 
exhaustible magazine  of  rarities,  more  wonder- 
ful and  amazing  than  any  of  those  which  aston- 


Helen  and  Judith,  two  united  twin-sisters,  were 
born  at  Tzoni,  in  Hungary,  Oct.  26,  1701 ; lived  to  the 
age  of  twenty-one,  and  died  in  a convent  at  Petersburg, 
Feb.  23,  1723.  The  mother,  it  is  said,  sunived  their 
birth,  bore  another  child  afterwards,  and  v.as  alive 
when  her  singular  twins  were  shown  here,  at  a house 
i in  the  Rtrand,  near  Charing-cross,  in  1708. 


* O.  Swilling. 


No.  119.] 


THE  TATLER. 


231 


ished  our  forefathers.  I was  yesterday  amus- 
ing- myself  with  speculations  of  this  kind,  and 
reflecting  upon  myriads  of  animals  that  swim 
in  those  little  seas  of  juices  that  are  contained 
in  the  several  vessels  of  a human  body.  While 
my  mind  was  thus  filled  with  that  secret  wonder 
and  delight,  I could  not  but  look  upon  myself 
as  in  an  act  of  devotion,  and  am  very  well 
pleased  with  the  thought  of  the  great  heathen 
anatomist,*  who  calls  his  description  of  the 
parts  of  a human  body,  ‘ A hymn  to  the 
Supreme  Being.’  The  reading  of  the  day  pro- 
duced in  my  imagination  an  agreeable  morn- 
ing’s dream,  if  I may  call  it  such ; for  I am  still 
in  doubt  whether  it  passed  in  my  sleeping  or 
waking  thoughts.  However  it  was,  I fancied 
that  my  good  genius  stood  at  my  bed’s  head, 
and  entertained  me  with  the  following  discourse  ; 
for,  upon  my  rising,  it  dwelt  so  strongly  upon 
me,  that  I writ  down  the  substance  of  it,  if  not 
the  very  words. 

‘ If,’  said  he,  ‘ you  can  be  so  transported  with 
those  productions  of  nature  which  are  discovered 
to  you  by  those  artificial  eyes  that  are  the  works 
of  human  invention,  how  great  will  your  sur- 
prise be,  when  you  shall  have  it  in  your  power 
to  model  your  own  eye  as  you  please,  and  adapt 
it  to  the  bulk  of  objects  which,  with  all  these 
helps,  are  by  infinite  degrees  too  minute  for  your 
perception.  We  who  are  unbodied  spirits  can 
sharpen  our  sight  to  what  degree  we  think  fit, 
and  make  the  least  work  of  the  creation  distinct 
and  visible.  This  gives  us  such  ideas  as  can- 
not possibly  enter  into  your  present  conceptions. 
There  is  not  the  least  particle  of  matter  which 
may  not  furnish  one  of  us  sufficient  employment 
for  a whole  eternity.  Wc  can  still  divide  it, 
and  still  open  it,  and  still  discover  new  wonders 
of  providence,  as  we  look  into  the  different  tex- 
ture of  its  parts,  and  meet  with  beds  of  vegeta- 
bles, minerals,  and  metallic  mixtures,  and  several 
kinds  of  animals  that  lie  hid,  and,  as  it  were, 
lost  in  such  an  endless  fund  of  matter.  I find 
you  are  surprised  at  this  discourse ; but  as  your 
reason  tells  you  there  are  infinite  parts  in  the 
smallest  portion  of  matter,  it  will  likewise  con- 
vince you  that  there  is  as  great  a variety  of 
secrets,  and  as  much  room  for  discoveries,  in  a 
particle  no  bigger  than  the  point  of  a pin,  as  in 
the  globe  of  the  whole  earth.  Your  micro- 
scopes bring  to  sight  shoals  of  living  creatures  in 
a spoonful  of  vinegar ; but  we  who  can  distin- 
guish them  in  their  different  magnitudes,  see 
among  them  several  huge  leviathans  that  terrify 
the  little  fry  of  animals  about  them,  and  take 
their  pastime  as  in  an  ocean,  or  the  great  deep.’ 

I could  not  but  smile  at  this  part  of  his  relation, 
and  told  him,  ‘ I doubted  not  but  he  could  give 
me  the  history  of  several  invisible  giants,  ac- 
companied with  their  respective  dwarfs,  in  case 
that  any  of  these  little  beings  are  of  a human 
shape.’  ‘ You  may  assure  yourself,’  said  he, 

‘ that  we  see  in  these  little  animals  different 
natures,  instincts,  and  modes  of  life,  which  cor- 
respond to  what  you  observe  in  creatures  of  big- 
ger dimensions.  We  descry  millions  of  species 
subsisting  on  a green  leaf,  which  your  glasses 
represent  only  in  crowds  and  swarms.  What 


appears  to  your  eye  but  as  hair  or  down  rising 
on  the  surface  of  it,  we  find  to  be  woods  and 
forests,  inhabited  by  beasts  of  prey,  that  are  as 
dreadful  in  those  their  little  haunts,  as  lions  and 
tigers  in  the  deserts  of  Lybia.’  I was  much 
delighted  with  his  discourse,  and  could  not  for- 
bear telling  him,  ‘ tliat  I should  be  wonderfully 
pleased  to  see  a natural  history  of  impercepti- 
bles,  containing  a true  account  of  such  vegeta- 
bles and  animals  us  grow  and  live  out  of  sight. 
‘Such  disquisitions,’  answered  he,  ‘are  very 
suitable  to  reasonable  creatures.;  and,  you  may 
be  sure,  there  are  many  curious  spirits  among 
us  who  employ  themselves  in  such  amusements. 
For,  as  our  hands  and  all  our  senses  may  be 
formed  to  what  degree  of  strength  and  delicacy 
we  please,  in  the  same  manner  as  our  sight,  we 
can  make  what  experiments  we  are  inclined  to, 
how  small  soever  the  matter  be  in  which  we 
make  them.  I have  been  present  at  the  dissec- 
tion of  a mite,  and  have  seen  the  skeleton  of  a 
ffea.  I have  been  shown  a forest  of  numberless 
trees,  which  has  been  picked  out  of  an  acorn. 
Your  microscope  can  show  you  in  it  a complete 
oak  in  miniature  ; and  could  you  suit  all  your 
organs  as  we  do,  you  might  pluck  an  acorn 
from  this  little  oak,  which  contains  another 
tree ; and  so  proceed  from  tree  to  tree,  as  long 
as  you  would  think  fit  to  continue  your  disqui- 
sitions. It  is  almost  impossible,’  added  he,  ‘ to 
talk  of  things  so  remote  from  common  life,  and 
the  ordinary  notions  which  mankind  receive 
from  blunt  and  gross  organs  of  sense,  without 
appearing  extravagant  and  ridiculous.  You 
have  often  seen  a dog  opened,  to  observe  the 
circulation  of  the  blood,  or  make  any  other  use- 
ful enquiry ; and  yet  would  be  tempted  to  laugh 
if  I should  tell  you,  that  a circle  of  much  greater 
philosophers  than  any  of  the  Royal  Society,  were 
present  at  the  cutting  up  of  one  of  those  little 
animals  which  we  find  in  the  blue  of  a plum ; 
that  it  was  tied  down  alive  before  them  ; and 
that  they  observed  the  palpitations  of  the  heart, 
the  course  of  the  blood,  the  working  of  the 
muscles,  and  the  convulsions  in  the  several 
limbs,  with  great  accuracy  and  improvement.’ 

‘ I must  confess,’  said  I,  ‘ for  my  own  part,  I 
go  along  with  you  in  all  your  discoveries  with 
great  pleasure  : but  it  is  certain,  they  are  too 
fine  for  the  gross  of  mankind,  who  are  more 
struck  with  the  description  of  every  thing  that 
is  great  and  bulky.  Accordingly  we  find  the 
best  judge  of  human  nature  setting  forth  his 
wisdom,  not  in  the  formation  of  these  minute 
animals,  though  indeed  no  less  wonderful  than 
the  other,  but  in  that  of  the  leviathan  and  be- 
hemoth,*  the  horse,  and  the  crocodile.’  ‘Your 
observation,’  said  he,  ‘is  very  just ; and  I must 
acknowledge,  for  my  own  part,  that  although 
it  is  with  much  delight  that  I see  the  traces  of 
providence  in  these  instances,  I still  take  greater 
pleasure  in  considering  the  wmrks  of  the  creation 
in  their  immensity,  than  in  their  minuteness. 
For  this  reason,  I rejoice  when  I strengthen 
my  sight  so  as  to  make  it  pierce  into  the  most 
remote  spaces,  and  take  a view  of  those  heavenly 
bodies  which  lie  out  of  the  reach  of  human 
eyes,  though  assisted  by  telescopes.  What  you 


* Galen,  de  Usu  Partium. 


* See  Job,  chap,  xxxix.  xl.  xli. 


232 


THE  TATLER. 


look  upon  as'  one  confused  white  in  the  milky 
way,  appears  to  me  a long  track  of  heavens, 
distinguished  by  stars  that  are  ranged  in  proper 
figures  and  constellations.  While  you  are  ad- 
miring the  sky  in  a starry  night,  I am  enter- 
tained with  a variety  of  worlds  and  suns  placed 
one  above  another,  and  rising  up  to  such  an 
immense  distance,  that  no  created  eye  can  see 
an  end  of  them.’ 

The  latter  part  of  his  discourse  flung  me  into 
such  an  astonishment,  that  he  had  been  silent 
for  some  time  before  I took  notice  of  it ; when  on 
a sudden  I started  up  and  drew  my  curtains,  to 
look  if  any  one  was  near  me,  but  saw  nobody, 
and  cannot  tell  to  this  moment  whether  it  was 
my  good  genius  or  a dream  that  left  me. 


No.  120.]  Saturday,  January  14,  1709-10. 

Velut  silvis,  ubi  passim 

Palantes  error  certo  de  tramite  pellit ; 

Ille  sinistrorsura  hie  dextrorsum  abit. 

Hor.  ii.  Sat.  iii.  48. 

When,  in  a wood,  we  leave  the  certain  way. 

One  error  fools  us,  though  we  various  stray, 

Some  to  the  left,  and  some  to  t’  other  side. 

Francis. 

Sheer-lane,  January  13. 

Instead  of  considering  any  particular  passion 
or  character  in  any  one  set  of  men,  my  thoughts 
were  last  night  employed  on  the  contemplation 
of  human  life  in  general ; and  truly  it  appears 
to  me,  that  the  whole  species  are  hurried  on 
by  the  same  desires,  and  engaged  in  the  same 
pursuits,  according  to  the  different  stages  and 
divisions  of  life.  Youth  is  devoted  to  lust, 
middle  age  to  ambition,  old  age  to  avarice. 
These  are  the  three  general  motives  and  prin- 
ciples of  action  both  in  good  and  bad  men  ; 
though  it  must  be  acknowledged,  that  they 
change  their  names,  and  refine  their  natures, 
according  to  the  temper  of  the  person  whom 
they  direct  and  animate.  For,  with  the  good, 
lust  becomes  virtuous  love  ; ambition,  true  ho- 
nour ; and  avarice,  the  care  of  posterity.  This 
scheme  of  thought  amused  me  very  agreeably 
until  I retired  to  rest,  and  afterwards  formed 
itself  into  a pleasing  and  regular  vision,  which 
I shall  describe  in  all  its  circumstances,  as  the 
objects  presented  themselves,  whether  in  a se- 
rious or  ridiculous  manner. 

I dreamed  that  I was  in  a wood,  of  so  pro- 
digious an  extent,  and  cut  into  such  a variety 
of  walks  and  alleys,  that  all  mankind  were  lost 
and  bewildered  in  it.  After  having  wandered 
up  and  down  some  time,  I came  into  the  centre 
of  it,  which  opened  into  a wide  plain  filled  with 
multitudes  of  both  sexes.  I here  discovered 
three  great  roads,  very  wide  and  long,  that  led 
into  three  different  parts  of  the  forest.  On  a 
sudden,  the  whole  multitude  broke  into  three 
parts,  according  to  their  different  ages,  and 
marched  in  their  respective  bodies  into  the  three 
great  roads  that  lay  before  them.  As  I had  a 
mind  to  know  how  each  of  these  roads  termi- 
nated, and  whither  they  would  lead  those  who 
passed  through  them,  I joined  myself  with  the 
asse.mbly  that  were  in  the  flower  and  vigour 


[No.  120. 

of  their  age,  and  called  themselves  ‘ the  band  of 
lovers.’  I found,  to  my  great  surprise,  that  se- 
veral  old  men  besides  myself  had  intruded  into 
this  agreeable  company  ; as  I had  before  ob- 
served, there  were  some  young  men  who  had 
united  themselves  to  ‘ the  band  of  misers,’  and 
were  walking  up  the  path  of  avarice ; though  both 
made  a very  ridiculous  figure,  and  were  as  much 
laughed  at  by  those  they  joined,  as  by  those  they 
forsook.  The  walk  which  we  marched  up,  for 
thickness  of  shades,  embroidery  of  flowers,  and 
melody  of  birds,  with  the  distant  purling  of 
streams,  and  falls  of  water,  was  so  wonderfully 
delightful,  that  it  charmed  our  senses,  and  in- 
toxicated  our  minds  with  pleasure.  We  had  not 
been  long  here,  before  every  man  singled  out 
some  woman,  to  whom  he  offered  his  addresses, 
and  professed  himself  a lover  ; when,  on  a sud- 
den, we  perceived  this  delicious  walk  to  grow 
more  narrow  as  we  advanced  in  it,  until  it 
ended  in  many  intricate  thickets,  mazes,  and 
labyrinths,  that  were  so  mixed  with  roses  and 
brambles,  brakes  of  thorns  and  beds  of  flowers, 
rocky  paths  and  pleasing  grottos,  that  it  was 
hard  to  say,  whether  it  gave  greater  delight  or 
perplexity  to  those  who  travelled  in  it. 

It  was  here  that  the  lovers  began  to  be  eager 
in  their  pursuits.  Some  of  their  mistresses, 
who  only  seemed  to  retire  for  the  sake  of  form 
and  decency,  led  them  into  plantations  that 
were  disposed  into  regular  walks  ; where,  after 
they  had  wheeled  about  in  some  turns  and  wind- 
ings, they  suffered  themselves  to  be  overtaken, 
and  gave  their  hands  to  those  who  pursued  them. 
Others  withdrew  from  their  followers  into  little 
wildernesses,  where  there  were  so  many  paths 
interwoven  with  each  other  in  so  much  confusion 
and  irregularity,  that  several  of  the  lovers  quit- 
ted the  pursuit,  or  broke  their  hearts  in  the 
chase.  It  was  sometimes  very  odd  to  see  a man 
pursuing  a fine  woman  that  was  following  ano- 
ther, whose  eye  was  fixed  upon  a fourth,  that 
had  her  own  game  in  view  in  some  other  quarter 
of  the  wilderness.  I could  not  but  observe  two 
things  in  this  place  which  I thought  very  par- 
ticular. That  several  persons,  who  stood  only 
at  the  end  of  the  avenues,  and  cast  a careless 
eye  upon  the  nymphs  during  their  whole 
flight,  often  catched  them  ; when  those  who 
pressed  them  the  most  warmly,  through  all  their 
turns  and  doubles,  were  wholly  unsuccessful ; 
and  that  some  of  my  own  age,  wlio  were  at 
first  looked  upon  with  aversion  and  contempt, 
by  being  well  acquainted  with  the  wilderness, 
and  by  dodging  their  women  in  the  particular 
corners  and  alleys  of  it,  catched  them  in  their 
arms,  and  took  them  from  those  whom  they 
really  loved  and  admired.  There  was  a parti- 
cular grove,  which  was  called  ‘ the  labyrinth  of 
coquettes ;’  where  many  were  enticed  to  the 
chase,  but  few  returned  with  purchase.  It  was 
pleasant  enough  to  see  a celebrated  beauty,  by 
smiling  upon  one,  casting  a glance  upon  another, 
beckoning  to  a third,  and  adapting  her  charms 
and  graces  to  the  several  follies  of  those  that 
admired  her,  drawing  into  the  labyrinth  a whole 
pack  of  lovers,  that  lost  themselves  in  the  maze, 
and  never  could  find  their  way  out  of  it.  How- 
ever, it  was  some  satisfaction  to  me,  to  see  many 
of  the  fair  ones,  who  had  thus  deluded  tlieir 


No.  120.] 


THE  TATLER. 


233 


followers,  and  left  them  among  the  intricacies 
of  the  labyrinth,  obliged,  when  they  came  out 
of  it,  to  surrender  to  the  first  partner  that  offer- 
ed himself.  I now  had  crossed  over  all  the 
difficult  and  perplexed  passages  that  seemed  to 
bound  our  walk,  when  on  the  other  side  of  them 
I saw  the  same  great  road  running  on  a little 
way  until  it  was  terminated  by  two  beautiful 
temples.  I stood  here  for  some  time,  and  saw 
most  of  the  multitude,  who  had  been  dispersed 
amongst  the  thickets,  coming  out  two  by  two, 
and  marching  up  in  pairs  towards  the  temples 
that  stood  before  us.  The  structure  on  the  right 
hand  was,  as  I afterwards  found,  consecrated  to 
virtuous  love,  and  could  not  be  entered  but  by 
such  as  received  a ring,  or  some  other  token, 
from  a person  who  was  placed  as  a guard  at  the 
gate  of  it.  He  wore  a garland  of  roses  and  myr- 
tles on  his  head,  and  on  his  shoulders  a robe  like 
an  imperial  mantle,  white  and  unspotted  all 
over,  excepting  only,  that  where  it  was  clasped 
at  his  breast,  tliere  were  two  golden  turtle-doves 
that  buttoned  it  by  their  bills,  which  were 
wrought  in  rubies.  He  was  called  by  the  name 
of  Hymen,  and  was  seated  near  the  entrance  of 
the  temple,  in  a delicious  bower,  made  up  of 
several  trees,  that  were  embraced  by  woodbines, 
jasamines,  and  amaranths,  which  were  as  so 
many  emblems  of  marriage,  and  ornaments  to 
the  trunks  that  supported  them.  As  I was  sin- 
gle and  unaccompanied,  I was  not  permitted  to 
enter  the  temple,  and  for  that  reason  am  a 
stranger  to  all  the  mysteries  that  were  perform- 
ed in  it.  I had,  however,  the  curiosity  to  ob- 
serve how  the  several  couples  that  entered  were 
disposed  of ; which  was  after  the  following 
manner.  There  were  two  great  gates  on  the 
backside  of  the  edifice,  at  which  the  whole 
crowd  was  let  out.  At  one  of  these  gates  were 
two  women,  extremely  beautiful,  though  in  a 
different  kind,  the  one  having  a very  careful 
and  composed  air,  the  other  a sort  of  smile  and 
ineffable  sweetness  in  her  countenance.  The 
name  of  the  first  was  Discretion,  and  of  the 
other  Complacency.  All  who  came  out  of  this 
gate,  and  put  themselves  under  the  direction  of 
these  two  sisters,  were  immediately  conducted 
by  them  into  gardens,  groves,  and  meadows, 
which  abounded  in  delights,  and  were  furnished 
with  every  thing  that  could  make  them  the  pro- 
per seats  of  happiness.  The  second  gate  of 
this  temple  let  out  all  the  couples  that  were  un- 
happily married,  who  came  out  linked  together 
with  chains,  which  each  of  them  strove  to  break, 
but  could  not.  Several  of  these  were  such  as 
had  never  been  acquainted  with  each  other  be- 
fore they  met  in  the  great  walk,  or  had  been  too 
well  acquainted  in  the  thicket.  The  entrance 
to  this  gate  was  possessed  by  three  sisters,  who 
joined  themselves  with  these  wretches,  and  oc- 
casioned most  of  their  miseries.  The  youngest 
of  the  sisters  was  known  by  the  name  of  Levity, 
who,  with  the  innocence  of  a virgin,  had  the 
dress  and  behaviour  of  a harlot.  The  name  of 
the  second  was  Contention,  who  bore  on  her 
right  arm  a muff  made  of  the  skin  of  a porcu- 
pine ; and  on  her  left  carried  a little  lap-dog, 
that  barked  and  snapped  at  every  one  that  pass- 
ed by  her. 


The  eldest  of  the  sisters,  who  seemed  to  have 
a haughty  and  imperious  air,  was  always  ac- 
companied with  a tawny  cupid,  who  generally 
marclied  before  her  w’ith  a little  mace  on  his 
shoulder,  the  end  of  which  was  fashioned  into 
the  horns  of  a stag.  Her  garments  were  yel- 
low, and  her  complexion  pale.  Her  eyes  were 
piercing,  but  had  odd  casts  in  them,  and  that 
particular  distemper,  which  makes  persons  who 
are  troubled  with  it,  see  objects  double.  Upon 
inquiry,  I was  informed  that  her  name- was 
Jealousy. 

Having  finished  my  observations  upon  this 
temple  and  its  votaries,  I repaired  to  that  which 
stood  on  the  left  hand,  and  was  called  ‘ the  tem- 
ple of  lust.’  The  front  of  it  was  raised  on  Co- 
rinthian pillars,  with  all  the  meretricious  orna- 
ments that  accompanied  that  order ; whereas 
that  of  the  other  was  composed  of  the  chaste 
and  matron-like  Ionic.  The  sides  of  it  were 
adorned  with  several  grotesque  figures  of  goats, 
sparrows,  lieathen  gods,  satyrs,  and  monsters 
made  up  of  half  men  half  beasts.  The  gates 
were  unguarded,  and  open  to  all  that  had  a 
mind  to  enter.  Upon  my  going  in,  I found  the 
windows  were  blinded,  and  let  in  only  a kind 
of  twilight,  that  served  to  discover  a prodigious 
number  of  dark  corners  and  apartments,  into 
which  the  whole  temple  was  divided.  I was 
here  stunned  with  a mixed  noise  of  clamour  and 
jollity.  On  one  side  of  me  I heard  singing  and 
dancing  ; on  the  other,  brawls  and  clashing  of 
swords.  In  short  I was  so  little  pleased  with 
the  place,  that  I was  going  out  of  it ; but  found 
I could  not  return  by  the  gate  where  I entered, 
which  was  barred  against  all  that  were  come  in, 
with  bolts  of  iron,  and  locks  of  adamant.  There 
was  no  going  back  from  this  temple  through  the 
paths  of  pleasure  which  led  to  it.  All  who  pass- 
ed through  the  ceremonies  of  the  place,  went 
out  at  an  iron  wicket,  which  was  kept  by  a 
dreadful  giant,  called  Remorse,  that  held  a 
scourge  of  scorpions  in  his  hand,  and  drove 
tJicm  into  the  only  outlet  from  that  temple.  This 
was  a passage  so  rugged,  so  uneven,  and  choked 
with  so  many  thorns  and  briers,  that  it  was  a 
melancholy  spectacle  to  behold  the  pains  and 
difficulties  which  both  sexes  suffered  who  walk- 
ed through  it.  The  men,  though  in  the  prime 
of  their  youth,  appeared  weak  and  enfeebled 
with  old  age.  The  women  wrung  their  hands 
and  tore  their  hair  ; and  several  lost  their  limbs 
before  they  could  extricate  themselves  out  of 
the  perplexities  of  the  path  in  which  they  were 
engaged.  The  remaining  part  of  this  vision, 
and  the  adventurqs  I met  with  in  the  two  great 
roads  of  Ambition  and  Avarice,  must  be  the 
subject  of  another  paper. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

I have  this  morning  received  the  following 
letter  from  the  famous  Mr.  Thomas  Dogget. 

‘ Sir, — On  Monday  next  will  be  acted,  for  my 
benefit,  the  comedy  of  Love  for  Love.  If  you 
will  do  me  the  honour  to  appear  there,  I will 
publish  on  the  bills,  that  it  is  to  be  performed 
at  the  request  of  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  esquire,  and 
question  not  that  it  will  bring  me  as  great  an 
audience,  as  ever  was  at  the  house,  since  the 


234 


THE  TATLER. 


Morocco  Ambassador  was  there.*  I am,  with  the 
greatest  respect,  your  most  obedient  and  most 
humble  servant,  THOMAS  DOGGET.’ 

Being  naturally  an  encourager  of  wit,  as  well 
as  bound  to  it  in  the  quality  of  Censor,  I return- 
ed the  following  answer : 

‘ Mr.  Dogget, — I am  very  well  pleased  with 
the  choice  you  have  made  of  so  excellent  a play, 
and  have  always  looked  upon  you  as  the  best  of 
comedians  ; I shall  therefore  come  in  between 
the  first  and  second  act,  and  remain  in  the  right 
hand  box  over  the  pit  until  the  end  of  the  fourth  ; 
provided  you  take  care  that  every  thing  be 
rightly  prepared  for  my  reception.’ 


No.  121.]  Tuesday^  January  17,  1709. 

Similis  tibi,  Cynthia,  vel  tibi,  cujus 
Turbavit  nitidos  extinctus  passer  ocellos.. 

Juv.  Sat.  Vi.  7. 

Like  Cynthia,  or  the  Lesbiasof  our  years, 

Who  for  a sparrow’s  death  dis  solve  in  tears. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  January  16. 

I WAS  recollecting  the  remainder  of  my  vision, 
when  my  maid  came  to  me,  and  told  me, 

‘ there  was  a gentlewoman  below  who  seemed 
to  be  in  great  trouble,  and  pressed  very  much 
to  see  me.’  When  it  lay  in  my  power  to  remove 
the  distress  of  an  unhappy  person,  I thought  I 
should  very  ill  employ  my  time  in  attending  to 
matters  of  speculation,  and  therefore  desired  the 
lady  would  walk  in.  When  she  entered,  I saw 
her  eyes  full  of  tears.  However,  her  grief  was 
not  so  great  as  to  make  her  omit  rules ; for  she 
was  very  long  and  exact  in  her  civilities,  which 
gave  me  time  to  view  and  consider  her.  Her 
clothes  were  very  rich,  but  tarnished  ; and  her 
words  very  fine,  but  ill  applied.  These  distinc- 
tions made  me,  without  hesitation,  though  I had 
never  seen  her  before,  ask  her,  ‘ if  her  lady  had 
any  commands  for  me  ?’  She  then  began  to 
weep  afresh,  and  with  many  broken  sighs  told 
me,  ‘ that  their  family  was  in  very  great  afflic- 
tion.’ I heseeched  her  ‘ to  compose  herself,  for  that 
I might  possibly  be  capable  of  assisting  them.’ 
She  then  cast  her  eye  upon  my  little  dog,  and 
was  again  transported  with  too  much  passion  to 
proceed  ; but,  with  much  ado,  slie  at  last  gave 
me  to  understand,  ‘ that  Cupid,  her  lady’s  lap- 
dog,  was  dangerously  ill,  and  in  so  bad  a condi- 
tion, that  her  lady  neither  saw  company,  nor 
went  abroad,  for  which  reason  she  did  not  come 
herself  to  consult  me  ; that,  as  I had  mentioned 
with  great  affection  my  own  dog,’  (here  she 
courtsied,  and  looking  first  at  the  cur  and  then 
on  me,  said,  ‘ indeed  I had  reason,  for  he  was 
very  pretty)  her  lady  sent  to  me  rather  than  to 
any  other  doctor,  and  hoped  I would  not  laugh  at 
her  sorrow,  but  send  her  my  advice.’  I must 
confess,  I had  some  indignation  to  find  myself 
treated  like  something  below  a farrier  ;t  yet,  well 

* About  three  years  before  this  time,  in  1706,  towards 
the  end  of  April,  the  Morocco  ambassador  made  his 
public  entry  into  London,  and  was  admitted  to  his  au- 
dience. 

t Yet  Winchester,  the  surgeon,  got  a good  estate  close 
to  Barham,  for  setting  the  leg  of  a gentleman’s  dog. 


[No.  121. 

knowing  that  the  best,  as  well  as  most  tender 
way,  of  dealing  with  a woman,  is  to  fall  in  with 
her  humours,  and  by  that  means  to  let  her  see 
the  absurdity  of  them  ; I proceeded  accordingly. 

‘ Pray,  madam,’  said  I,  ‘ can  you  give  me  any 
methodical  account  of  this  illness,  and  how  Cu- 
pid was  first  taken  ?’  ‘ Sir,’  said  she,  ‘ we  have 
a little  ignorant  country  girl,  who  is  kept  to 
tend  him ; slie  was  recommended  to  our  family 
by  one  that  my  lady  never  saw  but  once,  at  a 
visit ; and  you  know  persons  of  quality  are  al- 
ways  inclined  to  strangers ; for  I could  have 
helped  her  to  a cousin  of  my  own,  but’ — ‘ Good 
madam,’  said  I,  ‘ you  neglect  the  account  of  the 
sick  body  while  you  are  complaining  of  this 
girl.’  ‘No,  no,  sir,’  said  she,  ‘ begging  your 
pardon  : but  it  is  the  general  fault  of  the  physi- 
cians, they  are  so  in  haste  that  they  never  hear 
out  the  case.  1 say,  this  silly  girl,  after  washing 
Cupid, let  him  stand  half  an  hour  in  the  window 
without  his  collar,  where  he  catched  cold,  and 
in  an  hour  after,  began  to  bark  very  hoarse.  He 
i had,  however,  a pretty  good  night,  and  we  ho- 
ped the  danger  was  over  ; but  tor  these  two 
nights  last  past,  neither  lie  nor  my  lady  have 
slept  a wink.’  ‘ Has  he,’  said  I,  ‘ taken  any 
thing  ?’  ‘ No,’  said  she  ; ‘ but  my  lady  says  he 
shall  take  any  thing  that  you  prescribe,  pro- 
vided you  do  not  make  use  of  Jesuit's  powder, 
or  the  cold  hath.*  Poor  Cupid,’  continued  she, 
‘ has  always  been  phthisical ; and,  as  he  lies 
under  something  like  a chin-cough,  we  are 
afraid  it  will  end  in  a consumption.’  I then 
asked  her,  ‘ if  she  had  brought  any  of  his  water 
to  show  me.’  Upon  this,  she  stared  me  in  the 
face,  and  said,  ‘ I am  afraid,  Mr.  BickerstafF, 
you  are  not  serious  ; but,  if  you  have  any  re- 
ceipt that  is  proper  on  this  occasion,  pray  let 
us  have  it ; for  my  mistress  is  not  to  be  com- 
forted.’ Upon  this  I paused  a little,  without 
returning  any  answer,  and  after  some  short 
silence,  I proceeded  in  the  following  manner : 
‘ I have  considered  the  nature  of  the  distemper, 
and  the  constitution  of  the  patient ; and,  by  the 
best  observation  that  I can  make  on  both,  I 
think  it  is  safest  to  put  him  into  a course  of 
kitchen  physic.  In  the  mean  time,  to  remove 
his  hoarseness,  it  will  be  the  most  natural  way 
to  make  Cupid  his  own  druggist ; for  which 
reason,  I shall  prescribe  to  him,  three  morn- 
ings successively,  as  much  powder  as  will  lie 
on  a groat,  of  that  noble  remedy  which  the 
apothecaries  call  Album  Greecum.'  Upon  hear- 
ing this  advice,  the  young  woman  smiled,  as  if 
she  knew  how  ridiculous  an  errand  she  had 
been  employed  in  ; and  indeed  I found  by  the 
sequel  of  her  discourse,  that  she  was  an  arch 
baggage,  and  of  a character  that  is  frequent 
enough  in  persons  of  her  employment;  who  are 
so  used  to  conform  themselves  in  every  thing  to 
the  humours  and  passions  of  their  mistresses, 
that  they  sacrifice  superiority  of  sense  to 
superiority  of  condition,  and  are  insensibly  be- 
trayed into  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  those 
whom  they  serve,  without  giving  themselves 
leave  to  consider  that  they  are  extravagant  and 

* The  Peruvian  hark,  one  of  the  most  valuable  arti- 
cles in  the  materia  meiiica.  had  found  its  way  into  Eu- 
rope, above  half  a century  before  this  time,  but  it  had 
; not  yet  overcome  prejudices  and  opposition. 


No.  122.] 


THE  TATLER. 


235 


ridiculous.  However,  I tliought  it  very  natural, 
when  her  eyes  were  thus  open,  to  see  her  give 
a new  turn  to  her  discourse,  and,  from  sympa- 
thising with  her  mistress  in  her  follies,  to  fall 
a-railing  at  her.  ‘You  cannot  imagine,’  said 
she,  ‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,  what  a life  she  makes  us 
lead,  for  the  sake  of  this  little  ugly  cur.  If  he 
dies,  we  are  the  most  unhappy  family  in  town. 
She  chanced  to  lose  a parrot  last  year,  which, 
to  tell  you  truly,  brought  me  into  her  service ; 
for  she  turned  off  her  woman  upon  it,  who  had 
lived  with  her  ten  years,  because  she  neglected 
to  give  him  water,  though  every  one  of  the 
family  says  she  was  as  innocent  of  the  bird’s 
death,  as  the  babe  that  is  unborn  ; nay,  she  told 
me  this  very  morning,  that  if  Cupid  should  die, 
she  would  send  the  poor  innocent  wench  I was 
telling  you  of  to  Bridewell,  and  have  the  milk- 
woman tried  for  her  life  at  the  Old-Bailey,  for 
putting  water  into  his  milk.  In  short,  she  talks 
like  any  distracted  creature.’ 

‘ Since  it  is  so,  young  woman,’  said  I,  ‘ I 
will  by  no  means  let  you  offend  her,  by  staying 
on  this  message  longer  than  is  absolutely  ne- 
cessary ;’  and  so  forced  her  out. 

While  I am  studying  to  cure  those  evils  and 
distresses  that  are  necessary  or  natural  to  hu- 
man life,  I find  my  task  growing  upon  me ; 
since,  by  these  accidental  cares,  and  acquired 
calamities,  if  I may  so  call  them,  my  patients 
contract  distempers  to  which  their  constitution 
is  of  itself  a stranger.  But  this  is  an  evil  I have 
for  many  years  remarked  in  the  fair  sex  ; and 
as  they  are  by  nature  very  much  formed  for 
affection  and  dalliance,  I have  observed,  that 
when  by  too  obstinate  a cruelty,  or  any  other 
means,  they  have  disappointed  themselves  of 
the  proper  objects  of  love,  as  husbands,  or  chil- 
dren, such  virgins  have,  exactly  at  such  a year, 
grown  fond  of  lap-dogs,  parrots,  or  other  ani- 
mals. I know  at  this  time  a celebrated  toast, 
whom  I allow  to  be  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
of  her  sex,  that,  in  the  presence  of  her  admirers, 
will  give  a torrent  of  kisses  to  her  cal,  any  one 
of  which  a Christian  would  be  glad  of.  I do 
not  at  the  same  time  deny,  but  there  are  as 
great  enormities  of  this  kind  committed  by  our 
sex  as  theirs.  A Roman  emperor  had  so  very 
great  an  esteem  for  a horse  of  his,  that  he  had 
thoughts  of  making  him  a consul ; and  several 
moderns  of  that  rank  of  men  whom  we  call 
country  esquires,  would  not  scruple  to  kiss  their 
hounds  before  all  the  world,  and  declare  in  the 
presence  of  their  wives,  that  they  had  rather 
salute  a favourite  of  the  pack,  than  the  finest 
woman  in  England.  These  voluntary  friend- 
ships, between  animals  of  different  species,  seem 
to  arise  from  instinct ; for  which  reason,  I have 
always  looked  upon  the  mutual  good-will  be- 
tween the  esquire  and  the  hound,  to  be  of  the 
same  nature  with  that  between  the  lion  and  the 
jackall. 

The  only  extravagance  of  this  kind  which 
appears  to  me  excusable,  is  one  that  grew  out 
of  an  excess  of  gratitude,  which  I have  some- 
where met  with  in  the  life  of  a Turkish  em- 
peror. His  horse  had  brought  him  safe  out  of 
a field  of  battle,  and  from  the  pursuit  of  a vic- 
torious enemy.  As  a reward  for  such  his  good 
and  faithful  service,  his  master  built  him  a 


stable  of  marble,  shod  him  with  gold,  fed  him 
in  an  ivory  manger,  and  made  him  a rack  of 
silver.  He  annexed  to  the  stable  several  fields 
and  meadows,  lakes  and  running  streams.  At 
the  same  time  he  provided  for  him  a seraglio 
of  mares,  the  most  beautiful  that  could  be  found 
in  the  whole  Ottoman  empire.  To  these  were 
added  a suitable  train  of  domestics,  consisting 
of  grooms,  farriers,  rubbers,  tS^-c.  accommodated 
with  proper  liveries  and  pensions.  In  short, 
nothing  was  omitted  that  could  contribute  to 
the  ease  and  happiness  of  his  life,  who  had  pre- 
served the  emperor’s. 

By  reason  of  the  extreme  cold,  and  the 
changeableness  of  the  weather,  I have  been 
prevailed  upon  to  allow  the  free  use  of  the 
fardingal,  until  the  twentieth  of  February  next 
ensuing. 


No.  122.  ] Thursday^  January  19,  1709-10. 

Cur  in  theatrum,  Cato  severe,  venisti?  Mart. 

Why  to  the  theatre  did  Cato  come, 

With  all  his  boasted  gravity?  R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment.,  January  18. 

I FIND  it  is  thought  necessary,  that  I,  who 
have  taken  upon  me  to  censure  the  irregular- 
ities of  the  age,  should  give  an  account  of  my 
own  actions,  when  they  appear  doubtful,  or 
subject  to  misconstruction.  My  appearing  at 
the  play  on  Monday*  last  is  looked  upon  as  a 
step  in  my  conduct,  which  I ought  to  explain, 
that  others  may  not  be  misled  by  my  example. 
It  is  true,  in  matter  of  fact,  I was  present  at 
the  ingenious  entertainment  of  that  day,  and 
placed  myself  in  a box  which  was  prepared  for 
me  with  great  civility  and  distinction.  It  is 
said  of  Virgil,  \vhen  he  entered  a Roman  thea- 
tre,  where  there  were  many  thousands  of  spec- 
tators present,  that  the  whole  assembly  rose  up 
to  do  him  honour ; a respect  which  was  never 
before  paid  to  any  but  the  emperor.  I must 
confess,  that  universal  clap,  and  other  testimo- 
nies of  applause,  with  which  I was  received  at 
my  first  appearance  in  the  theatre  of  Great 
Britain,  gave  me  as  sensible  a delight,  as  the 
above-mentioned  reception  could  give  to  that 
immortal  poet.  I should  be  ungrateful,  at  the 
same  time,  if  I did  not  take  this  opportunity  of 
acknowledging  the  great  civilities  that  were 
shown  me  by  Mr.  Thomas  Dogget,  who  made 
his  compliments  to  me  between  the  acts  after  a 
most  ingenious  and  discreet  manner  ; and  at  the 
same  time  communicated  to  me  ‘ that  the  com- 
pany of  Upholders  desired  to  receive  me  at 
their  door  at  the  end  of  the  Hay-market,  and  to 
light  me  home  to  my  lodgings.’  That  part  of 
the  ceremony  I forbade,  and  took  particular  care 
during  the  whole  play,  to  observe  the  conduct 
of  the  drama,  and  give  no  offence  by  my  own 
behaviour.  Here  I think  it  will  not  be  foreign 
to  my  character,  to  lay  down  the  proper  duties 


* A person  dressed  for  Isaac  Bickerstaff  did  appear  at 
the  playhouse  on  this  occasion. 


236 


THE  TATLER. 


of  an  audience,  and  what  is  incumbent  upon 
each  individual  spectator  in  public  diversions 
of  this  nature.  Every  one  should,  on  these 
occasions,  show  his  attention,  understanding, 
and  virtue.  I would  undertake  to  find  out  all 
the  persons  of  sense  and  breeding  by  the  effect 
of  a single  sentence,  and  to  distinguish  a gentle- 
man as  much  by  his  laugh,  as  his  brow.  When 
we  see  the  footman  and  his  lord  diverted  by  the 
same  jest,  it  very  much  turns  to  the  diminution 
of  the  one,-  or  the  honour  of  the  other.  But 
though  a man’s  quality  may  appear  in  his  un- 
derstanding and  taste,  the  regard  to  virtue 
ought  to  be  the  same  in  all  ranks  and  conditions 
of  men,  however  they  make  a profession  of  it, 
under  the  name  of  honour,  religion,  or  morality. 
When,  therefore,  we  see  any  thing  divert  an 
audience,  either  in  tragedy  or  corned};,  that 
strikes  at  the  duties  of  civil  life,  or  exposes 
what  the  best  men  in  all  ages  have  looked  upon 
as  sacred  and  inviolable  ; it  is  the  certain  sign 
of  a profligate  race  of  men,  who  are  fallen  from 
the  virtue  of  their  forefathers,  and  will  be  con- 
temptible in  the  eyes  of  their  posterity.  For 
this  reason,  I took  great  delight  in  seeing  the 
generous  and  disinterested  passion  of  the  lovers 
in  this  comedy,  which  stood  so  many  trials, 
and  was  proved  by  such  a variety  of  diverting 
incidents,  received  wfith  a universal  approbation. 
This  brings  to  my  mind  a passage  in  Cicero, 
which  I could  never  read  without  being  in  love 
with  the  virtue  of  a Roman  audience.  lie  there 
describes  the  shouts  and  applauses  which  the 
people  gave  to  the  persons  w'ho  acted  the  parts 
of  Pylades  and  Orestes,  in  the  noblest  occasion 
that  a poet  could  invent  to  show  friendship  in 
perfection.  One  of  them  had  forfeited  his  life  by 
an  action  which  he  had  committed  ; and  as  they 
stood  in  judgment  before  the  tyrant,  each  of 
them  strove  who  should  be  the  criminal,  that  he 
might  save  the  life  of  his  friend.  Amidst  the 
vehemence  of  each  asserting  himself  to  be  the 
offender,  the  Roman  audience  gave  a thunder 
of  applause,  and  by  that  means,  as  the  author 
hints,  approved  in  others  what  they  would  have 
done  themselves  on  the  like  occasion.  Me- 
thinks,  a people  of  so  much  virtue  were  de- 
servedly placed  at  the  head  of  mankind  : but, 
alas  ! pleasures  of  this  nature  are  not  frequently 
to  be  met  with  on  the  English  stage. 

The  Athenians,  at  a time  when  they  were 
the  most  polite,  as  well  as  the  most  powerful 
government  in  the  world,  made  the  care  of  the 
stage  one  of  the  chief  parts  of  the  administra- 
tion : and  I must  confess,  I am  astonished  at 
the  spirit  of  virtue  which  appeared  in  that  peo- 
ple, upon  some  expressions  in  a scene  of  a fa- 
mous tragedy  : an  account  of  which  we  have  in 
one  of  Seneca’s  Epistles.  A covetous  person  is 
represented  speaking  the  common  sentiments 
of  all  who  are  possessed  with  that  vice,  in  the 
following  soliloquy,  which  I have  translated 
literally : 

‘ Let  me  be  called  a base  man,  so  I am  called 
a rich  one.  If  a man  is  rich,  who  asks  if  he  is 
good?  The  question  is,  how  much  we  have, 
not  from  whence,  or  by  what  means,  we  have 
it.  Every  one  has  so  much  merit  as  he  has 
wealth.  For  my  own  part,  let  me  be  rich,  O 


[No.  122. 

ye  gods ! or  let  me  die.  The  man  dies  happily 
who  dies  increasing  his  treasure.  There  is 
more  pleasure  in  the  possession  of  wealth,  than 
in  that  of  parents,  children,  w'ife,  or  friends.’ 

The  audience  were  very  much  provoked  by 
the  first  words  of  this  speech ; but  when  the 
actor  came  to  the  close  of  it,  they  could  bear 
no  longer.  In  short,  the  whole  assembly  rose 
up  at  once  in  the  greatest  fury,  w-ith  a design 
to  pluck  him  off  the  stage,  and  brand  the  work 
itself  w-ith  infamy.  In  the  midst  of  the  tumult, 
the  author  came  out  from  behind  the  scenes, 
begging  the  audience  to  be  composed  for  a little 
wdiile,  and  they  should  see  the  tragical  end 
wdiich  this  wretch  should  come  to  immediately. 
The  promise  of  punishment  appeased  the  people, 
who  sat  with  great  attention  and  pleasure  to 
see  an  example  made  of  so  odious  a criminal. 
It  is  w'ith  shame  and  concern  that  I speak  it ; 
but  I very  much  question,  whether  it  is  possible 
to  make  a speech  so  impious  as  to  raise  such  a 
a laudable  horror  and  indignation  in  a modern 
audience.  It  is  very  natural  for  an  author  to 
make  ostentation  of  his  reading,  as  it  is  for  an 
old  man  to  tell  stories  ; for  w^hich  reason  I must 
beg  the  reader  will  excuse  me,  if  I for  once 
indulge  myself  in  both  these  inclinations.  We 
see  the  attention,  judgment,  and  virtue  of  a 
whole  audience,  in  the  foregoing  instances.  If 
we  would  imitate  the  behaviour  of  a single 
spectator,  let  us  reflect  upon  that  of  Socrates  in 
a particular  w-hich  gives  me  as  great  an  idea  of 
that  extraordinary  man,  as  any  circumstance 
of  his  life,  or,  what  is  more,  of  his  death.  This 
venerable  person  often  frequented  the  theatre, 
which  brought  a great  many  thither,  out  of  a 
desire  to  see  him.  On  w-hich  occasion,  it  is 
recorded  of  him,  that  he  sometimes  stood,  to 
make  himself  the  more  conspicuous,  and  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  beholders.  He  was 
one  day  present  at  the  first  representation  of  a 
tragedy  of  Euripides,  who  was  his  intimate 
friend,  and  whom  he  is  said  to  have  assisted  in 
several  of  his  plays.  In  the  midst  of  the  tragedy, 
w-hich  had  met  wnth  very  great  suecess,  there 
chanced  to  be  a line  that  seemed  to  encourage 
vice  and  immorality. 

This  w’as  no  sooner  spoken,  but  Soerates  rose 
from  his  seat,  and,  without  any  regard  to  his 
affection  for  his  friend,  or  to  the  success  of  the 
play,  showed  himself  displeased  at  w’hat  was 
said,  and  w’alked  out  of  the  assembly.  I ques- 
tion not  but  the  reader  will  be  curious  to  know, 
what  the  line  was  that  gave  this  divine  heathen 
so  mueh  offence.  If  my  memory  fails  me  not, 
it  was  in  the  part  of  Hippolitus,  who,  when  he 
he  is  pressed  by  an  oath,  which  he  had  taken  to 
keep  silence,  returned  for  answer,  that  he  had 
tahen  the  oath  with  his  tongue^  hut  not  with  his 
heaii.  Had  a person  of  a vicious  character  made 
such  a speech,  it  might  have  been  allowed  as  a 
proper  representation  of  the  baseness  of  his 
thoughts ; but  such  an  expression,  out  of  the 
mouth  of  the  virtuous  Hippolitus,  was  giving  a 
sanetion  to  falsehood,  and  establishing  perjury 
by  a maxim. 

Having  got  over  all  interruptions,  I have  set 
apart  to-morrow  for  the  closing  of  my  vision. 


237 


THE  TATLER. 


No.  123.] 

No.  123.]  Saturday,  January  21, 1709. 

Audire,  atque  togam  jubeo  componere,  quisqiiis 

Ainbitione  mala,  aut  argfiuti  pallet  arnore. 

Hor.  2.  Sat.  iii.  77. 

Come  all,  whose  breasts  with  bad  ambition  rise, 

Or  the  pale  passion,  that  for  money  dies, 

Compose  your  robes Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  January  20. 

A CONTINUATION  OF  THE  VISION. 

With  much  labour  and  difficulty  I passed 
through  the  first  part  of  my  vision,  and  recover- 
ed the  centre  of  the  wood,  from  whence  I had 
the  prospect  of  the  three  great  roads.  I here 
joined  myself  to  the  middle-aged  party  of  man- 
kind, who  marched  behind  the  standard  of ‘Am- 
bition. The  great  road  lay  in  a direct  line,  and 
was  terminated  by  the  ‘ Temple  of  Virtue.’  It 
was  planted  on  each  side  with  laurels,  which 
were  intermixed  with  marble  trophies,  carved 
pillars,  and  statues  of  law-givers,  heroes,  states- 
men, philosophers,  and  poets.  The  persons  who 
travelled  up  this  great  path  were  such  whose 
thoughts  were  bent  upon  doing  eminent  services 
to  mankind,  or  promoting  the  good  of  their 
country.  On  each  side  of  this  great  road  were 
several  paths,  that  were  also  laid  out  in  straight 
lines,  and  ran  parallel  with  it.  These  were 
most  of  them  covered  walks,  and  received  into 
them  men  of  retired  virtue,  who  proposed  to 
themselves  the  same  end  of  their  journey,  though 
they  chose  to  make  it  in  shade  and  obscurity. 
The  edifices  at  the  extremity  of  the  walk  were 
BO  contrived,  that  we  could  not  see  the  ‘ Temple 
of  Honour’  by  reason  of  the  ‘ Temple  of  Virtue,’ 
which  stood  before  it.  At  the  gates  of  this 
temple  we  were  met  by  the  goddess  of  it,  who 
conducted  us  into  that  of  Honour,  which  was 
joined  to  the  other  edifice  by  a beautiful  tri- 
umphal arch,  and  had  no  other  entrance  into  it. 
When  the  deity  of  the  inner  structure  had  re- 
ceived us,  she  presented  us  in  a body  to  a figure 
that  was  placed  over  the  high-altar,  and  was 
the  emblem  of  Eternity.  She  sat  on  a globe  in 
the  midst  of  a golden  zodiac,  holding  the  figure 
of  a sun  in  one  hand,  and  a moon  in  the  other. 
Her  head  was  veiled,  and  her  feet  covered.  Our 
hearts  glowed  within  us,  as  we  stood  amidst 
the  sphere  of  light  which  this  image  cast  on 
every  side  of  it. 

Having  seen  all  that  happened  to  this  band 
of  adventurers,  I repaired  to  another  pile  of 
building  that  stood  within  view  of  the  ‘ Temple 
of  Honour,’  and  was  raised  in  imitation  of 
it,  upon  the  very  same  model ; but,  at  my  ap- 
proach to  it,  I found  that  the  stones  were  laid 
together  without  mortar,  and  that  the  whole 
fabric  stood  upon  so  weak  a foundation,  that  it 
shook  with  every  wind  that  blew.  This  was 
called  the  ‘ Temple  of  Vanity.’  The  goddess 
of  it  sat  in  the  midst  of  a great  many  tapers, 
that  burned  day  and  night,  and  made  her  ap- 
pear much  better  than  she  would  have  done  in 
open  day-light.  Her  whole  art  was,  to  show 
herself  more  beautiful  and  majestic  than  she 
really  was.  For  which  reason  she  had  painted 
her  face,  and  wore  a cluster  of  false  jewels  upon 
her  breast;  but  what  I more  particularly  ob- 
served was,  the  breadth  of  her  petticoat,  which 
was  made  altogether  in  the  fashion  of  a modern 


fardingal.  This  place  was  filled  with  hypo- 
crites, pedants,  free-thinkers,  and  prating  poli- 
ticians ; wjth  a rabble  of  tliose  who  have  only 
titles  to  make  them  great  men.  Female  vota- 
ries crowded  the  temple,  choked  up  the  avenues 
of  it,  and  were  more  in  number  than  the  sand 
upon  the  sea  shore.  I made  it  my  business,  in 
my  return  towards  that  part  of  the  wood  from 
whence  I first  set  out,  to  observe  the  walk  which 
led  to  this  temple  ; for  I met  in  it  several  who 
had  begun  their  journey  with  the  band  of  virtu- 
ous persons,  and  travelled  some  time  in  their 
company ; but,  upon  examination,  I found  that 
there  were  several  paths  which  led  out  of  the 
great  road  into  the  sides  of  the  wood,  and  ran 
into  so  many  crooked  turns  and  windings,  that 
those  who  travelled  through  them,  often  turned 
their  backs  upon  the  ‘ Temple  of  Virtue  ;’  then 
crossed  the  straight  road,  and  sometimes  march- 
ed in  it  for  a little  space,  until  the  crooked  path 
which  they  were  engaged  in,  again  led  them 
into  the  wood.  The  several  alleys  of  these 
wanderers  had  their  particular  ornaments.  One 
of  them  I could  not  but  take  notice  of  in  the 
walk  of  tlie  misehievous  pretenders  to  politics, 
which  had  at  every  turn  the  figure  of  a person, 
whom,  by  the  inscription,  I found  to  be  Ma- 
cMavel,*  pointing  out  the  way  with  an  extended 
finger,  like  a Mercury. 

I was  now  returned  in  the  same  manner  as 
before,  with  a design  to  observe  carefully  every 
thing  that  passed  in  the  region  of  Avarice,  and 
the  occurrences  in  that  assembly,  which  was 
made  up  of  persons  of  my  own  age.  This  body 
of  travellers  had  not  gone  far  in  the  third  great 
road,  before  it  led  them  insensibly  into  a deep 
valley,  in  which  they  journied  several  days  with 
great  toil  and  uneasiness,  and  without  the  neces- 
sary refreshments  of  food  and  sleep.  The  only 
relief  they  met  with,  was  in  a river  that  ran 
through  the  bottom  of  the  valley  on  a bed  of 
golden  sand.  They  often  drank  of  this  stream, 
which  had  such  a particular  quality  in  it,  that 
though  it  refreshed  them  for  a time,  it  rather 
inflamed  than  quenched  their  thirst.  On  each 
side  of  the  river  was  a range  of  hills  full  of 
precious  ore ; for,  where  the  rains  had  washed 
off  the  earth,  one  might  see  in  several  parts  of 
them  long  veins  of  gold,  and  rocks  that  looked 
like  pure  silver.  We  were  told,  that  the  deity  of 
tlie  place  had  forbidden  any  of  his  votaries  to 
dig  into  the  bowels  of  these  hills,  or  convert  the 
treasures  they  contained  to  any  use,  under  pain 
of  starving.  At  the  end  of  the  valley  stood  the 
‘ Temjfle  of  Avarice,’  made  after  the  manner  of 
a fortification,  and  surrounded  with  a thousand 
triple-headed  dogs,  that  were  placed  there  to 
keep  off  beggars.  At  our  approach,  they  all 


* Nicholas  Machiavel,  an  ingenious  man  and  an 
elegant  writer,  was  secretary,  and  afterwards  historio- 
grapher to  the  republic  of  Florence,  of  which  he  was  a 
native.  Having  discovered  in  his  conduct  a great  deal 
of  republican  spirit,  and  bestowed  many  encomiums  on 
Brutus  and  Cassius,  both  iu  his  conversation  and 
writings,  he  was  suspected  of  being  concerned  in  the 
machinations  of  Soderini  against  the  house  of  Medicis. 
He  suffered  the  torture  upon  this  suspicion,  and  had 
strength  enough  to  bear  the  torment  without  confessing 
any  thing.  Having  led  a miserable  life  for  some  time, 
turning  every  thing  into  ridicule,  and  abandoning  him- 
self to  irreligion,  he  died,  in  1530,  of  a remedy  which  he 
took  by  way  of  precaution. 


238 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  124. 


fell  a-barking,  and  would  have  very  much  ter- 
rified us,  had  not  an  old  woman  who  called  her- 
self by  the  forged  name  of  Competency,  offered 
herself  for  our  guide.  She  carried,  under  her 
garment,  a golden  bough,  which  she  no  sooner 
held  up  in  her  hand,  but  the  dogs  lay  down, 
and  the  gates  flew  open  for  our  reception.  We 
were  led  through  a hundred  iron  doors  be- 
fore we  entered  the  temple.  At  the  upper  end 
of  it  sat  the  god  of  Avarice,  with  a long  filthy 
beard,  and  a meagre  starved  countenance,  in- 
closed with  heaps  of  ingots,  and  pyramids  of 
money,  but  half  naked  and  shivering  with  cold. 
On  his  right  hand  was  a fiend  called  Rapine ; 
and,  on  his  left,  a particular  favourite,  to  whom 
he  had  given  the  title  of  Parsimony.  The  first 
was  his  collector,  and  the  other  his  cashier. 

There  were  several  long  tables  placed  on  each 
side  of  the  temple,  with  respective  officers  at- 
tending behind  them.  Some  of  these  I inquired 
into.  At  the  first  table  was  kept  the  ‘ Office  of 
Corruption.’  Seeing  a solicitor  extremely  busy, 
and  whispering  every  body  that*  passed  by  ; I 
kept  my  eyes  upon  him  very  attentively,  and 
saw  him  often  going  up  to  a person  that  had  a 
pen  in  his  hand,  with  a multiplication  table 
and  an  almanack  before  him,  which,  as  I after- 
wards heard,  was  all  the  learning  he  was  master 
of.  The  solicitor  would  often  apply  himself  to 
his  ear,  and  at  the  same  time  convey  money  into 
his  hand,  for  which  the  other  would  give  him 
out  a piece  of  paper  or  parchment,  signed  and 
sealed  in  form.  The  name  of  this  dexterous 
and  successful  solicitor  was  Bribery.  At  the 
next  table  was  the  ‘ Office  of  Extortion.’  Behind 
it  sat  a person  in  a bob  wig,  counting  over  great 
sums  of  money.  He  gave  out  little  purses  to 
several ; who,  after  a short  tour,  brought  him,  in 
return,  sacks  full  of  the  same  kind  of  coin.  I 
saw,  at  the  same  time,  a person  called  Fraud, 
who  sat  behind  a counter  with  false  scales,  light 
weights,  and  scanty  measures ; by  the  skilful 
application  of  which  instruments,  she  had  got 
together  an  immense  heap  of  wealth.  It  would 
be  endless  to  name  the  several  officers,  or  de- 
scribe the  votaries  that  attended  in  this  temple. 
There  were  many  old  men,  panting  and  breath- 
less, reposing  their  heads  on  bags  of  money  ; 
nay,  many  of  them  actually  dying,  whose  very 
pangs  and  convulsions,  which  rendered  their 
purses  useless  to  them,  only  made  them  grasp 
them  the  faster.  There  were  some  tearing 
with  one  hand  all  things,  even  to  the  garments 
and  flesh  of  many  miserable  persons  who  stood 
before  them  ; and,  with  the  other  hand,  throw- 
ing away  what  they  had  seized,  to  harlots, 
flatterers,  and  panders,  tliat  stood  behind  them. 

On  a sudden,  the  whole  assembly  fell  a trem- 
bling ; and  upon  inquiry,  I found  that  the  great 
room  we  were  in  was  haunted  with  a spectre, 
that  many  times  a day  appeared  to  them,  and 
terrified  them  to  distraction. 

In  the  midst  of  their  terror  and  amazement, 
the  apparition  entered,  which  I immediately 
knew  to  be  Poverty.  Whether  it  were  by  1113'^ 
acquaintance  with  this  phantom,  which  had 
rendered  the  sight  of  her  more  familiar  to  me, 
or  however  it  was,  she  did  not  make  so  indigent 
or  frightful  a figure  in  my  eye,  as  the  god  of 
this  loathsome  temple.  The  miserable  votaries 


of  this  place  were,  I found,  of  another  mind. 
Every  one  fancied  himself  threatened  by  the 
apparition  as  slie  stalked  about  the  room,  and 
began  to  lock  their  coffers,  and  tie  their  bags 
with  the  utmost  fear  and  trembling. 

I must  confess,  I look  upon  the  passion  which 
I saw  in  this  unhappy  people,  to  be  of  the  same 
nature  with  those  unaccountable  antipathies 
which  some  persons  are  born  with,  or  rather  as 
a kind  of  phrenzy,  not  unlike  that  which  throws 
a man  into  terrors  and  agonies,  at  the  sight  of 
so  useful  and  innocent  a thing  as  water.  The 
whole  assembly  was  surprized,  when,  instead  of 
paying  my  devotions  to  the  deity  whom  they  all 
adored,  they  saw  me  address  myself  to  the 
phantom. 

‘Oh  Poverty!’  said  I,  ‘my  first  petition  to 
thee  is,  that  thou  wouldest  never  appear  to  me 
hereafter  ; but,  if  thou  wilt  not  grant  me  this, 
that  then  thou  wouldest  not  bear  a form  more 
terrible  than  that  in  which  thou  appearest  to 
me  at  present.  Let  not  thy  threats  and  menaces 
betray  me  to  any  thing  that  is  ungrateful,  or 
unjust.  Let  me  not  shut  my  ears  to  the  cries 
of  the  needy.  Let  me  not  forget  the  person 
that  has  deserved  well  of  me.  Let  me  not,  for 
au}^  fear  of  thee,  desert  my  friend,  my  principles, 
or  my  honor.  If  Wealth  is  to  visit  me,  and  to 
come  with  her  usual  attendants.  Vanity  and 
Avarice,  do  thou,  O Poverty  1 hasten  to  my 
rescue  ; but  bring  along  with  thee  the  two 
sisters,  in  whose  company  thou  art  always 
cheerful.  Liberty  and  Innocence.’ 

The  conclusion  of  this  vision  must  be  deferred 
to  another  opportunit}'. 


No.  124.]  Tuesday,  January  24,  1709. 

Ex  huinili  summa  art  fastigia  reium 

Extollit,  quoties  voluit  Fortuna,  jocari. 

Juv.  Sat.  iii.  39. 

Fort'jne  can,  for  her  pleasure,  fools  artvance, 

' And  toss  them  on  the  wlieels  of  Chance. — Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  January  23. 

I WENT  on  Saturday  last  to  make  a visit  in 
the  city  ; and,  as  I passed  through  Cheapside, 
I saw  crowds  of  people  turning  down  towards 
the  Bank,  and  struggling  who  should  first  get 
their  money  into  the  new-erected  lottery.*  It 
gave  me  a great  notion  of  the  credit  of  our  pre- 
sent government  and  administration,  to  find 
people  press  as  eagerly  to  pay  money,  as  the}' 
would  to  receive  it ; and,  at  the  same  time,  a 
due  respect  for  that  bod}'  of  men  who  have  found 
out  so  pleasing  an  expedient  for  carrying  on 
the  common  cause,  that  they  have  turned  a 
tax  into  a diversion.  The  cheerfulness  of  spirit, 
and  the  hopes  of  success,  which  this  project 
has  occasioned  in  this  great  city,  lightens  the 
burden  of  the  war,  and  puts  me  in  mind  of 
some  games,  which,  they  say,  were  invented  by 

* The  earliest  lottery  that  is  recollected  was  in  1559, 
consisting  of  40,000  lots,  at  10s.  each  lot.  The  prizes 
were  plate,  and  the  profits  were  to  go  towards  repairing 
the  havens  of  the  kingdom.  It  was  drawn  at  the  west 
door  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral ; and  the  drawing  which 
began  Jan.  11,  continued  incessantly,  day  and  night, 
till  May  6.  There  were  then  only  three  lottery-offices 
in  London.  The  curious  reader  will  find  more  on  this 
subject  in  Gent.  Mag.  1779,  p-  470. 


No.  124.1 


THE  TATLER. 


239 


wise  men,  who  were  lovers  of  their  country,  to 
make  their  fellow-citizens  undergo  the  tedious- 
ness and  fatigues  of  a long  siege.  I think  there 
is  a kind  of  homage  due  to  fortune,  if  I may 
call  it  so,  and  that  I should  be  wanting  to  my- 
self, if  I did  not  lay  in  my  pretences  to  her 
favour,  and  pay  my  compliments  to  her  by  re- 
commending a ticket  to  her  disposal.  For  this 
reason,  upon  my  return  to  my  lodgings,  I sold 
off  a couple  of  globes  and  a telescope,  which, 
with  the  cash  I had  by  me,  raised  the  sum  that 
was  requisite  for  that  purpose.  I find  by  mj> 
calculations,  that  it  is  but  a hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  to  one,  against  my  being  worth  a thou- 
sand pounds  per  annum  for  thirty -two  years  ; 
and  if  any  plumb  in  the  city  will  lay  me  a hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  pounds  to  twenty  shil- 
lings, which  is  an  even  bet,  that  I am  not  this 
fortunate  man,  I will  take  the  wager,  and  shall 
look  upon  him  as  a man  of  singular  courage 
and  fair  dealing ; having  given  orders  to  Mr. 
Morphew  to  subscribe  such  a .policy  in  my  be- 
half, if  any  person  accepts  of  the  offer.  I must 
confess,  I have  had  such  private  intimations 
from  the  twinkling  of  a certain  star  in  some  of 
my  astronomical  observations,  that  I should  be 
unwilling  to  take  fifty  pounds  a year  for  my 
chance,  unless  it  were  to ‘oblige  a particular- 
friend.  My  chief  business  at  present  is,  to  pre- 
pare my  mind  for  this  change  of  fortune  : for, 
as  Seneca,  who  was  a greater  moralist,  and  a 
much  ri«cher  man  than  I shall  be  with  this  ad- 
dition to  my  present  income,  says,  Munera  ista 
Fortunes  putatis  7 Insidics  sunt.  ‘ What  we 
look  upon  as  gifts  and  presents  of  fortune, 
are  traps  and  snares  whicli  she  lays  for  the  un- 
wary.’ I am  arming  myself  against  her  favours 
witii  all  my  philosophy  ; and,  that  I may  not 
lose  myself  in  such  a redundance  of  unnecessary 
and  superfiuous  wealth,  I have  determined  to 
settle  an  annual  pension  out  of  it  upon  a family 
of  Palatines,  and  by  tliat  means  give  these  un- 
happy strangers  a taste  of  British  property.  At 
the  same  time,  as  I have  an  excellent  servant- 
maid,  whose  diligence  in  attending  me  has  in- 
creased, in  proportion  to  my  infirmities,  I shall 
settle  upon  her  the  revenue  arising  out  of  the 
ten  pounds,  and  amounting  to  fourteen  shil- 
lings per  annum  ; with  which  she  may  retire 
into  Wales,  where  she  was  born  a gentlewoman, 
and  pass  the  remaining  part  of  lier  days  in  a 
condition  suitable  to  her  birth  and  quality.  It 
was  impossible  for  me  to  make  an  inspection 
into  my  own  fortune  on  this  occasion,  without 
seeing,  at  the  same  time,  the  fate  of  others 
who  are  embarked  in  the  same  adventure.  And 
indeed  it  was  a great  pleasure  to  me  to  observe, 
that  the  war,  which  generally  impoverishes 
those  who  furnish  out  the  expense  of  it,  will, 
by  this  means,  give  estates  to  some,  without 
making  others  the  poorer  for  it.  I have  lately 
seen  several  in  liveries,  who  will  give  as  good 
of  their  own  very  suddenly  ; and  took  a parti- 
cular satisfaction  in  the  sight  of  a young  coun- 
try-wench, whom  I this  morning  passed  by  as 
she  was  whirling  her  mop,  with  her  petticoats 
tucked  up  very  agreeably,  who,  if  there  is  any 
truth  in  rny  art,  is  within  ten  months  of  being 
the  handsomest  great  fortune  in  town.  I must 
confess,  I was  so  struck  with  the  foresight  of 


what  she  is  to  be,  that  I treated  her  accord- 
ingly, and  said  to  her,  ‘ Pray,  young  lady,  per- 
mit me  to  pass  by.’  I would  for  this  reason 
advise  all  masters  and  mistresses,  to  carry  it 
wfith  great  moderation  and  condescension  to- 
wards their  servants  until  next  Michaelmas, 
lest  the  superiority  at  that  time  should  be  in- 
verted. I must  likewise  admonish  all  my 
brethren  and  fellow-adventurers,  to  fill  their 
minds  with  proper  arguments  for  their  support 
and  consolation  in  case  of  ill  success.  It  so  hap- 
pens in  this  particular,  that  though  the  gainers 
will  have  reason  to  rejoice,  the  losers  will  have 
no  reason  to  complain.  I remember  the  day 
after  the  thousand  pound  prize  was  drawn  in  the 
penny-lottery,*  I went  to  visit  a splenetic  ac- 
quaintance of  mine,  who  was  under  much  dejec- 
tion, and  seemed  to  me  to  have  suffered  some 
great  disappointment.  Upon  inquiry,  I found 
he  had  put  two-pence  for  himself  and  his  son 
into  the  lottery,  and  that  neither  of  them  had 
drawn  the  thousand  pounds.  Hereupon  this 
unlucky  person  took  occasion  to  enumerate 
the  misfortunes  of  his  life,  and  concluded  with 
telling  me,  ‘ that  he  never  was  successful  in 
any  of  his  undertakings.’  I was  forced  to 
comfort  him  with  the  common  reflection  upon 
•such  occasions,  ‘ that  men  of  the  greatest  merit 
are  not  always  men  of  the  greatest  success, 
and  that  persons  of  his  character,  must  not 
expect  to  be  as  happy  as  fools.’  I shall  pro- 
ceed in  the  like  manner  with  my  rivals  and 
competitors  for  the  thousand  pounds  a-year, 
which  we  are  now  in  pursuit  of ; and,  that  I 
may  give  general  content  to  the  whole  body  of 
candidates,  I shall  allow  all  that  draw  prizes  to 
he  fortunate,  and  all  that  miss  them  to  be  wise. 

I must  not  here  omit  to  acknowledge,  that 
I have  received  several  letters  upon  this  subject, 
but  find  one  common  error  running  through 
them  all,  which  is,  that  the  v/riters  of  them 
believe  their  fate  in  these  cases  depends  upon 
the  astrologer,  and  not  upon  the  stars  ; as  in 
the  following  letter  from  one,  who,  I fear,  flat- 
ters himself  with  hopes  of  success  which  are 
altogether  groundless,  since  he  does  not  seem 
to  me  so  great  a fool  as  he  takes  himself  to  be. 

‘ Sir, — Coming  to  town,  and  finding  my  friend 
Mr.  Partridge  dead  and  buried,  and  you  the 
only  conjuror  in  repute,  I am  under  a necessity 
of  applying  myself  to  you  for  a favour,  which, 
nevertheless,  I confess  it  would  better  become 
a friend  to  ask,  than  one  who  is,  as  I am,  alto- 
gether a stranger  to  you  ; but  poverty,  you 
know,  is  impudent  ; and  as  that  gives  me  the 
occasion,  so  that  alone  could  give  me  the  con- 
fidence to  be  thus  importunate. 

‘ I am,  sir,  very  poor,  and  very  desirous  to  be 
otherwise  : I have  got  ten  pounds,  which  I de- 
sign to  venture  in  the  lottery  now  on  foot. 
What  I desire  of  you  is,  that  by  your  art  you 
will  choose  such  a ticket  for  me  as  shall  arise 
a benefit  sufficient  to  maintain  me.  I must 
beg  leave  to  inform  you  that  I am  good  for 
nothing,  and  must  therefore  insist  upon  a larger 
lot  than  would  satisfy  those  who  are  capable, 


* This  penny-lottery  seems  to  have  been  a private  un- 
dertaking, not  warranted  by  act  of  parliament,  or  in- 
tended to  raise  any  part  of  the  public  revenue. 


240 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  125. 


by  their  own  abilities,  of  adding  something  to 
what  you  should  assign  them  ; whereas  I must 
expect  an  absolute  independent  maintenance, 
because,  as  I said,  I can  do  nothing.  It  is 
possible,  after  this  free  confession  of  mine, 
you  may  think  I do  not  deserve  to  be  rich  ; 
but  I hope  you  will  likewise  observe,  I can  ill 
afford  to  be  poor.  My  own  opinion  is,  that  I 
am  well  qualified  for  an  estate,  and  have  a 
good  title  to  luck  in  a lottery  ; but  I resign 
myself  wholly  to  your  mercy,  not  without  hopes 
that  you  will  consider,  the  less  I deserve,  the 
greater  the  generosity  in  you.  If  you  reject 
me,  I have  agreed  with  an  acquaintance  of 
mine  to  bury  me  for  my  ten  pounds.  I once 
more  recommend  myself  to  your  favour,  and 
bid  you  adieu.’ 

I cannot  forbear  publishing  another  letter 
which  I have  received,  because  it  redounds  to 
my  own  credit,  as  well  as  to  that  of  a ver}’^ 
honest  footman. 

Jan.  23,  1709-10. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I am  bound  in  justice  to 
acquaint  you,  that  I put  an  advertisement  into 
your  last  paper  about  a watch  which  was  lost, 
and  was  brought  to  me  on  the  very  day  your 
paper  came  out,  by  a footman ; who  told  me, 
that  he  would  not  have  brought  it,  if  he  had  not 
read  your  discourse  of  that  day  against  avarice  ; 
but  that  since  he  had  read  it  he  scorned  to  take 
a reward  for  doing  what  in  justice  he  ought  to 
do. — I am.  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘JOHN  HAMMOND.’ 


No.  125.]  Thursday,  January  26,  1709-10. 

Q,uem  mala  stultitia,  ct  quaecunque  inscitia  ver 
Caecum  agit,  insanum  Clirysippi  porticus,  et  gre.x 
Autumat ; haec  populas,  haec  magiios,  formula  reges, 
E.xcepto  sapiente,  tenet. Hor.  2.  Sat.  iii.  43. 

Whom  vicious  passions,  or  whom  falsehood,  blind. 
Are  by  the  Stoics  held  of  the  mad  kind. 

All  but  the  Wise  are  by  this  process  bound. 

The  subject  nations,  and  the  monarch  crowned. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  January  25. 

There  is  a sect  of  ancient  philosophers,  who, 
I think,  have  left  more  volumes  behind  them, 
and  those  better  written,  than  any  other  of  the 
fraternities  in  philosophy.  It  was  a maxim  of 
this  sect,  that  all  those  who  do  not  live  up  to  the 
principles  of  reason  and  virtue  are  madmen. 
Every  one  who  governs  himself  by  these  rules, 
is  allowed  the  title  of  wise,  and  reputed  to  be  in 
his  senses  : and  every  one,  in  proportion  as  he 
deviates  from  them,  is  pronounced  frantic  and 
distracted.  Cicero  having  chosen  this  maxim 
for  his  theme,  ta^kes  occasion  to  argue  from  it 
very  agreeably  with  Clodius,  his  implacable 
adversary,  who  had  procured  his  banishment. 
‘ A city,’  says  he,  ‘ is  an  assembly  distinguished 
into  bodies  of  men,  who  are  in  possession  of 
their  respective  rights  and  privileges,  cast  under 
proper  subordinations,  and  in  all  its  parts 
obedient  to  the  rules  of  law  and  equity.’  He 
then  represents  the  government  from  whence 
he  was  banished,  at  a time  when  the  consul, 
senate,  and  laws  had  lost  their  authority,  as  a 


commonwealth  of  lunatics.  For  this  reason, 
he  regards  his  expulsion  from  Rome,  as  a man 
would,  being  turned  out  of  Bedlam,  if  the  in- 
habitants of  it  should  drive  him  out  of  their 
walls  as  a person  unfit  for  their  community. 
We  are,  therefore,  to  look  upon  every  man’s 
brain  to  be  touched,  however  he  may  appear  in 
the  general  conduct  of  his  life,  if  he  has  an  un- 
justifiable singularity  in  any  part  of  his  con- 
versation or  behaviour,  or  if  he  swerves  from 
right  reason,  however  common  his  kind  of 
madness  may  be,  we  shall  not  excuse  him  for 
its  being  epidemical ; it  being  our  present  de- 
sign to  clap  up  all  such  as  have  the  marks  of 
madness  upon  them,  who  are  now  permitted  to 
go  about  the  streets  for  no  other  reason  but  be- 
cause they  do  no  mischief  in  their  fits.  Abun- 
dance of  imaginary  great  men  are  put  in  straw 
to  bring  them  to  a right  sense  of  themselves. 
And  is  it  not  altogether  as  reasonable,  that  an 
insignificant  man,  who  has  an  immoderate 
opinion  of  his  merits,  and  a quite  different  notion 
of  his  own  abilities  from  what  the  rest  of  the 
world  entertain,  should  have  the  same  care 
taken  of  him  as  a beggar  who  fancies  himself 
a duke  or  a prince  ? Or  why  should  a man, 
who  starves  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  be  trusted 
with  himself,  more  than  he  who  fancies  he  is 
an  emperor  in  the  midst  of  poverty  ? I have 
several  women  of  quality  in  my  thoughts,  who 
set  so  exorbitant  a value  upon  themselves,  that 
I have  often  most  heartily  pitied  them,  and 
wished  them  for  their  recovery  under  the  same 
discipline  wuth  the  pewterer's  wife.  I find,  by 
several  hints  in  ancient  authors,  that  w’hen  the 
Romans  were  in  the  height  of  powder  and  luxury, 
they  assigned  out  of  their  vast  dominions  an 
island  called  Anticyra,  as  an  habitation  for 
madmen.  This  was  the  Bedlam  of  the  Roman 
empire,  whither  all  persons  who  had  lost  their 
wits  used  to  resort  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
in  quest  of  them.  Several  of  the  Roman  empe- 
rors wmre  advised  to  repair  to  this  island  ; but 
most  of  them,  instead  of  listening  to  such  sober 
counsels,  gave  way  to  their  distraction,  until 
the  people  knocked  them  on  the  head  as  de- 
spairing of  their  cure.  In  short,  it  was  as  usual 
for  men  of  distempered  brains  to  take  a voyage 
to  Anticyra  in  those  days,  as  it  is  in  ours  for 
persons  w’ho  have  a disorder  in  their  lungs  to 
go  to  Montpelier. 

The  prodigious  crops  of  hellebore  wuth  w'hich 
this  whole  island  abounded,  did  not  only  fur- 
nish them  with  incomparable  tea,  snuff,  and 
Hungary-water  ; but  impregnated  the  air  of  the 
country  w’ith  such  sober  and  salutiferous  streams 
as  very  much  comforted  the  heads,  and  re- 
freshed  the  senses  of  all  that  breathed  in  it.  A 
discarded  statesman,  that,  at  his  first  landing  ap- 
peared  stark-staring  mad,  wmuld  become  calm 
in  a week’s  time  ; and,  upon  his  return  home, 
live  easy  and  satisfied  in  his  retirement.  A 
moping  lover  would  grow  a pleasant  fellow  by 
that  time  he  had  rid  thrice  about  the  island  ; 
and  a hair-brained  rake,  after  a short  stay  in 
the  country,  go  home  again  a composed,  grave, 
wmrthy  gentleman. 

I have  premised  these  particulars  before  I 
enter  on  the  main  design  of  this  paper,  because 
I would  not  be  thought  altogether  notional  in 


No.  126. 


THE  TATLER. 


241 


what  I have  to  say,  and  pass  only  for  a pro- 
jector in  morality.  I could  quote  Horace,  and 
Seneca,  and  some  other  ancient  writers  of  good 
repute,  upon  the  same  occasion  ; and  make  out 
by  their  testimony,  that  our  streets  are  filled 
with  distracted  persons  ; that  our  shops  and 
taverns,  private  and  public  houses,  swarm  with 
them;  and  that  it  is  very  hard  to  make  up  a 
tolerable  assembly  without  a majority  of  them. 
But  what  I have  already  said  is,  I hope,  suffi- 
cient to  justify  the  ensuing  project,  which  I 
shall  therefore  give  some  account  of  without 
any  further  preface. 

1.  It  is  humbly  proposed,  that  a proper  re- 
ceptacle, or  habitation,  be  forthwith  erected  for 
all  such  persons  as,  upon  due  trial  and  examina- 
tion, shall  appear  to  be  out  of  their  wits. 

2.  That,  to  serve  the  present  exigency,  the 
college  in  Moor-fields  be  very  much  extended 
at  both  ends ; and  that  it  be  converted  into  a 
square,  by  adding  three  other  sides  to  it. 

3.  That  nobody  be  admitted  into  these  three 
additional  sides,  but  such  whose  frenzy  can  lay 
no  claim  to  an  apartment  in  that  row  of  build- 
ing which  is  already  erected. 

4.  That  the  architect,  physician,  apothecary, 
surgeon,  keepers,  nurses,  and  porters,  be  all 
and  each  of  them  cracked ; provided  that  their 
frenzy  does  not  lie  in  the  profession  or  employ- 
ment to  which  they  shall  severally  and  respec- 
tively be  assigned. 

N.  B.  It  is  thought  fit  to  give  the  foregoing 
notice,  that  none  may  present  himself  here  for 
any  post  of  honour  or  profit,  who  is  not  duly 
qualified. 

5.  That  over  all  the  gates  of  the  additional 
buildings,  there  be  figures  placed  in  the  same 
manner  as  over  the  entrance  of  the  edifice  al- 
ready erected;*  provided  they  represent  such 
distractions  only  as  are  proper  for  those  addi- 
tional buildings ; as  of  an  envious  man  gnaw- 
ing his  own  flesh ; a gamester  pulling  himself 
by  the  ears,  and  knocking  his  head  against  a 
marble  pillar,  a covetous  roan  warming  himself 
over  a heap  of  gold ; a coward  flying  from  his 
own  shadow,  and  the  like. 

Having  laid  down  this  general  scheme  of  ray 
design,  I do  hereby  invite  all  persons  Vv'ho  are 
willing  to  encourage  so  public-spirited  a pro- 
ject, to  bring  in  their  contributions  as  soon  as 
})ossible ; and  to  apprehend  forthwith  any  po- 
litician whom  they  shall  catch  raving  in  a cof- 
fee-house, or  any  free-thinker  whom  they  shall 
find  publishing  his  deliriums,  or  any  other 
person  who  shall  give  the  like  manifest  signs 
of  a crazy  imagination : and  I do  at  the  same 
time  give  this  public  notice  to  all  the  madmen 
about  this  great  city,  that  they  may  return  to 
their  senses  with  all  imaginable  expedition, 
lest,  if  they  should  come  into  my  hands,  I 
should  put  them  into  a regimen  which  they 
would  not  like  : for  if  I find  any  one  of  them 
persist  in  his  frantic  behaviour,  I will  make 
him  in  a month’s  time  as  famous  as  ever  Oli- 
ver’s porter  was. 


* The  beautiful  statues  by  Cibber. 

2H 


No.  126.]  Saturday^  January  28,  1709-10. 

Anguillam  cauda  tenes.  T.  D'  Urfey. 

You  have  got  an  eel  by  the  tail. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  January  27. 

There  is  no  sort  of  company  so  agreeable  as 
that  of  women  who  have  good  sense  without 
affectation,  and  can  converse  with  men  without 
any  private  design  of  imposing  chains  and 
fetters.  Belvidera,  whom  I visited  this  evening, 
is  one  of  these.  There  is  an  invincible  preju- 
dice in  favour  of  all  she  says,  from  her  being 
a beautiful  woman  ; because  she  does  not  con- 
sider herself  as  such  when  she  talks  to  you. 
This  amiable  temper  gives  a certain  tincture 
to  all  her  discourse,  and  made  it  very  agreeable 
to  me  until  we‘  were  interrupted  by  Lydia,  a 
creature  who  has  all  the  charms  that  can  adorn 
a woman.  Her  attractions  would  indeed  be 
irresistible,  but  that  she  thinks  them  so,  and 
is  always  employing  them  in  stratagenjs  and 
conquests.  \Vhen  I turned  my  eye  upon  her 
as  she  sat  down,  I saw  she  was  a person  of  that 
character,  which,  for  the  further  information 
of  my  country  correspondents,  I had  long 
wanted  an  opportunity  of  explaining.  Lydia 
is  a finished  coquette,  which  is  a sect  among 
women  of  all  others  the  most  mischievous,  and 
makes  the  greatest  havoc  and  disorder  in  so- 
ciety. I went  on  in  the  discourse  I was  in 
with  Belvidera,  without  showing  that  I had 
observed  any  thing  extraordinary  in  Lydia : 
upon  which,  I immediately  saw  her  look  me 
over  as  some  very  ill-bred  fellow ; and,  casting 
a scornful  glance  on  my  dress,  give  a shrug  at 
Belvidera.  But,  as  much  as  she  despised  me, 
she  wanted  my  admiration,  and  made  tw^enty 
offers  to  bring  my  eyes  her  way ; but  I reduced 
her  to  a restlessness  in  her  seat,  and  impertinent 
playing  of  her  fan,  and  many  other  motions  and 
gestures,  before  I took  the  least  notice  of  her. 
At  last  I looked  at  her  with  a kind  of  surprise, 
as  if  she  had  before  been  unobserved  by  reason 
of  an  ill  light  where  she  sat.  It  is  not  to  be 
expressed  what  a sudden  joy  I saw  arise  in  her 
countenance,  even  at  the  approbation  of  such  a 
very  old  fellow  ; but  she  did  not  long  enjoy  her 
triumph  without  a rival ; for  there  immediately 
entered  Castabella,  a lady  of  a quite  contrary 
character,  that  is  to  say,  as  eminent  a prude  as 
Lydia  is  a coquette.  Belvidera  gave  me  a 
glance,  which,  methought,  intimated  that  they 
were  both  curiosities  in  their  kind,  and  worth 
remarking.  As  soon  as  we  were  again  seated, 

I stole  looks  at  each  lady,  as  if  I was  comparing 
their  perfections.  Belvidera  observed  it,  and 
began  to  lead  me  into  a discourse  of  them  both 
to  their  faces,  which  is  to  be  done  easily  enough; 
for  one  woman  is  generally  so  intent  upon  the 
faults  of  another,  that  she  has  not  reflection 
enough  to  observe  when  her  own  are  repre- 
sented. ‘ I have  taken  notice,  Mr.  Bickerstaff,’ 
said  Belvidera,  ‘that  you  have  in  some  parts  of 
your  writings,  drawn  characters  of  our  sex,  in 
which  you  have  not  to  my  apprehension,  been 
clear  enough  and  distinct ; particularly  in  those 
of  a Prude  and  a Coquette.’  Upon  the  mention 
of  this,  Lydia  was  roused  with  the  expectation 


242 


THE  TATLER. 


of  seeing  Castabella’s  picture,  and  Castabella, 
with  the  hopes  of  that  of  Lydia.  ‘ Madam,’ 
said  I to  Belvidera,  ‘ when  we  consider  nature, 
we  shall  often  find  very  contrary  effects  flow 
from  the  same  cause.  The  prude  and  coquette, 
as  different  as  they  appear  in  their  behaviour, 
are  in  reality  the  same  kind  of  women.  The 
motive  of  action  in  both  is  the  affectation  of 
pleasing  men.  The\^  are  sisters  of  the  same 
blood  and  constitution ; only  one  chooses  a 
grave,  and  the  other  a light  dress.  The  prude 
appears  more  virtuous,  the  coquette  more  vi- 
cious, than  she  really  is.  The  distant  behaviour 
of  the  prude  tends  to  the  same  purpose  as  the 
advances  of  the  coquette ; and  you  have  as  little 
reason  to  fall  into  despair  from  the  severity  of 
the  one,  as  to  conceive  hopes  from  the  fainili- 
arity  of  the  other.  What  leads  you  into  a clear 
sense  of  their  character  is,  that  you  may  ob- 
serve each  of  them  has  the  distinction  of  sex  in 
all  her  thoughts,  words,  and  actions.  You  can 
never  mention  any  assembly  you  were  lately  in, 
but  one  asks  you  with  a rigid,  the  other  with 
a sprightly  air,  “ Pray,  what  men  were  there  ?” 
As  for  prudes,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  there 
are  several  of  them,  who,  like  hypocrites,  by 
long  practice  of  a false  part,  become  sincere ; or 
at  least  delude  themselves  into  a belief  that  they 
are  so.’ 

For  the  benefit  of  the  society  of  ladies,  I 
shall  propose  one  rule  to  them  as  a test  of  their 
virtue.  I find  in  a very  celebrated  modern 
author,  that  the  great  foundress  of  Pietists, 
madam  de  Bourignon,  who  was  no  less  famous 
for  the  sanctity  of  her  life  than  for  the  singu- 
larity  of  some  of  her  opinions,  used  to  boast 
that  she  had  not  only  the  spirit  of  continency 
in  herself,  but  that  she  had  also  the  power  of 
communicating  it  to  all  who  beheld  her.  This 
the  scoffers  of  those  days  called,  ‘ The  gift  of 
infrigidation,’  and  took  occasion  from  it  to 
rally  her  face,  rather  than  admire  her  virtue. 
I would  therefore  advise  the  prude,  who  has  a 
mind  to  know  the  integrity  of  her  own  heart, 
to  lay  her  hand  seriously  upon  it,  and  to  ex- 
amine herself,  whether  she  could  sincerely  re- 
joice in  such  a gift  of  conveying  chaste  thoughts 
to  all  her  male  beholders.  If  she  has  any 
aversion  to  the  power  of  inspiring  so  great  a 
virtue,  whatever  notion  she  may  have  of  her 
perfection,  she  deceives  her  own  heart,  and  is 
still  in  the  state  of  prudery.  Some,  perhaps, 
will  look  upon  the  boast  of  madam  de  Bourig- 
non, as  the  utmost  ostentation  of  a prude. 

If  you  would  see  the  humour  of  the  coquette 
pushed  to  the  last  excess,  you  may  find  an  in- 
stance of  it  in  the  following  story  ; which  I will 
set  down  at  length,  because  it  pleased  me 
when  I read  it,  though  I cannot  recollect  in 
what  author.* 

‘A  young  coquette  widow  in  France  having 
been  followed  by  a Gascon  of  quality,  who  had 
boasted  among  his  companions  of  some  favours 
which  he  had  never  received,  to  be  revenged  of 
him,  sent  for  him  one  evening,  and  told  him, 
‘ it  was  in  his  power  to  do  her  a very  particular 
service.’  The  Gascon,  with  much  profession 
of  his  readiness  to  obey  her  commands,  begged 

* Perhaps  in  Burton’s  • Anatomy  of  Melancholy.’ 


[No.  127. 

to  hear  in  what  manner  she  designed  to  employ 
him.  ‘ You  know,’  said  the  widow,  ‘ my  friend 
Belinda  ; and  must  often  have  heard  of  the 
jealousy  of  that  impotent  wretch  her  husband. 
Now  it  is  absolutely  necessary,  for  the  carrying 
on  a certain  affair,  that  his  wife  and  I should 
be  together  a whole  night.  What  I have  to 
ask  of  you  is,  to  dress  yourself  in  her  night- 
clothes, and  lie  by  him  a whole  night  in  her 
place,  that  he  may  not  miss  her  while  she  is 
with  me.’  The  Gascon,  though  of  a very 
lively  and  undertaking  complexion,  began  to 
startle  at  the  proposal.  ‘ Nay,’  says  the  widow, 
‘ if  you  have  not  the  courage  to  go  through 
what  I ask  of  you,  I must  employ  somebody 
else  that  will.’  ‘ Madam,’  says  the  Gascon, 
‘ I will  kill  him  for  you  if  you  please,  but  for 

lying  with  him  ! How  is  it  possible  to  do  it 

without  being  discovered?’  ‘If  you  do  not 
discover  yourself,’  says  the  widow,  ‘ you  will 
lie  safe  enough,  for  he  is  past  all  curiosity.  He 
comes  in  at  night  while  she  is  asleep,  and  goes 
out  in  a morning  before  she  awakes  ; and  is  in 
pain  for  nothing,  so  he  knows  she  is  there.’ 
‘ Madam,’  replied  the  Gascon,  ‘ how  can  you 
reward  me  for  passing  a night  with  this  old 
fellow  ?’  The  widow  answered  with  a laugh, 
‘ Perhaps  by  admitting  you  to  pass  a night  with 
one  you  think  more  agreeable.’  He  took  the 
hint ; put  on  his  night-clothes  ; and  had  not 
been  a-bed  above  an  hour,  before  he  heard  a 
knocking  at  the  door,  and  the  treading  of  one 
who  approached  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  and 
who  he  did  not  question  was  the  good  man  of 
the  house.  I do  not  know  whether  the  story 
would  be  better  by  telling  you  in  this  place,  or 
at  the  end  of  it,  that  the  person  who  went  to 
bed  to  him  was  our  young  coquette  widow. 
The  Gascon  was  in  a terrible  fright  every  time 
she  moved  in  the  bed,  or  turned  towards  him  ; 
and  did  not  fail  to  shrink  from  her,  until  he 
had  conveyed  himself  to  the  very  ridge  of  the 
bed.  I will  not  dwell  upon  the  perplexity  he 
was  in  the  whole  night,  which  was  augmented, 
when  he  observed  that  it  was  now  broad  day, 
and  that  the  husband  did  not  yet  offer  to  get 
up  and  go  about  his  business.  All  that  the 
Gascon  had  for  it,  was  to  keep  his  face  turned 
from  him,  and  to  feign  himself  asleep,  when, 
to  his  utter  confusion,  the  widow  at  last  puls 
out  her  arm,  and  pulls  the  bell  at  her  bed’s 
head.  In  came  her  friend,  and  two  or  three 
companions  to  whom  the  Gascon  had  boasted 
of  her  favours.  The  widow  jumped  into  a 
wrapping  gown,  and  joined  with  the  rest  in 
laughing  at  this  man  of  intrigue.’ 


No.  127.]  Tuesday^  January  31,  1709-10. 

Nimirum  insanus  paucis  videatur,  eo  quod 
Maxima  pars  hominum  morbo  Jectatur  eodem. 

Hor.  2.  Sat.  iii.  120. 

By  few,  forsooth,  a madman  he  is  thought. 

For  half  mankind  the  same  disease  have  caught. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  January  30. 

Thrue  is  no  affection  of  the  mind  so  much 
blended  in  human  nature,  and  wrought  into  our 
very  constitution,  as  pride.  It  appears  under 


THE  TATLER. 


243 


No.  127.] 

a multitude  of  disguises,  and  breaks  out  in  ten 
thousand  different  symptoms.  Every  one  feels 
it  in  himself,  and  yet  wonders  to  see  it  in  his 
neighbour.  I must  confess,  I met  with  an  in- 
stance of  it  the  other  day,  where  I should  very 
little  have  expected  it.  Who  would  believe  the 
proud  person  I am  going  to  speak  of,  is  a cobbler 
upon  Ludgate-hill  ? This  artist  being  naturally 
a lover  of  respect,  and  considering  that  his  cir- 
cumstances are  such  that  no  man  living  will 
give  it  him,  has  contrived  the  figure  of  a beau, 
in  wood ; who  stands  before  him  in  a bending 
posture,  with  his  hat  under  his  left  arm,  and 
his  right  hand  extended  in  such  a manner  as 
to  hold  a thread,  a piece  of  wax,  or  an  awl, 
according  to  the  particular  service  in  which  his 
master  thinks  fit  to  employ  him.  When  I saw 
him,  he  held  a candle  in  this  obsequious  pos- 
ture. I was  very  well  pleased  with  the  cobbler’s 
invention,  that  had  so  ingeniously  contrived  an 
inferior,  and  stood  a little  while  contemplating 
his  inverted  idolatry,  wherein  the  image  did 
homage  to  the  man.  When  we  meet  with  such 
a fantastic  vanity  in  one  of  this  order,  it  is  no 
wonder  if  we  may  trace  it  through  all  degrees 
above  it,  and  particularly  through  all  the  steps 
of  greatness.  We  easily  see  the  absurdity  of 
pride  when  it  enters  into  the  heart  of  a cobbler  ; 
though  in  reality  it  is  altogether  as  ridiculous 
and  unreasonable,  wherever  it  takes  possession 
of  a human  creature.  There  is  no  temptation 
to  it  from  the  reflection  upon  our  being  in 
general,  or  upon  any  comparative  perfection, 
whereby  one  man  may  excel  another.  The 
greater  a man’s  knowledge  is,  the  greater 
motive  he  may  seem  to  have  for  pride  ; but  in 
the  same  proportion  as  the  one  rises,  the  other 
sinks,  it  being  the  chief  office  of  wisdom  to  dis- 
cover to  us  our  weaknesses  and  imperfections. 

As  folly  is  the  foundation  of  pride,  the 
natural  superstructure  of  it  is  madness.  If 
there  was  an  occasion  for  the  experiment,  I 
would  not  question  to  make  a proud  man  a 
lunatic  in  three  weeks’  time ; provided  J had 
it  in  my  power  to  ripen  his  frenzy  with  pro- 
per applications.  It  is  an  admirable  reflection 
in  Terence,  where  it  is  said  of  a parasite. 
Hie  homines  ex  stultis  facit  insanos.  ‘ This 
fellow,’  says  he,  ‘ has  an  art  of  converting  fools 
into  madmen.’  When  I was  in  France,  the 
region  of  complaisance  and  vanity,  I have  often 
observed,  that  a great  man  who  has  entered  a 
levee  of  flatterers  humble  and  temperate,  has 
grown  so  insensibly  heated  by  the  court  which 
was  paid  him  on  all  sides,  that  he  has  been 
quite  distracted  before  he  could  get  into  liis 
coach. 

If  we  consult  the  collegiates  of  Moor-fields, 
we  shall  find  most  of  them  are  beholden  to 
their  pride  for  their  introduction  into  that 
magnificent  palace.  I had,  some  years  ago, 
the  curiosity  to  inquire  into  the  particular 
circumstances  of  these  whimsical  freeholders  ; 
and  learned  from  their  own  mouths  the  con- 
dition and  character  of  each  of  them.  Indeed, 
I found  that  all  I spoke  to  were  persons  of  qual- 
ity. There  were  at  that  time  five  dutchesses, 
three  earls,  two  heathen  gods,  an  emperor,  and 
a prophet.  There  were  also  a great  number  of 
such  as  were  locked  up  from  their  estates,  and 


others  who  concealed  their  titles.  A leather- 
seller  of  Taunton  whispered  me  in  the  ear, 
that  he  was  ‘ the  Duke  of  Monmouth  ;’  but 
begged  me  not  to  betray  him.  At  a little  dis- 
tance from  him  sat  a tailor’s  wife,  who  asked 
me,  as  I went,  if  I had  seen  the  sword-bearer,’ 
upon  which  I presumed  to  ask  her,  who  she 
was  ? and  was  answered,  ‘ my  lady  mayoress.’ 

I was  very  sensibly  touched  with  compassion 
towards  these  miserable  people ; and,  indeed, 
extremely  mortified  to  see  human  nature  capa- 
ble of  being  thus  disfigured.  However,  I reaped 
this  benefit  from  it,  that  I was  resolved  to 
guard  myself  against  a passion  whieh  makes 
such  havoc  in  the  brain,  and  produces  so 
much  disorder  in  the  imagination.  For  this 
reason  I have  endeavoured  to  keep  down  the 
secret  swellings  of  resentment,  and  stifle  the 
very  first  suggestions  of  self-esteem  ; to  establish 
my  mind  in  tranquillity,  and  over-value  nothing 
in  my  own  or  in  another’s  possession. 

For  the  benefit  of  such  whose  heads  are  a 
little  turned,  though  not  to  so  great  a degree  as 
to  qualify  them  for  the  place  of  which  I have 
been  now  speaking,  I shall  assign  one  of  the 
sides  of  the  college  which  I am  erecting,  for  the 
cure  of  this  dangerous  distemper. 

The  most  remarkable  of  the  persons,  whose 
disturbances  arise  from  pride,  and  whom  I shall 
use  all  possible  diligence  to  cure,  are  such  as 
are  hidden  in  the  appearance  of  quite  contrary 
habits  and  dispositions.  Among  such,  I shall, 
in  the  first  place,  take  care  of  one  who  is  un- 
der the  most  subtle  species  of  pride  that  I have 
observed  in  my  whole  experience. 

This  patient  is  a person  for  whom  I have  a 
great  respect,  as  being  an  old  courtier,  and  a 
friend  of  mine  in  my  youth.  The  man  has  but 
a bare  subsistence,  just  enough  to  pay  his 
reckoning  with  us  at  the  Trumpet : but,  by 
having  spent  the  beginning  of  his  life  in  the 
hearing  of  great  men  and  persons  of  power,  he 
is  always  promising  to  do  good  offices  to  in- 
troduce every  man  he  converses  with  into  the 
world;  will  desire  one  of  ten  times  his  sub- 
stance to  let  him  see  him  sometimes,  and  hints 
to  him,  that  he  does  not  forget  him.  He 
answers  to  matters  of  no  consequence  with 
great  circumspection  ; but,  however,  maintains 
a general  civility  in  his  words  and  actions,  and 
an  insolent  benevolence  to  all  whom  he  has  to 
do  with.  This  he  practises  with  a grave  tone 
and  air  ; and  though  I am  his  senior  by  twelve 
years,  and  richer  by  forty  pounds  per  annum, 
he  had  yesterday  the  impudence  to  commend 
me  to  my  face,  and  tell  me,  ‘ he  should  be  al- 
ways ready  to  encourage  me.’  In  a word,  he 
is  a very  insignificant  fellow,  but  exceeding 
gracious.  The  best  return  I can  make  him  for 
his  favours  is,  to  carry  him  myself  to  Bedlam, 
and  see  him  well  taken  care  of. 

The  next  person  I shall  provide  for  is  of  a 
quite  contrary  character,  that  has  in  him  all 
the  stiffness  and  insolence  of  quality,  without 
a grain  of  sense  or  good-nature,  to  make  it 
either  respected  or  beloved.  His  pride  has  in- 
fected every  muscle  of  his  face  ; and  yet,  after 
all  his  endeavours  to  show  mankind  that  he  con- 
temns them,  he  is  only  neglected  by  all  that  see 
him,  as  not  of  consequence  enough  to  be  hated. 


244 


THE  TATLER. 


For  the  cure  of  this  particular  sort  of  mad- 
ness, it  will  be  necessary  to  break  through  all 
forms  with  him,  and  familiarize  his  carriage  by 
the  use  of  a good  cudgel.  It  may  likewise  be 
of  great  benefit  to  make  him  jump  over  a stick 
half  a dozen  times  every  morning. 

A third,  whom  I have  in  my  eye,  is  a young 
fellow,  whose  lunacy  is  such  that  he  boasts  of 
nothing  but  what  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of. 
He  is  vain  of  being  rotten,  and  talks  publicly 
of  having  committed  crimes  which  he  ought  to 
be  hanged  for  by  the  laws  of  his  country. 

There  are  several  others  whose  brains  are 
hurt  with  pride,  and  whom  I may  hereafter  at- 
tempt to  recover ; but  shall  conclude  my  pre- 
sent list  with  an  old  woman,  who  is  just  drop- 
ping into  her  grave,  that  talks  of  nothing  but 
her  birth.  Though  she  has  not  a tooth  in  her 
head,  she  expects  to  be  valued  for  the  blood 
in  her  veins  ; which  she  fancies  is  much  better 
than  that  which  glows  in  the  cheeks  of  Belinda 
and  sets  half  the  town  on  fire. 


No.  128.]  Thursday^  February  2,  1709-10. 

Veniunt  a dote  sagittse.  Juv.  Sat.  vi.  138. 

The  Dowery  shot  the  darts. 

Now  artful  Cupid  takes  his  stand 

Upon  a widow’s  jointure-land, 

For  he  in  all  his  am’rous  battles 

No  ’dvantage  finds  like  goods  and  chattels. 

Hudibras,  Part  1.  Canto  III.  1.  311. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  February  1. 

This  morning  I received  a letter  from  a 
fortune-hunter,  which,  being  better  in  its  kind 
than  men  of  that  character  usually  write,  I 
have  thought  fit  to  communicate  to  the  public. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire, 

‘Sir, — I take  the  boldness  to  recommend  to 
your  care  the  inclosed  letter,  not  knowing  how 
to  communicate  it,  but  by  your  means,  to  the 
agreeable  country-maid  you  mention  with  so 
much  honour  in  your  discourse  concerning  the 
lottery. 

‘ I should  be  ashamed  to  give  you  this  trou- 
ble without  offering  at  some  small  requital : I 
shall  therefore  direct  a new  pair  of  globes,  and 
a telescope  of  the  best  maker,  to  be  left  for  you 
at  Mr.  Morphew’s,  as  a testimony  of  the  great 
respect  with  which  I am, 

‘ Your  most  humble  servant,  &c.’ 

‘ To  Mopsa,  in  Sheer-lane, 

Jan.  27,  1709-10. 

‘Fairest  Unknown, — It  being  discovered  by 
the  stars,  that  about  three  months  hence  you 
will  run  the  hazard  of  being  persecuted  by 
many  worthless  pretenders  to  your  person,  un- 
less timely  prevented ; I now  offer  my  service 
for  your  security  against  the  persecution  that 
threatens  you.  This  is,  therefore,  to  let  you 
know,  that  I have  conceived  a most  extraordi- 
nary passion  for  you  ; and  that  for  several  days 
I have  been  perpetually  haunted  with  the  vision 
of  a person  I have  never  yet  seen.  To  satisfy 
you  that  I am  in  my  senses,  and  that  I do  not 
mistake  you  for  any  one  of  higher  rank,  T as- 


[No.  128. 

sure  you,  that  in  your  daily  employment  you 
appear  to  my  imagination  more  agreeable  in  a 
short  scanty  petticoat,  than  the  finest  woman 
of  quality  in  her  spreading  fardingal ; and  that 
the  dexterous  twirl  of  your  mop  has  more  native 
charms,,  than  the  studied  airs  of  a lady’s  fan. 
In  a word,  I am  captivated  with  your  menial 
qualifications ; the  domestic  virtues  adorn  you 
like  attendant  cupids  ; cleanliness  and  healthful 
industry  wait  on  all  your  motions;  and  dust 
and  cobwebs  fly  your  approach. 

‘Now,  to  give  you  an  honest  account  of  my- 
self, and  that  you  may  see  my  designs  arc 
honourable,  I am  an  esquire  of  an  ancient 
family,  born  to  about  fifteen  hundred  pounds 
a year  ; half  of  which  I have  spent  in  discover- 
ing myself  to  be  a fool,  and  wfith  the  rest  I am 
resolved  to  retire  with  some  plain  honest  part- 
ner, and  study  to  be  wiser.  T had  my  education 
in  a laced  coat,  and  a French  dancing-school; 
and,  by  my  travel  into  foreign  parts,  have  just 
as  much  breeding  to  spare,  as  you  may  think 
you  want,  which  I intend  to  exchange  as  fast 
as  I can  for  old  English  honesty  and  good  sense. 
I will  not  impose  on  you  by  a false  recommen- 
dation of  my  person,  which,  to  show  you  my 
sincerity,  is  none  of  the  handsomest,  being  of 
a figure  somew'hat  short ; but  w’hat  I W’ant  in 
length,  I make  out  in  breadth.  But,  in  amends 
for  that  and  all  other  defects,  if  you  can  like  me 
when  you  see  me,  I siiall  continue  to  you, 
whether  I find  you  fair,  black,  or  browm, 

‘ The  most  constant  of  Lovers.’ 

This  letter  seems  to  be  written  by  a wag, 
and  for  that  reason  I am  not  much  concerned 
for  what  reception  Mopsa  shall  think  fit  to  give 
it ; but  the  following  certainly  proceeds  from  a 
poor  heart,  that  languishes  under  the  most  de- 
plorable misfortune  that  possibly  can  befall  a 
w’oman.  A man  that  is  treacherously  dealt  with 
in  love,  may  have  recourse  to  many  consola- 
tions. He  may  gracefully  break  through  all 
opposition  to  his  mistress,  or  explain  with  his 
rival ; urge  his  own  constancy,  or  aggravate  the 
falsehood  by  w'hich  it  is  repaid.  But  a wmman 
that  is  ill-treated,  has  no  refuge  in  her  griefs 
but  in  silence  and  secrecy.  The  world  is  so 
unjust,  that  a female  heart  which  has  been  once 
touched,  is  thought  for  ever  blemished.  The 
very  grief  in  this  case  is  looked  upon  as  a re- 
proach, and  a complaint,  almost  a breach  of  chas- 
tity. For  these  reasons  w'e  see  treachery  and 
falsehood  are  become,  as  it  were,  male  vices, 
and  are  seldom  found,  never  acknowledged,  in 
the  other  sex.  This  may  serve  to  introduce 
Statira’s  letter  ; which,  w’ithout  any  turn  of  art, 
has  something  so  pathelical  and  moving  in  it, 
that  I verily  believe  it  to  be  true,  and  therefore 
heartily  pity  the  injured  creature  that  writ  it. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire, 

‘ Sir, — You  seem  in  many  of  your  writings 
to  be  a man  of  a very  compassionate  temper, 
and  well  acquainted  with  the  passion  of  love. 
This  encourages  me  to  apply  myself  to  you  in 
my  present  distress,  which  I believe  you  will 
look  upon  to  be  very  great,  and  treat  with 
tenderness,  notwithstanding  it  wholly  arises 


THE  TATLER. 


245 


No.  129.] 

from  love,  and  that  it  is  a wmman  that  makes 
this  confession.  I am  now  in  the  twenty-third 
year  of  my  ag-e,  and  have  for  a great  while 
entertained  the  addresses  of  a man  who,  I 
thought,  loved  me  more  than  life.  I am  sure  I 
did  him  ; and  must  own  to  you,  not  without 
some  confusion,  that  I have  thought  on  nothing 
else  for  these  two  long  years,  but  the  happy  life 
we  should  lead  together,  and  the  means  I should 
use  to  make  myself  still  dearer  to  him.  My 
fortune  was  indeed  much  beyond  his ; and  as 
I was  always  in  the  company  of  my  relations, 
he  was  forced  to  discover  his  inclinations,  and 
declared  himself  to  me  by  stories  of  other  per- 
sons, kind  looks,  and  many  ways,  which  he 
knew  too  well  that  I understood.  Oh  I Mr. 
BickerstafF,  it  is  impossible  to  tell  you,  how 
industrious  I have  been  to  make  him  appear 
lovely  in  my  thoughts.  I made  it  a point  of 
conscience  to  think  well  of  him,  and  of  no  man 
else : but  he  has  since  had  an  estate  fallen  to 
him,  and  makes  love  to  another  of  a greater 
fortune  than  mine.  I could  not  believe  the 
report  of  this  at  first;  but,  about  a fortnight 
ago,  I was  convinced  of  the  truth  of  it  by  his 
own  behaviour.  He  came  to  make  our  family 
a formal  visit,  when,  as  there  were  several  in 
company,  and  many  things  talked  of,>the  dis- 
course fell  upon  some  unhappy  woman,  who 
was  in  m}’^  own  circumstances.  It  was  said  by 
one  in  the  room,  that  they  could  not  believe  the 
story  could  be  true,  because  they  did  not  believe 
any  man  could  be  so  false.  Upon  which,  I stole 
a look  upon  him  with  an  anguish  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed. He  saw  my  eyes  full  of  tears,  yet  had 
the  cruelty  to  say,  that  he  could  see  no  false- 
hood in  alterations  of  this  nature,  where  there 
had  been  no  contracts  or  vows  interchanged. 
Pray,  do  not  make  a jest  of  misery,  but  tell  me 
seriously  your  opinion  of  his  behaviour  ; and 
if  you  can  have  any  pity  for  my  condition,  pub- 
lish this  in  your  next  paper ; that  being  the 
only  way  I have  of  complaining  of  his  unkind- 
ness, and  showing  him  the  injustice  he  has 
done  me. — I am.  Your  humble  servant,  the 
unfortunate  STATIRA.’ 

The  name  my  correspondent  gives  herself, 
puts  me  in  mind  of  my  old  reading  in  romances, 
and  brings  into  rny  thoughts  a speech  of  the 
renowned  Don  Bellianis,  who,  upon  a complaint 
made  to  him  of  a discourteous  knight,  that  had 
left  his  injured  paramour  in  the  same  manner, 
dries  up  her  tears  with  a promise  of  relief.  ‘Dis- 
consolate damsel,’  quoth  he,  ‘ a foul  disgrace  it 
were  to  all  right-worthy  professors  of  chivalry, 
if  such  a blot  to  knighthood  should  pass  un- 
chastised. Give  me  to  know  the  abode  of  this 
recreant  lover,  and  I v.dll  give  him  as  a feast  to 
the  fowls  of  the  air,  or  drag  him  bound  before 
you  at  my  horse’s  tail.’ 

I am  not  ashamed  to  own  myself  a champion 
of  distressed  damsels,  and  would  venture  as  far 
to  relieve  them  as  Don  Bellianis ; for  which 
reason,  I do  invite  this  lady  to  let  me  know 
the  name  of  the  traitor  who  has  deceived  her, 
and  do  promise,  not  only  her,  but  all  the  fair 
ones  of  Great  Britain,  who  lie  under  the  same 
calamity,  to  employ  my  right  hand  for  their 
redress,  and  serve  them  to  my  last  drop  of  ink. 


No.  129.]  Saturday^  February  4,  1709-10. 

Ingenio  manus  est  et  cervix  cassa. 

Juv.  Sat.  X.  120. 

His  wit’s  rewarded  with  the  fatal  loss 

Of  hand  and  head. R-  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment.,  February  3. 

When  my  paper  for  to-morrow  was  prepared 
for  the  press,  there  came  in  this  morning  a 
mail  from  Holland,  which  brought  me  several 
advices  from  foreign  parts,  and  took  my 
thoughts  off  domestic  affairs.  Among  others, 
I have  a letter  from  a burgher  of  Amsterdam, 
who  makes  me  his  compliments,  and  tells  me 
he  has  sent  me  several  draughts  of  humorous 
and  satirical  pictures  by  the  best  hands  of  the 
Dutch  nation.  They  are  a trading  people,  and 
in  their  very  minds  mechanies.  They  express 
their  wit  in  manufacture,  as  we  do  in  manu- 
script. He  informs  me,  that  a very  witty  hand 
has  lately  represented  the  present  posture  of 
public  affairs  in  a landscape,  or  rather  a sea- 
piece,  wherein  the  potentates  of  the  alliance 
are  figured  as  their  interests  correspond  with, 
or  affect  each  other,  under  the  appearance  of 
commanders  of  ships.  These  vessels  carry  the 
colours  of  the  respective  nations  concerned  in 
the  present  war.  The  whole  design  seems  to 
tend  to  one  point,  which  is,  that  several  squad- 
rons of  British  and  Dutch  ships  are  battering 
a French  man-of-war,  in  order  to  make  her 
deliver  up  a long-boat  with  Spanish  colours. 
My  correspondent  informs  me,  that  a man  must 
understand  the  compass  perfectly  well,  to  be 
able  to  comprehend  the  beauty  and  invention 
of  this  piece  ; which  is  so  skilfully  drawn,  that 
the  particular  views  of  every  prince  in  Europe 
are  seen  according  as  the  ships  lie  to  the  main 
figure  in  the  picture,  and  as  that  figure  may 
help  or  retard  their  sailing.  It  seems  this 
curiosity  is  now  on  board  a ship  bound  for 
England,  and  with  other  rarities,  niade  a pre- 
sent to  me.  As  soon  as  it  arrives,  I design  to 
expose  it  to  public  view  at  my  secretary,  Mr. 
Lillie’s,  who  shall  have  an  explication  of  all  the 
terms  of  art;  and  I doubt  not  but  it  will  give 
as  good  content  as  the  moving  picture  in  Fleet- 
street. 

But,  above  all  the  honours  I have  received 
from  the  learned  world  abroad,  I am  most  de- 
lighted with  the  following  epistle  from  Rome. 

‘ Pasqrtin  of  Rome,  to  Isaac  Bickerstaff  of 
Great  Britain,  Greeting. 

‘Sir, — Your  reputation  has  passed  the  Alps, 
and  would  have  come  to  my  ears  by  this  time,  if 
I had  any.  In  short,  sir,  you  are  looked  upon 
here  as  a northern  droll,  and  the  greatest  vir- 
tuoso among  the  Tramontanes.  Some,  indeed, 
say,  that  Mr.  Bickerstaff  and  Pasqnin  are  only 
names  invented  to  father  compositions  which 
the  natural  parent  does  not  care  for  owning. 
But,  however  tliat  is,  all  agree,  that  there  are 
several  persons,  ivho,  if  they  durst  attack  you, 
would  endeavour  to  leave  you  no  more  limbs 
than  I have.  I need  not  tell  you  that  my  ad- 
versaries have  joined  in  a confederacy  with  time 
to  demolish  me,  and  that,  if  I were  not  a very 
great  wit,  I should  make  the  worst  figure  in 


246 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  130. 


Europe,  being  abridged  of  my  legs,  arms,  nose, 
and  ears.  If  you  think  fit  to  accept  of  the  cor- 
respondence of  so  facetious  a cripple,  I shall 
from  time  to  time  send  you  an  account  of  what 
happens  at  Rome.  You  have  only  heard  of  it 
from  Latin  and  Greek  authors ; nay,  perhaps, 
have  read  no  accounts  from  hence,  but  of  a 
triumph,  ovation,  or  apotheosis,  and  will,  doubt- 
less, be  surprised  to  see  the  description  of  a 
procession,  jubilee,  or  canonization.  I shall, 
however,  send  you  what  the  place  affords,  in 
return  to  what  I shall  receive  from  you.  If 
you  will  acquaint  me  with  your  next  promotion 
of  general  officers,  I will  send  you  an  account 
of  our  next  advancement  of  saints.  If  you  will 
let  me  know  who  is  reckoned  the  bravest  war- 
rior in  Great  Britain,  I will  tell  you  who  is 
the  best  fiddler  in  Rome.  If  you  will  favour  me 
with  an  inventory  of  the  riches  that  were 
brought  into  your  nation  by  admiral  Wager,* 
I will  not  fail  giving  you  an  account  of  a pot 
of  medals  that  has  been  lately  dug  up  here,  and 
is  now  under  the  examination  of  our  ministers 
of  state. 

‘ There  is  one  thing,  in  which  I desire  you 
would  be  very  particular.  What  I mean  is  an 
exact  list  of  all  the  religions  in  Great  Britain, 
as  likewise  the  habits,  which  are  said  here  to 
be  the  great  points  of  conscience  in  England ; 
whether  they  are  made  of  serge  or  broad-cloth, 
of  silk  or  linen.  I should  be  glad  to  see  a model 
of  the  most  conscientious  dress  among  you, 
and  desire  you  will  send  me  a hat  of  each  reli- 
gion; as  likewise,  if  it  be  not  too  much  trouble, 
a cravat.  It  would  also  be  very  acceptable  here 
to  receive  an  account  of  those  two  religious 
orders,  which  are  lately  sprung  up  amongst 
you,  the  Whigs  and  the  Tories,  with  the  points 
of  doctrine,  severities  in  discipline,  penances, 
mortifications,  and  good  works,  by  which  they 
differ  one  from  another.  It  would  be  no  less 
kind,  if  you  would  explain  to  us  a word,  which 
they  do  not  understand  even  at  our  English 
monastery.  Toasts,  and  let  us  know  whether 
the  ladies  so  called  are  nuns  or  lay-sisters.  In 
return,  I will  send  you  the  secret  history  of 
several  cardinals,  which  I have  by  me  in  manu- 
script, with  the  gallantries,  amours,  politics, 
and  intrigues,  by  which  they  made  their  way 
to  the  holy  purple. 

‘ But,  when  I propose  a correspondence,  I 
must  not  tell  you  what  I intend  to  advise  you 
of  hereafter,  and  neglect  to  give  you  what  I have 
at  present.  The  pope  has  been  sick  for  this 
fortnight  of  a violent  tooth-ache,  which  has  very 
much  raised  the  French  faction,  and  put  the 
conclave  into  a great  ferment.  Every  one  of  the 
pretenders  to  the  succession  is  grown  twenty 
years  older  than  he  was  a fortnight  ago.  Each 
candidate  tries  who  shall  cough  and  stoop  most ; 
for  these  are  at  present  the  great  gifts  that  re- 
commend to  the  apostolical  seat ; which  he 
stands  the  fairest  for,  who  is  likely  to  resign  it 
the  soonest.  I have  known  the  time  when  it 
used  to  rain  Louis  d’ors  on  such  occasions ; but. 
whatever  is  the  matter,  there  are  very  few  of 


* Charles  Wager,  Esq ; a man  of  great  skill  in  his  pro- 
fession, was  first  made  a captain  at  the  battle  of  La 
Hogue  by  admiral  Russel,  who  recommended  him  on  the 
most  important  services. 


them  to  be  seen  at  present  at  Rome,  insomuch, 
that  it  is  thought  a man  might  purchase  infal- 
libility at  a very  reasonable  rate.  It  is  never- 
theless hoped,  that  his  holiness  may  recover, 
and  bury  these  his  imaginary  successors. 

‘ There  has  lately  been  found  a human  tooth 
in  a catacomb,  which  has  engaged  a couple  of 
convents  in  a law-suit ; each  of  them  pretend- 
ing, that  it  belonged  to  the  jaw-bone  of  a saint, 
who  was  of  their  order.  The  college  have  sat 
upon  it  thrice  ; and  I find  there  is  a disposition 
among  them  to  take  it  out  of  the  possession  of 
both  the  contending  parties,  by  reason  of  a 
speech,  which  was  made  by  one  of  the  cardi- 
nals, who,  by  reason  of  its  being  found  out  of 
the  company  of  any  other  bones,  asserted  that 
it  might  be  one  of  the  teeth  which  was  coughed 
out  by  iElia,  an  old  woman,  whose  loss  is  re- 
corded in  Martial.* 

‘ I have  nothing  remarkable  to  communicate 
to  you  of  state  affairs,  excepting  only,  that  the 
pope  has  lately  received  a horse  from  the  Ger- 
man ambassador,  as  an  acknowledgement  for 
the  kingdom  of  Naples,  which  is  a fief  of  the 
church.  His  holiness  refused  this  horse  from 
the  Germans  ever  since  the  duke  of  Anjou  has 
been  possessed  of  Spain  ; but,  as  they  lately  took 
care  to  accompany  it  with  a body  of  ten  thou- 
sand more,  they  have  at  last  overcome  his  holi- 
ness’s modesty,  and  prevailed  upon  him  to  ac- 
cept the  present. — I am.  Sir,  your  most  obedient, 
humble  servant,  PASQUIN. 

‘ P.  S.  Marforio  is  very  much  yours.’ 


No.  130.]  Tuesday,  February  7,  1709-10. 

Tamen  me 

Cam  magnis  vixisse  invita  fatebitar  usque 

Invidia Hor.  2.  Sat.  i.  75. 

Spite  of  herself  e’en  Envy  must  confess. 

That  I the  friendship  of  the  great  possess 

Francis. 

Sheer- lane,  February  6. 

I FIND  some  of  the  most  polite  Latin  authors, 
who  wrote  at  a time  when  Rome  was  in  its 
glory,  speak  with  a certain  noble  vanity  of  the 
brightness  and  splendour  of  the  age  in  which 
they  lived.  Pliny  often  compliments  his  em- 
peror Trajan  upon  this  head  ; and  when  he 
would  animate  him  to  any  thing  great,  or  dis- 
suade him  from  any  thing  that  was  improper, 
he  insinuates  that  it  is  befitting  or  unbecoming 
the  claritas  et  nitor  seculi,  that  period  of  time 
which  was  made  illustrious  by  his  reign.  When 
we  cast  our  eyes  back  on  the  history  of  man- 
kind, and  trace  them  through  their  several  suc- 
cessions to  their  first  original,  we  sometimes 
see  them  breaking  out  in  great  and  memorable 
actions,  and  towering  up  to  the  utmost  heights 
of  virtue  and  knowledge ; when,  perhaps,  if  we 
carry  our  observations  to  a little  distance,  we 
see  them  sunk  into  sloth  and  ignorance,  and  al- 
together lost  in  darkness  and  obscurity.  Some- 
times the  w’hole  species  is  asleep  for  two  or 
three  generations,  and  then  again  awakens  into 
action ; flourishes  in  heroes,  philosophers,  and 
poets  ; who  do  honour  to  human  nature,  and 


*Mait.  Epigr.  lib.  i.  20. 


No.  130.] 


THE  TATLER. 


247 


leave  such  tracks  of  glory  behind  them,  as  dis- 
tinguish the  years,  in  which  they  acted  their 
part,  from  the  ordinary  course  of  time. 

Methinks  a man  cannot,  without  a secret 
satisfaction,  consider  the  glory  of  the  present 
age,  w’hich  will  shine  as  bright  as  any  other  in 
the  history  of  mankind.  It  is  still  big  with 
great  events,  and  has  already  produced  changes 
and  revolutions,  which  will  be  as  much  admired 
by  posterity,  as  any  that  have  happened  in  ‘ the 
days  of  our  fathers,  or  in  the  old  times  before 
them.’  We  have  seen  kingdoms  divided  and 
united,  monarchs  erected  and  deposed,  nations 
transferred  from  one  sovereign  to  another ; con- 
querors raised  to  such  a greatness,  as  has  given 
a terror  to  Europe,  and  thrown  down  by  such  a 
fall  as  has  moved  their  pity. 

But  it  is  still  a more  pleasing  view  to  an 
Englishman,  to  see  his  own  country  give  the 
chief  influence  to  so  illustrious  an  age,  and 
stand  in  the  strongest  point  of  light  amidst  the 
diffused  glory  that  surrounds  it. 

If  we  begin  with  learned  men,  we  may  ob- 
serve, to  the  honour  of  our  country  that  those 
who  make  the  greatest  figure  in  most  arts  and 
sciences,  are  universally  allowed  to  be  of  the 
British  nation ; and,  what  is  more  remarkable, 
that  men  of  the  greatest  learning,  are  among 
the  men  of  the  greatest  quality. 

A nation  may  indeed  abound  with  persons  of 
such  uncommon  parts  and  worth,  as  may  make 
them  rather  a misfortune  than  a blessing  to  the 
public.  Those  who,  singly,  might  have  been 
of  infinite  advantage  to  the  age  they  live  in, 
may,  by  rising  up  together  in  the  same  crisis 
of  time,  and  by  interfering  in  their  pursuits  of 
honour,  rather  interrupt,  than  promote  the  ser- 
vice of  their  country.  Of  this  we  have  a famous 
instance  in  the  republic  of  Rome,  when  Caesar, 
Pompey,  Cato,  Cicero,  and  Brutus,  endeavoured 
to  recommend  themselves  at  the  same  time  to 
the  admiration  of  their  contemporaries.  Man- 
kind was  not  able  to  provide  for  so  many  extra- 
ordinary persons  at  once,  or  find  out  posts  suita- 
ble to  their  ambition  and  abilities.  For  this 
reason,  they  were  all  as  miserable  in  their 
deaths,  as  they  were  famous  in  their  lives,  and 
occasioned  not  only  the  ruin  of  each  other,  but 
also  that  of  the  commonwealth. 

It  is  therefore  a particular  happiness  to  a 
people,  when  the  men  of  superior  genius  and 
character  are  so  justly  disposed  in  the  high 
places  of  honour,  that  each  of  them  moves  in  a 
sphere  which  is  proper  to  him,  and  requires 
those  particular  qualities  in  which  he  excels. 

If  I see  a general  commanding  the  forces  of 
his  country,  whose  victories  are  not  to  be  pa- 
ralleled in  story,  and  who  is  as  famous  for  his 
negotiations  as  his  victories  and,  at  the  same 
time,  see  the  management  of  a nation’s  trea- 
sury in  the  hands  of  one,  who  has  always  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  a generous  contempt  of 
his  own  private  wealth,  and  an  exact  frugality 
of  that  which  belongs  to  the  public  ;t  I cannot 


* Steele  takes  occasion  here  to  pay  his  compliments 
to  some  of  the  principal  people  in  the  higher  departments 
of  the  state ; and  first  to  the  duke  of  Marlborough, 
commander  in  chief  of  her  majesty’s  forces. 

t Sidney  lord  Godolpliin  was  then  lord  high-treasurer 
of  England. 


I but  think  a people  under  such  an  administra- 
tion may  promise  themselves  conquests  abroad, 
and  plenty  at  home.  If  I were  to  wish  for  a 
proper  person  to  preside  over  the  public  councils, 
it  should  certainly  be  one  as  much  admired  for 
his  universal  knowledge  of  men  and  things,  as 
for  his  eloquence,  courage,  and  integrity,  in  the 
exerting  of  such  extraordinary  talents.* * * * § 

Who  is  not  pleased  to  see  a person  in  the 
highest  station  in  the  law,  who  was  the  most 
eminent  in  his  profession,  and  the  most  accom- 
plished orator  at  the  bar  ?t  Or  at  the  head  of 
the  fleet  a commander,  under  whose  conduct 
the  common  enemy  received  such  a blow,  as 
he  has  never  been  able  to  recover  ?t 

Were  we  to  form  to  ourselves  the  idea  of 
one  whom  we  should  think  proper  to  govern  a 
distant  kingdom,  consisting  chiefly  of  those  who 
differ  from  us  in  religion,  and  are  inffuenced 
by  foreign  politics ; would  it  not  be  such  a one 
as  had  signalized  himself  by  a uniform  and  un- 
shaken zeal  for  the  protestant  interest,  and  by 
his  dexterity  in  defeating  the  skill  and  artifice 
of  its  enemies  ?§  In  short,  if  we  find  a great 
man  popular  for  his  honesty  and  humanity,  as 
well  as  famed  for  his  learning  and  great  skill 
in  all  the  languages  of  Europe  ; or  a person 
eminent  for  those  qualifications,  which  make 
men  shine  in  public  assemblies,  or  for  that 
steadiness,  constancy,  and  good  sense,  which 
carry  a man  to  the  desired  point  through  all  the 
opposition  of  tumult  and  prejudice,  we  have  the 
happiness  to  behold  them  in  all  posts  suitable 
to  their  characters. 

Such  a constellation  of  great  persons,  if  I 
may  so  speak,  while  they  shine  out  in  their 
own  distinct  capacities,  reflect  a lustre  upon  each 
other,  but  in  a more  particular  manner  on  their 
sovereign,  who  has  placed  them  in  those  proper 
situations,  by  which  their  virtues  become  so 
beneficial  to  all  her  subjects.  It  is  the  anni- 
versary of  the  birth-day  of  this  glorious  Queen, 
which  naturally  led  me  into  this  field  of  con- 
templation, and,  instead  of  joining  in  the  public 
exultations  that  are  made  on  such  occasions,  to 
entertain  my  thoughts  with  the  more  serious 
pleasure  of  ruminating  upon  the  glories  of  her 
reign. 

While  I behold  her  surrounded  with  triumphs, 
and  adorned  with  all  the  prosperity  and  suc- 
cess which  heaven  ever  shed  on  a mortal,  and 
still  considering  herself  as  such  ; though  the 
person  appears  to  me  exceeding  great,  that  has 
these  just  honours  paid  to  her,  yet  I must  con- 
fess, she  appears  much  greater  in  that  she  re- 
ceives them  with  such  a glorious  humility, 
and  shows  she  has  no  further  regard  for  them, 
than  as  they  arise  from  these  great  events, 
which  have  made  her  subjects  happy.  For  my 
own  part,  I must  confess,  when  I see  private 
virtues  in  so  high  a degree  of  perfection,  I am 
not  astonished  at  any  extraordinary  success  that 
attends  them,  but  look  upon  public  triumphs 

* The  great  lord  Somers  was  at  this  time  lord  presi. 
dent  of  the  council. 

t Lord  chancellor  Cowper  is  here  alluded  to. 

I Edward  Russel,  earl  of  Orford,  hist  lord  commis- 
sioner of  the  admiralty. 

§ Thomas  earl  of  Wharton  had  recently  been  ho- 
noured with  the  title  of  lord  lieutenant  of  Ireland. 
Addison  was  his  secretary. 


248 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  131. 


as  the  natural  consequences  of  religious  retire- 
ments. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Finding  some  persons  have  mistaken  Pas- 
quin,  who  was  mentioned  in  my  last,  for  one 
who  has  been  pilloried  at  Rome,  I must  here 
advertise  them,  that  it  is  only  a maimed  statue 
so  called,  on  which  the  private  scandal  of  that 
city  is  generally  pasted.  Marforio  is  a person 
of  the  same  quality,  who  is  usually  made  to 
answer  whatever  is  published  by  the  other  ; 
the  wits  of  that  place,  like  too  many  of  our  own 
country,  taking  pleasure  in  setting  innocent 
people  together  by  the  ears.  The  mentioning 
of  this  person,  who  is  a great  wit,  and  a great 
cripple,  put  me  in  mind  of  Mr.  Estcourt,  who 
is  under  the  same  circumstances.  He  was 
formerly  my  apothecary,  and  being  at  present 
disabled  by  the  gout  and  stone,  I must  recom- 
mend him  to  the  public  on  Thursday  ne.vt ; that 
admirable  play  of  Ben  Jonson’s,  called  The 
Silent  Woman,  being  appointed  to  be  acted  for 
his  benefit.  It  would  be  indecent  for  me  to  ap- 
pear twice  in  a season  at  these  ludicrous  diver- 
sions ; but  as  I always  give  my  man  and  my 
maid  one  day  in  the  year,  I shall  allow  them 
this,  and  am  promised  by  Mr.  Estcourt,  my  in- 
genious apothecary,  that  they  shall  have  a 
place  kept  for  them  in  the  first  row  of  the  mid- 
dle gallery. 


No.  131.]  Thursday,  February  9,  1709-10. 

Scelus  est  jugulare  Falernum, 

Et  dare  Cainpano  toxica  sceva  niero.  Mart.  i.  10. 

How  great  the  crime,  how  flagrant  the  abuse! 

T’  adulterate  generous  wine,  with  noxious  juice. 

R.  Wynne. 

Sheer-lane,  February  8. 

There  is  in  this  city  a certain  fraternity  of 
chemical  operators,  who  work  under  ground  in 
holes,  caverns,  and  dark  retirements,  to  conceal 
their  mysteries  from  the  eyes  and  observation 
of  mankind.  These  subterraneous  philosophers 
are  daily  employed  in  the  transmutation  of 
liquors,  and,  by  the  power  of  magical  drugs  and 
incantations,  raising  under  the  streets  of  London 
the  choicest  products  of  the  hills  and  valleys  of 
France.  They  can  squeeze  Bourdeaux  out  of  the 
sloe,  and  draw  Champagne  from  an  apple. 
Virgil,  in  that  remarkable  prophecy, 

Incultisque  rubens  pendebit  sentibus  uva, 

Virg.  Eel.  iv.  29. 

The  ripening  grape  shall  hang  on  every  thorn, 
seems  to  have  hinted  at  this  art,  which  can 
turn  a plantation  of  northern  hedges  into  a 
vineyard.  These  adepts  are  known  among  one 
another  by  the  name  of  Wine-brewers  ; and, 
I am  afraid,  do  great  injury,  not  only  to  her 
majesty’s  customs,  but  to  the  bodies  of  many 
of  her  good  subjects. 

Having  received  sundry  complaints  against 
these  invisible  workmen,  I ordered  the  proper 
officer  of  my  court  to  ferret  them  out  of  their 
respective  caves,  and  bring  them  before  me, 
which  was  yesterday  e.xecuted  accordingly. 


The  person,  who  appeared  against  them,  was 
a merchant,  w'ho  had  by  him  a great  magazine 
of  wines,  that  he  had  laid  in  before  the  war  ; 
but  these  gentlemen,  as  he  said,  had  so  vitiated 
the  nation’s  palate,  that  no  man  could  believe 
his  to  be  French,  because  it  did  not  taste  like 
what  they  sold  for  such.  As  a man  never 
pleads  better  than  where  his  own  personal  in- 
terest is  concerned,  he  exhibited  to  the  court, 
with  great  eloquence,  ‘ that  this  new  corpora- 
tion of  druggists  had  inflamed  the  bills  of  mor- 
tality, and  puzzled  the  college  of  physicians 
w’ith  diseases,  for  which  they  neither  knew  a 
name  or  cure.’  He  accused  some  of  giving  all 
their  customers  colics  and  megrims ; and  men- 
tioned one  who  had  boasted,  he  had  a tun  of 
elaret  by  him,  that  in  a fortnight’s  time  should 
give  the  gout  to  a dozen  of  the  healthfulest 
men  in  the  city,  provided  that  their  constitu- 
tions were  prepared  for  it  by  w’ealth  and  idle- 
ness. He  then  enlarged,  with  a great  show  of 
reason,  upon  the  prejudice,  which  these  mix- 
tures and  compositions  had  done  to  the  brains 
of  the  English  nation ; as  is  too  visible,  said  he, 
from  many  late  pamphlets,  speeches,  and  ser- 
mons,  as  well  as  from  the  ordinary  conversa- 
tions of  the  youth  of  this  age.  He  then  quoted 
an  ingenious  person,  who  wmuld  undertake  to 
know  by  a man’s  writings  the  wine  he  most 
delighted  in  ; and,  on  that  occasion,  named  a 
certain  satirist,  whom  he  had  discovered  to  be 
the  author  of  a lampoon,  by  a manifest  taste  of 
the  sloe,  which  showed  itself  in  it,  by  much 
roughness,  and  little  spirit. 

In  the  last  place,  he  ascribed  to  the  unna- 
tural tumults  and  fermentations  which  these 
mixtures  raise  in  our  blood,  the  divisions,  heats, 
and  animosities,  that  reign  among  us ; and,  in 
particular,  asserted  most  of  the  modern  enthu- 
siasms and  agitations  to  be  nothing  else  but 
the  effects  of  adulterated  Port. 

The  counsel  for  the  brewers  had  a face  so 
extremely  inflamed,  and  illuminated  with  car- 
buncles, that  I did  not  wonder  to  see  him  an 
advocate  for  these  sophistications.  His  rhetoric 
was  likewise  such  as  I should  have  expected 
from  the  common  draught,  which  I found  he 
often  drank  to  a great  excess.  Indeed,  I was 
so  surprised  at  his  figure  and  parts,  that  I or- 
dered him  to  give  me  a taste  of  his  usual  liquor; 
which  I had  no  sooner  drunk,  but  I found  a 
pimple  rising  in  my  forehead  ; and  felt  such  a 
sensible  decay  in  my  understanding,  that  I 
would  not  proceed  in  the  trial  until  the  fume 
of  it  w’as  entirely  dissipated. 

This  notable  advocate  had  little  to  say  in  the 
defence  of  his  clients,  but  that  they  were  under 
a necessity  of  making  claret,  if  they  would 
keep  open  their  doors  ; it  being  the  nature  of 
mankind  to  love  every  thing  that  is  prohibited. 
He  further  pretended  to  reason,  that  it  might 
be  as  profitable  to  the  nation  to  make  French 
wine  as  French  hats  ; and  concluded  with  the 
great  advantage  that  this  practice  had  already 
brought  to  part  of  the  kingdom.  Upon  w'hich 
he  informed  the  court,  that  the  lands  in  Here- 
fordshire w'ere  raised  two  years  purchase  since 
the  beginning  of  the  war. 

When  I had  sent  out  my  summons  to  these 
people,  I gave,  at  the  same  time,  orders  to  each 


No.  132.] 


THE  TATLER. 


249 


of  them  to  bring  the  several  ingredients  he 
made  use  of  in  distinct  phials,  which  they  had 
done  accordingly,  and  ranged  them  into  two 
rows  on  each  side  of  the  court.  The  workmen 
were  drawn  up  in  ranks  behind  them.  The 
merchant  informed  me,  ‘ that  in  one  row  of 
phials  were  the  several  colours  they  dealt  in, 
and  in  the  other,  the  tastes.’  He  then  showed 
me,  on  the  right  hand,  one  who  went  by  the 
name  of  Tom  Tintoret,  who,  as  he  told  me, 
‘ was  the  greatest  master  in  his  colouring,  of 
any  vintner  in  London.’  To  give  me  a proof 
of  his  art,  he  took  a glass  of  fair  water  ; and, 
by  the  infusion  of  three  drops  out  of  one  of  his 
phials,  converted  it  into  a most  beautiful  pale 
Burgundy.  Two  more  of  the  same  kind 
heightened  it  into  a perfect  Languedoc:  from 
thence  it  passed  into  a florid  Hermitage  : and 
after  having  gone  through  two  or  three  other 
changes,  by  the  addition  of  a single  drop,  ended 
in  a very  deep  Pontac.  This  ingenious  virtuoso, 
seeing  me  very  much  surprised  at  his  art,  told 
me,  that  he  had  not  an  opportunity  of  showing 
it  in  perfection,  having  only  made  use  of  water 
for  the  ground-work  of  his  eolouring  : but  that, 
if  I were  to  see  an  operation  upon  liquors  of 
stronger  bodies,  the  art  would  appear  to  a much 
greater  advantage.  He  added,  that  he  doubted 
not  but  it  would  please  my  curiosity  to  see  the 
cider  of  one  apple  take  only  a vermilion,  when 
another,  with  a less  quantity  of  the  same  in- 
fusion, would  rise  into  a dark  purple,  accord- 
ing to  the  different  texture  of  parts  in  the  liquor. 
He  informed  me  also,  that  he  could  hit  the  dif- 
ferent shades  and  degrees  of  red,  as  they  appear 
in  the  pink  and  the  rose,  the  clove  and  the  car- 
nation, as  he  had  Rhenish  or  Moselle,  Perry  or 
White  Port,  to  work  in. 

I was  so  satisfied  with  the  ingenuity  of  this 
virtuoso,  that,  after  having  advised  him  to  quit 
so  dishonest  a profession,  I promised  him,  in 
consideration  of  his  great  genius,  to  recommend 
him  as  a partner  to  a friend  of  mine,  who  has 
heaped  up  great  riches,  and  is  a scarlet-dyer. 

The  artists  on  my  other  hand  were  ordered, 
in  the  second  place,  to  make  some  experiments 
of  their  skill  before  me  : upon  which  the  famous 
Harry  Sippet  stepped  out  and  asked  me,  ‘ what 
I would  be  pleased  to  drink  ?’  At  the  same 
time  he  filled  out  three  or  four  white  liquors 
in  a glass,  and  told  me,  ‘that  it  should  be  what 
I pleased  to  call  for  ;’  adding,  very  learnedly, 
‘ That  the  liquor  before  him  was  as  the  naked 
substance,  or  first  matter  of  his  eompound,  to 
which  he  and  his  friend,  who  stood  over-against 
him,  could  give  what  accidents,  or  form  they 
pleased.’  Finding  him  so  great  a philosopher, 
I desired  he  would  convey  into  it  the  qualities 
and  essence  of  right  Bordeaux.  ‘ Coming, 
coming,  sir,’  said  he,  with  the  air  of  a drawer  ; 
and  after  having  cast  his  eye  on  the  several 
tastes  and  flavours  that  stood  before  him,  he 
took  up  a little  cruet  that  was  filled  with  a 
kind  of  inky  juice,  and  pouring  some  of  it  out 
into  the  glass  of  white  wine,  presented  it  to 
me,  and  told  me,  ‘ this  was  the  wine  over 
which  most  of  the  business  of  the  last  term 
had  been  despatched.’  I mu-st  confess,  I looked 
upon  that  sooty  drug,  which  he  held  up  in  his 
cruet,  as  the  quintessence  of  English  Bor- 


deaux ; and  therefore  desired  him  to  give  me 
a glass  of  it  by  itself,  which  he  did  with  great 
unwillingness.  My  eat  at  that  time  sat  by  me 
upon  the  elbow  of  my  chair  ; and  as  I did  not 
care  for  making  the  experiment  upon  myself, 
I reaehed  it  to  her  to  sip  of  it,  which  had  like 
to  have  cost  her  her  life  ; for,  notwithstanding 
it  flung  her  at  first  into  freakish  tricks,  quite 
contrary  to  her  usual  gravity  ; in  less  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  she  fell  into  convulsions  ; 
and  had  it  not  been  a creature  more  tenacious 
of  life  than  any  other,  would  certainly  have 
died  under  the  operation. 

I was  so  incensed  by  the  tortures  of  my  in- 
nocent domestic,  and  the  unworthy  dealings 
of  these  men,  that  I told  them,  if  each  of  them 
had  as  many  lives  as  the  injured  creature  be- 
fore them,  they  deserved  to  forfeit  them  for  the 
pernicious  arts  wliich  they  used  for  their  profit. 
I therefore  bid  them  look  upon  themselves  as 
no  better  than  as  a kind  of  assassins  and  mur- 
derers within  the  law.  However,  since  they 
had  dealt  so  clearly  with  me,  and  laid  before 
me  their  whole  practice,  I dismissed  them  for 
that  time  ; with  a particular  request,  that  they 
would  not  poison  any  of  my  friends  and  ac- 
quaintance, and  take  to  some  honest  livelihood 
without  loss  of  time. 

For  my  own  part,  I have  resolved  hereafter 
to  be  very  careful  in  my  liquors ; and  have 
agreed  with  a friend  of  mine  in  the  army,  upon 
their  next  march,  to  secure  me  two  hogsheads 
of  the  best  stomach  wine  in  the  cellars  of  Ver 
sailles,  for  the  good  of  my  lucubrations,  ana 
the  comfort  of  my  old  age. 


No.  132.]  Saturday,  February  11,  1709-10. 

Habeo  senectuti  magnam  gratiam,  quae  mihi  sermonis 
avidilatem  auxit,  potioniset  cibi  sustulit.  Tull,  de  Sen. 

I am  much  beholden  to  old  age,  which  has  increased 
my  eagerness  for  conversation,  in  proportion  as  it  has 
lessened  my  appetites  of  hunger  and  thirst. 

Sheer-lane,  February  10. 

After  having  applied  my  mind  with  more 
than  ordinary  attention  to  my  studies,  it  is  my 
usual  custom  to  relax  and  unbend  it  in  the  con- 
versation of  such  as  are  rather  easy  than  shining 
companions.  This  I find  particularly  neces- 
sary for  me  before  I retire  to  rest,  in  order  to 
draw  my  slumbers  upon  me  by  degrees,  and 
fall  asleep  insensibly.  This  is  the  particular 
use  I make  of  a set  of  heavy  honest  men,  with 
whom  I have  passed  many  hours  with  much  in- 
dolence, though  not  with  great  pleasure.  Their 
conversation  is  a kind  of  preparative  for  sleep  : 
it  takes  the  mind  down  from  its  abstractions, 
leads  it  into  the  familiar  traces  of  thought,  and 
lulls  it  into  that  state  of  tranquillity,  which  is 
the  condition  of  a thinking  man,  when  he  is  but 
half  awake.  After  this,  my  reader  will  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  the  account  which  I am  about 
to  give  of  a club  of  my  own  contemporaries, 
among  whom  I pass  two  or  three  hours  every 
evening.  This  I look  upon  as  taking  my  first 
nap  before  I go  to  bed.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I 
should  think  myself  unjust  to  posterity,  as  well 


250 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  132. 


as  to  the  society  at  the  Trumpet,^  of  whicli  I am 
a member,  did  not  1 in  some  part  of  my  writings 
give  an  account  of  the  persons  among  whom 
I iiave  passed  almost  a sixth  part  of  my  time  for 
these  last  forty  years.  Our  club  consisted  ori- 
ginally of  fifteen ; but,  partly  by  the  severity  of 
the  law  in  arbitrary  times,  and  partly  by  the 
natural  effects  of  old  age,  we  are  at  present  re- 
duced to  a third  part  of  that  number  ; in  which, 
however,  we  have  this  consolation,  that  the  best 
company  is  said  to  consist  of  five  persons.  I 
must  confess,  besides  the  aforementioned  benefit 
which  I meet  with  in  the  conversation  of  this 
select  society,  I am  not  the  less  pleased  with 
the  company,  in  that  I find  myself  the  greatest 
wit  among  them,  and  am  heard  as  their  oracle 
in  all  points  of  learning  and  difficulty. 

Sir  Jeoffery  .Notch,  who  is  the  oldest  of  the 
club,  has  been  in  possession  of  the  right-hand 
chair  time  out  of  mind,  and  is  the  only  man 
among  us  that  has  the  liberty  of  stirring  the  fire. 
This,  our  foreman,  is  a gentleman  of  an  ancient 
family,  that  came  to  a great  estate  somp  years 
before  he  had  discretion,  and  run  it  out  in 
hounds,  horses,  and  cock-fighting  ; for  which 
reason  he  looks  upon  himself  as  an  honest,  wor- 
thy gentleman,  who  has  had  misfortunes  in  the 
world,  and  calls  every  thriving  man  a pitiful 
upstart. 

Major  Matchlock  is  the  next  senior,  who  serv- 
ed in  the  last  civil  wars,  and  has  all  the  battles 
by  heart.  He  does  not  think  any  action  in 
Europe  w'orth  talking  of  since  the  fight  of  Mars- 
ton  Moor  ;t  and  every  night  tells  us  of  his 
having  been  knocked  off  his  horse  at  the  rising 
of  the  London  apprentices  ;t  for  which  he  is  in 
great  esteem  among  us. 

Honest  old  Dick  Reptile  is  the  third  of  our 
society.  He  is  a good-natured  indolent  man, 
who  speaks  little  himself,  but  laughs  at  our 
jokes  ; and  brings  his  young  nephew  along  with 
him,  a youth  of  eighteen  years  old,  to  show  him 
good  company,  and  give  him' a taste  of  the  world. 
This  young  fellow  sits  generally  silent ; but 
whenever  he  opens  his  mouth,  or  laughs  at  any 
thing  that  passes,  he  is  constantly  told  by  his 
uncle,  after  a jocular  manner,  ‘ Ay,  ay.  Jack, 
you  young  men  think  us  fools  ; but  w^e  old  men 
know  you  are.’ 

The  greatest  wit  of  our  company,  next  to  my- 
self, is  a bencher  of  the  neighbouring  inn,  who 
in  his  youth  frequented  the  ordinaries  about 
Charing-cross,  and  pretends  to  have  been  inti- 
mate wuth  Jack  Ogle.  He  has  about  ten  dis- 
tichs  of  Hudibras  without  book,  and  never  leaves 
the  club  until  he  has  applied  them  all.  If  any 
modern  wit  be  mentioned,  or  any  town-frolic 
spoken  of,  he  shakes  his  head  at  the  dullness  of 
the  present  age,  and  tells  us  a story  of  Jack 
Ogle. 

For  my  own  part,  I am  esteemed  among  them 
because  they  see  I am  something  respected  by 
others  ; though  at  the  same  time  I understand 

* A public  house  in  Sheer-lane. 

tTlie  battle  of  Marston-Moor  happened  on  July  2, 
1644. 

t July  14,  1647,  the  London  apprentices  presented  a pe- 
tition signed  by  above  10,000  hands;  and  on  the  26th, 
they  forced  their  way  into  tlie  house,  menacing,  until 
votes  had  passed  desirable  to  their  demands.  Seethe 
Parliamentary  History,  vol.  xvi.  p.  ISO,  181. 


by  their  behaviour,  that  I am  considered  by 
them  as  a man  of  a great  deal  of  learning,  but 
no  knowledge  of  the  vvorld  ; insomuch,  that  the 
major  sometimes,  in  the  height  of  his  military 
pride,  calls  me  the  pliilosopher ; and  Sir  Jeoffery 
no  longer  ago  th^'  last  night,  upon  a dispute 
what  day  of  the  ^onth  it  was  then  in  Holland, 
pulled  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  cried, 
‘ What  does  the  scholar  say  to  it  ?’ 

Our  club  meets  precisely  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening ; but  I did  not  come  last  night  until 
half  an  Jiour  after  seven,  by  which  means  I es- 
caped the  battle  of  Naseby,  which  the  major 
usually  begins  at  about  three  quarters  after  six  : 
I found  also,  that  my  good  friend  the  bencher  had 
already  spent  three  of  his  distichs  ; and  only 
waited  an  opportunity  to  hear  a sermon  spoken 
of,  that  he  might  introduce  the  couplet  where 
‘ a stick’  rhymes  to  ‘ ecclesiastic.’  At  my  en- 
trance into  the  room,  they  were  naming  a red 
petticoat  and  a cloak,  by  which  I found  that  the 
bencher  had  been  diverting  them  with  a story 
of  Jack  Ogle.* 

I had  no  sooner  taken  my  seat,  but  Sir  Jeof- 
fery, to  show  his  good  will  towards  me,  gave  me 
a pipe  of  his  own  tobacco,  and  stirred  up  the 
firs.  I look  upon  it  as  a point  of  morality,  to 
bo  obliged  by  tliose  who  endeavor  to  oblige  me  ; 
and  therefore,  in  requital  for  his  kindness,  and 
to  set  the  conversation  a-going,  I took  the  best 
occasion  I could  to  put  him  upon  telling  us  the 
story  of  old  Gantlett,  which  he  always  does  with 
very  particular  concern.  He  traced  up  his  de- 
scent  on  both  sides  for  several  generations,  de- 
scribing his  diet  and  manner  of  life,  with  his 
several  battles,  and  particularly  that  in  which 
he  fell.  This  Gantlett  was  a game  cock,  upon 
whose  head  the  knight,  in  his  youth,  had  won 
five  hundred  pounds,  and  lost  two  thousand. 
Tills  naturally  set  the  major  upon  the  account 
of  Edge-hill  %ht,f  and  ended  in  a duel  of  Jack 
Ogle’s. 

Old  Reptile  was  extremely  attentive  to  all  that 
was  said,  though  it  was  the  same  he  had  heard 
every  night  for  these  twenty  years,  and,  upon 
all  occasions,  winked  upon  his  nephew  to  mind 
what  passed. 

This  may  suffice  to  give  the  world  a taste  of 
our  innocent  conversation,  which  we  spun  out 
until  about  ten  of  the  clock,  when  my  maid  came 
with  a lantern  to  light  .me  home.  I could  not 
but  reflect  with  myself,  as  I was  going  out,  up- 
on the  talkative  humour  of  old  men,  and  the 
little  figure  which  that  part  of  life  makes  in  one 
who  cannot  employ  his  natural  propensity  in  dis- 
courses which  would  make  him  venerable.  I 
must  own,  it  makes  me  very  melancholy  in  com- 
pany, when  I hear  a young  man  begin  a story  ; 
and  have  often  observed,  that  one  of  a quarter 
of  an  hour  long  in  a man  of  five-and-twenty, 
gathers  circumstances  every  time  he  tells  it,  un- 
til it  grows  into  a long  Canterbury  tale  of  two 
hours  by  that  time  he  is  threescore. 

The  only  way  of  avoiding  such  a trifling  and 
frivolous  old  age  is,  to  lay  up  in  our  way  to  it 


* Jack  Ogle,  said  to  have  been  descended  from  a de- 
ceit family  in  Devonshire,  was  a man  of  some  genius 
and  great  extravagance,  but  rather  artful  than  witty, 
t Tile  battle  of  Edge-hill  was  fought  on  Sunday,  Oct.  23, 
1042. 


No.  133.] 


THE  TATLER. 


251 


such  stores  of  knowledge  and  observation,  as 
may  make  us  useful  and  agreeable  in  our  de- 
clining years.  The  mind  of  man  in  a long  life 
will  become  a magazine  .of  wisdom  or  folly, 
and  will  consequently  discharge  itself  in  some- 
thing impertinent  or  imprd^^g.  For  which 
reason,  as  there  is  nothing  more  ridiculous  than 
an  old  trifling  story-teller,  so  there  is  nothing 
more  venerable,  than  one  who  has  turned  liis 
experience  to  the  entertainment  and  advantage 
of  mankind. 

In  short,  we,  who  are  in  the  last  stage  of  life, 
and  are  apt  to  indulge  ourselves  in  talk,  ought 
to  consider,  if  what  we  speak  be  worth  being 
heard,  and  endeavour  to  make  our  discourse 
like  that  of  Nestor,  which  Homer  compares  to 
the  flowing  of  honey  for  its  sweetness. 

I am  afraid  I shall  be  thought  guilty  of  this 
excess  I am  speaking  of,  when  I cannot  con- 
clude without  observing,  that  Milton  certainly 
thought  of  this  passage  in  Homer,  when,  in  his 
description  of  an  eloquent  spirit,  he  says, 

‘ His  tongue  dropped  manna.’ 


No.  133.]  Tuesday,  Fehruary  14, 1709. 

Dum  tacent,  clamant.  Tull. 

Their  silence  pleads  aloud. 

Sheer-lane,  Fehruary  13. 

SiLENCK  is  sometimes  more  significant  and 
sublime,  than  the  most  noble  and  most  expres- 
sive eloquence,  and  is  on  many  occasions  the 
indication  of  a great  mind.  Several  authors 
have  treated  of  silence,  as  a part  of  duty  and 
discretion ; but  none  of  them  have  considered  it 
in  this  light.  Homer  compares  the  noise  and 
clamour  of  the  Trojans  advancing  towards  the 
enemy,  to  the  cackling  of  cranes,  when  they 
invade  an  army  of  pigmies.  On  the  contrary, 
he  makes  his  countrymen  and  favourites,  the 
Greeks,  move  forward  in  a regular  and  deter- 
mined march,  and  in  the  depth  of  silence.  I 
find  in  the  accounts,  which  are  given  us  of 
some  of  the  more  eastern  nations,  where  the  in- 
habitants are  disposed  by  their  constitutions 
and  climates  to  higher  strains  of  thought,  and 
more  elevated  raptures  than  what  we  feel  in 
the  northern  regions  of  the  world,  that  silence 
is  a religious  exercise  among  them.  For  when 
their  public  devotions  are  in  the  greatest  fer- 
vour, and  their  hearts  lifted  up  as  high  as  words 
can  raise  them,  there  are  certain  suspensions 
of  sound  and  motion  for  a time,  in  which  the 
mind  is  left  to  itself,  and  supposed  to  swell  with 
such  secret  conceptions  as  are  too  big  for  utter- 
ance. I have  myself  been  wonderfully  delight- 
ed with  a master-piece  of  music,  when,  in  the 
very  tumult  and  ferment  of  their  harmony,  all 
the  voices  and  instruments  have  stopped  short 
on  a sudden  ; and,  after  a little  pause,  recovered 
themselves  again,  as  it  were,  and  renewed  the 
concert  in  all  its  parts.  This  short  interval  of 
silence  has  had  more  music  in  it,  than  any  the 
same  space  of  time  before  or  after  it.  There 
are  two  instances  of  silence  in  the  two  greatest 
poets  that  ever  wrote,  which  have  something  in 
them  as  sublime  as  any  of  their  speeches  in 
their  whole  works.  The  first  is  that  of  Ajax, 


in  the  eleventh  book  of  the  Odyssey.  Ulysses, 
who  had  been  the  rival  of  this  great  man  in  his 
life,  as  well  as  the  occasion  of  his  death,  upon 
meeting  his  shade  in  the  region  of  departed  he- 
roes, makes  his  submission  to  him  with  a hu- 
mility next  to  adoration,  which  the  other  passes 
over  with  dumb,  sullen  majesty,  and  such  a 
silence,  as,  to  use  the  words  of  Longinus,  had 
more  greatness  in  it  than  any  thing  he  could 
have  spoken. 

The  next  instance  I shall  mention  is  in  Vir- 
gil, where  the  poet  doubtless  imitates  this  si- 
lence of  Ajax  in  that  of  Dido ; though  I do  not 
know  that  any  of  his  commentators  have  taken 
notice  of  it.  JEneas,  finding  among  the  shades 
of  despairing  lovers  the  ghost  of  her  who  had 
lately  died  for  him,  with  the  wound  still  fresh 
upon  her,  addresses  himself  to  her  with  expand- 
ed arms,  floods  of  tears,  and  the  most  passionate 
professions  of  his  own  innocence,  as  to  what 
had  happened;  all  which  Dido  receives  with 
the  dignity  and  disdain  of  a resenting  lover, 
and  an  injured  queen;  and  is  so  far  from  vouch- 
safing him  an  answer,  that  she  does  not  give 
him  a single  look.  The  poet  represents  her  as 
turning  away  her  face  from  him  while  he  spoke 
to  her ; and,  after  having  kept  her  eyes  some 
time  upon  the  ground,  as  one  that  heard  and 
contemned  his  protestations,  flying  from  him 
into  the  grove  of  myrtle,  and  into  the  arms  of 
another,  whose  fidelity  had  deserved  her  love.* 

I have  often  thought  our  writers  of  tragedy 
have  been  very  defective  in  this  particular,  and 
that  they  might  have  given  great  beauty  to 
their  works,  by  certain  stops  and  pauses  in  the 
representation  of  such  passions  as  it  is  not  in 
the  power  of  language  to  express.  There  is 
something  like  this  in  the  last  act  of  ‘ Venice 
Preserved,’  where  Pierre  is  brought  to  an  infa- 
mous execution,  and  begs  of  his  friend,  as  a 
reparation  for  past  injuries,  and  the  only  favour 
he  could  do  him,  to  rescue  him  from  the  igno- 
miny of  the  vdieel  by  stabbing  him.  As  he  is 
going  to  make  this  dreadful  request,  he  is  net 
able  to  communicate  it;  but  withdraws  his  face 
from  his  friend’s  ear,  and  bursts  into  tears. 
The  melancholy  silence  that  follows  hereupon, 
and  continues  until  he  has  recovered  himself 
enough  to  reveal  his  mind  to  his  friend,  raises 
in  the  spectators  a grief  that  is  inexpressible, 
and  an  idea  of  such  a complicated  distress  in 
the  actor,  as  words  cannot  utter.  It  would  look 
as  ridiculous  to  many  readers,  to  give  rules  and 
directions  for  proper  silences,  as  for  ‘ penning 
a whisper :’  but  it  is  certain,  that  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  most  passions,  particularly  surprise, 
admiration,  astonishment,  nay,  rage  itself,  there 
is  nothing  more  graceful  than  to  see  the  play 
stand  still  for  a few  moments,  and  the  audience 
fixed  in  an  agreeable  suspense,  during  the  si- 
lence of  a skilful  actor. 

But  silence  never  shows  itself  to  so  great  an 
advantage,  as  when  it  is  made  the  reply  to  ca- 
lumny  and  defamation,  provided  that  we  give 
no  just  occasion  for  them.  We  might  produce 
an  example  of  it  in  the  behaviour  of  one,  in 
whom  it  appeared  in  all  its  majesty,  and  one, 
whose  silence,  as  v/ell  as  his  person,  was  alto- 


* Sichsus. 


252 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  134. 


gether  divine.  When  one  considers  this  sub- 
ject  only  in  its  sublimity,  this  great  instance 
could  not  but  occur  to  me  ; and  since  I only 
make  use  of  it  to  show  the  highest  example  of 
it,  I hope  I do  not  offend  in  it.  To  forbear  re- 
plying to  an  unjust  reproach,  and  overlook  it 
with  a generous,  or,  if  possible,  with  an  entire 
neglect  of  it,  is  one  of  the  most  heroic  acts  of  a 
great  mind : and  I must  confess,  when  I reflect 
upon  the  behaviour  of  some  of  the  greatest  men 
in  antiquity,  I do  not  so  much  admire  them, 
that  they  deserved  the  praise  of  the  whole  age 
they  lived  in,  as  because  they  contemned  the 
envy  and  detraction  of  it. 

All  that  is  incumbent  on  a man  of  worth, 
who  suffers  under  so  ill  a treatment,  is  to  lie  by 
for  some  time  in  silence  and  obscurity,  until 
the  prejudice  of  the  time  be  over,  and  his  repu- 
tation cleared.  I have  often  read,  with  a great 
deal  of  pleasure,  a legacy  of  the  famous  lord 
Bacon,  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  that  our 
own  or  any  country  has  produced.  After  hav- 
ing bequeathed  his  soul,  body,  and  estate,  in  the 
usual  form,  he  adds,  ‘ My  name  and  memory  I 
leave  to  foreign  nations,  and  to  my  countrymen 
after  some  time  be  passed  over.’ 

At  the  same  time,  that  I recommend  this 
philosophy  to  others,  I must  confess,  I am  so 
poor  a proficient  in  it  myself,  that  if  in  the 
course  of  my  lucubrations  it  happens,  as  it  has 
done  more  than  once,  that  my  paper  is  duller 
than  in  conscience  it  ought  to  be,  I think  the 
time  an  age  until  I have  an  opportunity  of  put- 
ting out  another,  and  growing  famous  again  for 
two  days. 

I must  not  close  my  discourse  upon  silence 
without  informing  my  reader,  that  I have  by  me 
an  elaborate  treatise  on  the  aposiopesis  called 
an  et  catera;  it  being  a figure  much  used  by 
some  learned  authors,  and  particularly  by  the 
great  Littleton,  who,  as  my  lord  chief  justice 
Coke  observes,  had  a most  admirable  talent  at 
an  Sfc. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

To  oblige  the  pretty  fellows,  and  my  fair 
readers,  I have  thought  fit  to  insert  the  whole 
passage  above-mentioned  relating  to  Dido,  as  it 
is  translated  by  Mr.  Dryden.* 

Not  far  from  thence,  the  mournful  fields  appear; 

So  called  from  lovers  that  inhabit  there. 

The  souls,  whom  that  unhappy  flame  invades, 

In  secret  solitude,  and  myrtle  shades, 

Make  endless  moans ; and,  pining  with  desire, 
Lament  too  late  their  unextinguished  fire. 

Here  Procris,  Eriphyle  here,  he  found 
Baring  her  breast,  yet  bleeding  with  the  wound 
Made  by  her  son.  He  saw  Pasiphae  there. 

With  Phaedra’s  ghost,  a foul  incestuous  pair; 

There  Laodamia  with  Evadne  moves  : 

Unhappy  both  ; but  loyal  in  their  loves. 

Coeneus,  a woman  once,  and  once  a man  ; 

But  ending  in  the  sex  she  first  began. 

Not  far  from  these  Phenician  Dido  stood  ; 

Fresh  from  her  wound,  her  bosom  bathed  in  blood: 
Whom,  when  the  Trojan  hero  hardly  knew. 

Obscure  in  shades,  and  with  a doubtful  view, 
(Doubtful  as  he  who  runs  through  dusky  night. 

Or  thinks  he  sees  the  moon’s  uncertain  light,) 

With  tears  he  first  approached  the  sullen  shade 
And,  as  his  love  inspired  him,  thus  he  said: 

Unhappy  queen ! then  is  the  common  breath 
Of  rumour  true,  in  your  reported  death? 


And  I,  alas,  the  cause ! by  heaven  I vow'. 

And  all  the  powers  that  rule  the  realms  below. 
Unwilling  I forsook  your  friendly  state 
Commanded  by  the  gods,  and  forced  by  fate ; 

Those  gods,  that  fate,  w’hose  unresisted  might 
Have  sent  me  to  these  regions  void  of  light. 

Through  the  vast  empire  of  eternal  night. 

Nor  dared  I to  presume,  that,  pressed  with  grief, 

My  flight  should  urge  you  to  this  dire  relief. 

Stay,  stay  your  steps,  and  listen  to  my  vows  ; 

’Tis  the  last  interview  that  fate  allows!’ 

In  vain  he  thus  attempts  her  mind  to  move. 

With  tears  and  prayers,  and  late  repenting  love. 
Disdainfully  site  looked  ; then  turning  round. 

But  fixed  her  eyes  unmoved  upon  the  ground ; 

And  w'hat  he  says,  and  swears,  regards  no  more 
Than  the  deaf  rocks,  when  the  loud  billows  roar  ; 

But  whirled  aw'ay,  to  shun  his  hateful  sight. 

Hid  in  the  forest,  and  the  shades  of  night : 

Then  sought  Sichseus  through  the  shady  grove. 

Who  answered  all  her  cares,  and  equalled  all  her  love. 


No.  134.]  Thursday,  February  16,  1709. 

Cluis  talia  fando 

Myrmidonum,  Dolopumve,  aut  duri  miles  Ulyssei, 
Temperet  a lacrymis  ? Virg.  .^n.  ii.  8. 

Such  woes 

Not  even  the  hardest  of  our  foes  could  hear. 

Nor  stern  Ulysses  tell  without  a tear.  Dryden. 

Sheer-lane,  February  15. 

I was  awakened  very  early  this  morning  by 
the  distant  crowing  of  a cock,  which  I thought 
had  the  finest  pipe  I ever  heard.  He  seemed  to 
me  to  strain  his  voice  more  than  ordinary,  as 
if  he  designed  to  make  himself  heard  to  the  re- 
motest corner  of  this  lane.  Having  entertained 
myself  a little  before  I went  to  bed  with  a dis- 
course on  the  transmigration  of  men  into  other 
animals,  I could  not  but  fancy  that  this  was  the 
soul  of  some  drowsy  bell-man  \vho  used  to  sleep 
upon  his  post,  for  which  he  was  condemned  to' 
do  penance  in  feathers,  and  distinguish  the 
several  watches  of  the  night  under  the  outside 
of  a cock.  While  I was  thinking  of  the  condi- 
tion of  this  poor  bell-man  in  masquerade,  I 
heard  a great  knocking  at  my  door,  and  was 
soon  after  told  by  my  maid,  that  my  worthy 
friend,  the  tall  black  gentleman,  who  frequents 
the  coffee-houses  hereabouts,  desired  to  speak 
with  me.  This  ancient  Pythagorean,  who  has 
as  mucli  honesty  as  any  man  living,  but  good 
nature  to  an  excess,  brought  me  the  following 
petition ; which  I am  apt  to  believe  he  penned 
himself,  the  petitioner  not  being  able  to  express 
his  mind  on  paper  under  his  present  form,  how- 
ever famous  he  might  have  been  for  writing 
verses  when  he  was  in  his  original  shape. 

‘ T 9 Isaac  Bickerstajf,  Esquire,  Censor  of  Great 

Britain. 

‘ The  humble  petition  of  Job  Chanticleer,  in  be- 
. half  of  himself,  and  many  other  poor  suffer- 
ers in  the  same  condition  ; from  my  Coop  in 
Clare-market,  Feb.  13,  1709,  sheweth  : 

‘That  whereas  your  petitioner  is  truly  de- 
scended of  the  ancient  family  of  the  Chanti- 
cleers, at  Cock-hall  near  Rumford  in  Essex,  it 
has  been  his  misfortune  to  come  into  the  mer- 
cenary  hands  of  a certain  ill-disposed  person, 
commonly  called  a higgler,  who,  under  the 
I close  confinement  of  a pannier,  has  conveyed 


* iEneid,  book  vi.  46. 


No.  135.] 


THE  TATLER. 


253 


him  and  many  others  up  to  London  ; but  hear- 
ing by  chance  of  your  worship’s  great  human- 
ity towards  robin-red-breasts  and  tom-tits,  he 
is  emboldened  to  beseech  you  to  take  his  de- 
plorable condition  into  your  tender  considera- 
tion, who  otherwise  must  suffer,  with  many 
thousands  more  as  innocent  as  himself,  that  in- 
human barbarity  of  a Shrove-Tuesday  persecu- 
tion.* We  humbly  hope,  that  our  courage  and 
vigilance  may  plead  for  us  on  this  occasion. 

‘Your  poor  petitioner  most  earnestly  implores 
your  immediate  protection  from  the  insolence 
of  the  rabble,  the  batteries  of  cat-sticks,  and  a 
painful  lingering  death, 

‘ And  your  petitioner,  &c.’ 

Upon  delivery  of  this  petition,  the  worthy 
gentleman,  who  presented  it,  told  me  the  cus- 
toms of  many  wise  nations  of  the  east,  through 
which  he  had  travelled  ; that  nothing  was  more 
frequent  than  to  see  a dervise  lay  out  a whole 
year’s  income  in  the  redemption  of  larks  or 
linnets  that  had  unhappily  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  bird-catchers ; that  it  was  also  usual  to  run 
between  a dog  and  a bull  to  keep  them  from 
hurting  one  another,  or  to  lose  the  use  of  a limb 
in  parting  a couple  of  furious  mastiffs.  He 
then  insisted  upon  the  ingratitude  and  disin- 
genuityf  of  treating  in  this  manner  a necessary 
and  domestic  animal,  that  has  made  the  whole 
house  keep  good  hours,  and  called  up  the  cook- 
maid  for  five  years  together.  ‘ What  would  a 
Turkt  say,’  continued  he,  ‘ should  he  hear,  that 
it  is  a common  entertainment  in  a nation, 
which  pretends  to  be  one  of  the  most  civilized 
•of  Europe,  to  tie  an  innocent  animal  to  a stake, 
and  put  him  to  an  ignominious  death,  who  has 
perhaps  been  the  guardian  and  proveditor  of  a 
a poor  family,  as  long  as  he  was  able  to  get 
eggs  for  his  mistress  ?’ 

I thought  what  this  gentleman  said  was  very 
reasonable  ; and  have  often  wondered,  that  we 
do  not  lay  aside  a custom,  which  makes  us  ap- 
pear barbarous  to  nations  much  more  rude  and 
unpolished  than  ourselves.  Some  French  wri- 
ters have  represented  this  diversion  of  the  com- 
mon people  much  to  our  disadvantage,  and  im- 
puted it  to  natural  fierceness  and  cruelty  of 
temper  ; as  they  do  some  other  entertainments 
peculiar  to  our  nation : I mean  those  elegant 
diversions  of  bull-bating  and  prize-fighting,  with 
the  like  ingenious  recreations  of  the  Bear-gar- 
den.  I wish  I knew  how  to  answer  this  re- 
proach which  is  cast  upon  us,  and  excuse  the 
death  of  so  many  innocent  cocks,  bulls,  dogs, 
and  bears,  as  have  been  set  together  by  the  ears, 
or  died  untimely  deaths,  only  to  make  us  sport. 

It  will  be  said,  that  these  are  the  entertain- 
ments of  common  people.  It  is  true  ; but  they 
j.re  the  entertainments  of  no  other  common 
people."  Besides,  I am  afraid,  there  is  a tinc- 
ture of  the  same  savage  spirit  in  the  diversions 
of  those  of  higher  rank,  and  more  refined  relish. 
Rapin  observes,  that  the  English  theatre  very 


.Amuch  delights  in  bloodshed,  which  he  likewise 
represents  as  an  indication  of  our  tempers.  I 
must  own,  there  is  something  very  horrid  in  the 
public  executions  of  an  English  tragedy.  Stab- 
bing and  poisoning,  which  are  performed  behind 
the  scenes  in  other  nations,  must  be  done  openly 
among  us,  to  gratify  the  audience. 

When  poor  Sandford*  was  upon  the  stage,  I 
have  seen  him  groaning  upon  a wheel,  stuck 
with  daggers,  impaled  alive,  calling  his  execu- 
tioners, with  a dying  voice,  ‘ cruel  dogs  and 
villains  !’  and  all  this  to  please  his  judicious 
spectators,  who  were  wonderfully  delighted 
with  seeing  a man  in  torment  so  well  acted. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  the  politeness  of  our  English 
stage,  in  regard  to  decorum,  is  very  extraordi- 
nary. We  act  murders,  to  show  our  intrepidity; 
and  adulteries,  to  show  our  gallantry  : both 
of  them  are  frequent  in  our  most  taking  plays, 
with  this  difference  only,  that  the  former  are 
done  in  the  sight  of  the  audience,  and  the  latter 
wrought  up  to  such  a height  upon  the  stage, 
that  they  are  almost  put  in  execution  before  the 
actors  can  get  behind  the  scenes. 

I would  not  have  it  thought,  that  there  is 
just  ground  for  those  consequences  which  our 
enemies  draw  against  us  from  these  practices ; 
but  methinks  one  would  be  sorry  for  any  man- 
ner of  occasion  for  such  misrepresentations  of 
us.  The  virtues  of  tenderness,  compassion,  and 
humanity,  are  those  by  which  men  are  distin- 
guished  from  brutes,  as  much  as  by  reason 
itself;  and  it  would  be  the  greatest  reproach  to 
a nation,  to  distinguish  itself  from  all  others 
by  any  defect  in  these  particular  virtues.  For 
which  reasons,  I hope  that  my  dear  country- 
men will  no  longer  expose  themselves  by  an  ef- 
fusion of  blood,  whether  it  be  oftheatrieal  heroes, 
cocks,  or  any  other  innocent  animals,  which  we 
are  not  obliged  to  slaughter  for  our  safety,  con- 
venience, or  nourishment.  When  any  of  these 
ends  are  not  served  in  the  destruction  of  a liv- 
ing creature,  I cannot  but  pronounce  it  a great 
piece  of  cruelty,  if  not  a kind  of  murder. 


No.  135.]  Saturday,  February  18,  1709-10. 

Q.uod  si  in  hoc  erro,  quod  animos  hominum  immor- 
tales  esse  credam,  libenter  erro  ; nec  mihi  hunc  errorem, 
quo  delector,  dum  vivo,  extorqueri  volo  : sin  mortuus, 
ut  quidain  minuti  philosoplii  consent,  nihil  sentiam; 
non  vereor,  ne  hunc  errorem  meum  mortui  philosophi 
irrideant. — Cicero,  De  Senect.  cap.  ult.  Ed.  Verburgii, 
Vol.  X.  p.  3758. 

But  if  I err  in  believing  that  the  souls  of  men  are  im- 
mortal, I willingly  err ; nor  while  I live  would  I wish  to 
have  this  deliglitful  error  extorted  from  me : and  if 
after  death  I shall  feel  nothing,  as  some  minute  phi- 
losophers think,  I am  not  afraid  lest  dead  philosophers 
should  laugh  at  me  for  the  error. 

Sheer-lane,  February  17. 

Several  letters,  which  I have  lately  received, 
give  me  information,  that  some  well-disposed 
persons  have  taken  offence  at  my  using  the  word 
Free-thinker,  as  a term  of  reproach.  To  set. 


* The  original  date  of  this  paper  is  ‘ From  Tuesday 
Feb.  14,  to  Thursday  Feb.  16,  17U9.’ 
t Disingenuousness. 

f The  word  Turk,  is  used  here  to  signify  a savage,  or 
a barbarian ; but  in  the  language  of  Turkey  it  means  a 
shepherd  or  herdsmart. 


* Sandford  was  an  excellent  actor  in  disagreeable 
cliaracters ; he  had  a low  and  crooked  person,  and  such 
bodily  defects  as  were  too  strong  to  be  admitted  itito 
great  or  amiable  characters,  so  that  he  was  the  stage- 
villain,  not  by  choice,  but  from  necessity, 
oO 


254 


THE  TATLER. 


therefore,  this  matter  in  a clear  light,  I must 
declare,  that  no  one  can  have  a greater  venera- 
tion than  myself  for  the  Free-thinkers  of  anti- 
quity ; who  acted  the  same  part  in  those  times, 
as  the  great  men  of  the  reformation  did  in  seve- 
ral nations  of  Europe,  by  exerting  themselves 
against  the  idolatry  and  superstition  of  the  times 
in  which  they  lived.  It  was  by  this  noble  im- 
pulse that  Socrates  and  his  disciples,  as  well  as 
all  the  philsophers  of  note  in  Greece,  and  Cicero, 
Seneca,  with  all  the  learned  men  of  Rome,  en- 
deavoured to  enlighten  their  contemporaries 
amidst  the  darkness  and  ignorance  in  v^hich 
the  world  was  then  sunk  and  buried. 

The  great  points  which  these  free-thinkers 
endeavoured  to  establish  and  inculcate  into  the 
minds  of  men,  were,  the  formation  of  the  uni- 
verse, the  superintendency  of  providence,  the 
perfection  of  the  Divine  Nature,  the  immortal- 
ity of  the  soul,  and  the  future  state  of  rewards 
and  punishments.  They  all  complied  with  the 
religion  of  their  country,  as  much  as  possible, 
in  such  particulars  as  did  not  contradict  and 
pervert  these  great  and  fundamental  doctrines 
of  mankind.  On  the  contraiy,  the  persons  who 
now  set  up  for  free-thinkers,  are  such  as  en- 
deavour, by  a little  trasii  of  words  and  sophis- 
try, to  weaken  and  destroy  tliose  very  princi- 
ples, for  the  vindication  of  which,  freedom  of 
thought  at  first  became  laudable  and  licroic. 
These  apostates,  from  reason  and  good  sense, 
can  look  at  the  glorious  frame  of  nature,  with- 
out paying  an  adoration  to  Kim  that  raised 
it;  can  consider  tlie  great  revolutions  in  the 
universe,  without  lifting  up  their  minds  to  that 
superior  power  which  hatlr  the  direction  of  it ; 
can  presume  to  censure  the  Deity  in  his  ways 
towards  men ; can  level  mankind  with  the 
beasts  that  perish  ; can  extinguish  in  their  own 
minds  all  the  pleasing  hopes  of  a future  state, 
and  lull  themselves  into  a stupid  security  against 
the  terrors  of  it.  If  one  were  to  take  the  word 
priestcraft  out  of  the  moutlis  of  these  shallow 
monsters,  they  would  be  immediately  struck 
dumb.  It  is  by  the  help  of  this  single  term 
that  they  endeavour  to  disappoint  the  good 
works  of  the  most  learned  and  venerable  order 
of  men,  and  harden  the  hearts  of  the  ignorant 
against  the  very  light  of  nature,  and  the  com- 
mon received  notions  of  mankind.  We  ought 
not  to  treat  such  miscreants  as  these  upon  the 
foot  of  fair  disputants  ; but  to  pour  out  contempt 
upon  them,  and  speak  of  them  with  scorn  and 
infamy,  as  the  pests  of  society,  the  revilers  of 
human  nature,  and  the  blasphemers  of  a Being, 
whom  a good  man  would  rather  die  than  hear 
dishonoured.  Cicero,  after  having  mentioned 
the  great  heroes  of  knowledge  that  recom- 
mended this  divine  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  calls  those  small  pretenders  to  wisdom, 
who  declared  against  it,  certain  minute  philoso- 
phers, using  a diminutive  even  of  the  word  little, 
to  express  the  despicable  opinion  he  had  of 
them.  The  contempt  he  throws  upon  them  in 
another  passage  is  yet  more  remarkable ; where, 
to  show  the  mean  thoughts  he  entertains  of 
them,  he  declares  ‘ he  would  rather  be  in  the 
wrong  with  Plato,  than  in  the  right  with  such 
company.’  There  is,  indeed,  nothing  in  the 
world  so  ridiculous  as  one  of  these  grave  philo- 


[No.  135. 

sophical  free-thinkers,  that  hath  neither  pas- 
sions nor  appetites  to  gratify,  no  heats  of  blood, 
nor  vigour  of  constitution,  that  can  turn  his 
systems  of  infidelity  to  his  advantage,  or  raise 
pleasures  out  of  them  which  are  inconsistent 
with  the  belief  of  a hereafter.  One  that  has 
neither  wit,  gallantry,  mirth,  or  youth,  to  in- 
dulge by  these  notions,  but  only  a poor,  joyless, 
uncomfortable  vanity  of  distinguishing  himself 
from  the  rest  of  mankind,  is  rather  to  be  re- 
garded as  a mischievous  lunatic,  than  a mis- 
taken philosopher.  A chaste  infidel,  a specula- 
tive libertine,  is  an  animal  that  I should  not 
believe  to  be  in  nature,  did  I not  sometimes 
meet  with  this  species  of  men,  that  plead  for 
the  indulgence  of  their  passions  in  the  midst  of 
a severe  studious  life,  and  talk  against  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  over  a dish  of  coffee. 

I would  fain  ask  a minute  pliilosopher,  what 
good  he  proposes  to  mankind  by  the  publishing 
of  his  doctrines?  Will  they  make  a man  a 
better  citizen,  or  father  of  a family  ; a more 
endearing  husband,  friend,  or  son  ? will  they 
enlarge  his  public  or  private  virtues,  or  correct 
any  of  his  frailties  or  vices  ? What  is  there 
cither  joyful  or  glorious  in  such  opinions  ? do 
they  either  refresh  or  enlarge  our  thoughts  ? 
do  they  contribute  to  the  happiness,  or  raise  the 
dignity,  of  human  nature  ? The  only  good  that 
I have  ever  heard  pretended  to,  is,  that  they 
banish  terrors,  and  set  the  mind  at  ease.  But 
whose  terrors  do  they  banish  ? It  is  certain, 
if  there  were  any  str^ength  in  their  arguments, 
they  w’ould  give  greater  disturbance  to  minds  that 
are  influenced  by  virtue,  honour,  and  morality, 
and  take  from  us  the  only  comforts  and  sup- 
ports of  affliction,  sickness,  and  old  age.  The 
minds,  therefore,  which  they  set  at  ease,  are 
only  those  of  impenitent  criminals  and  male- 
factors, and  which,  not  the  good  of  mankind, 
should  be  in  perpetual  terror  and  alarm. 

I must  confess,  nothing  is  more  usual  than 
for  a free-thinker,  in  proportion  as  the  insolence 
of  scepticism  is  abated  in  him  by  years  and 
knowledge,  or  humbled  and  beaten  down  by 
sorrow  or  sickness,  to  reconcile  himself  to  the 
general  conceptions  of  reasonable  creatures  ; 
so  that  we  frequently  see  the  apostates  turning 
from  their  revolt  towards  the  end  of  their  lives, 
and  employing  the  refuse  of  their  parts  in  pro- 
moting those  truths  which  they  had  before  en- 
deavoured  to  invalidate. 

Tlie  history  of  a gentleman  in  France  is  very 
well  known,  wdio  was  so  zealous  a promoter  of 
infidelit}",  that  he  had  got  together  a select 
company  of  disciples,  and  travelled  into  all  parts 
of  the  kingdom  to  make  converts.  In  the  midst 
of  his  fantastical  success  he  fell  sick,  and  was 
reclaimed  to  such  a sense  of  his  condition,  that 
after  he  had  passed  some  time  in  great  agonies 
and  horrors  of  mind,  he  begged  those  who  had 
the  care  of  burying  him,  to  dress  his  body  in. 
the.  habit  of  a capuchin,  that  the  devil  might  not 
run  awmy  with  it;  and  to  do  further  justice  upon 
himself,  desired  them  to  tie  a halter  about  his 
neck,  as  a mark  of  that  ignominious  punish- 
ment, which,  in  his  own  thoughts,  he  had  so 
justly  deserved. 

I wmuld  not  have  persecution  so  far  disgraced, 
as  to  wish  these  vermin  might  be  animadverted 


THE  TATLER. 


255 


No.  136.] 

on  by  any  legal  penalties ; though  I think  it 
would  be  highly  reasonable,  that  those  few  of 
them  who  die  in  the  professions  of  their  infi- 
delity, should  have  such  tokens  of  infamy  fixed 
upon  them,  as  might  distinguish  those  bodies 
which  are  given  up  by  the  owners  to  oblivion 
and  putrefaction,  from  those  which  rest  in  hope, 
and  shall  rise  in  glory.  But  at  the  same  time 
that  I am  against  doing  them  the  honour  of  the 
notice  of  our  laws,  which  ought  not  to  suppose 
there  are  such  criminals  in  being,  I have  often 
wondered,  how  they  can  be  tolerated  in  any 
mixed  conversations,  while  they  are  venting 
these  absurd  opinions  ; and  should  think,  that  if, 
on  any  such  occasions,  half  a dozen  of  the  most 
robust  Christians  in  the  company  would  lead 
one  of  those  gentlemen  to  a pump,  or  convey 
him  into  a blanket,  they  would  do  very  good 
service  botli  to  church  and  state.  I do  not 
know  how  the  laws  stand  in  this  particular ; 
but  I hope,  whatever  knocks,  bangs,  or  thumps, 
might  be  given  with  such  an  honest  intention, 
would  not  be  construed  as  a breach  of  the  peace. 
I dare  say,  they  would  not  be  returned  by  the 
person  who  receives  them;  for  whatever  tliese 
fools  may  say  in  the  vanity  of  their  hearts, 
they  are  too  wise  to  risk  their  lives  upon  the  un- 
certainty of  their  opinions. 

When  I was  a young  man  about  this  town, 
I frequented  the  ordinary  of  the  Black-horse  in 
Holborn,  where  the  [)erson  that  usually  presided 
at  the  table  was  a rough  old-fashioned  gentle- 
man, who,  according  to  the  customs  of  those  times 
had  been  the  major  and  preacher  of  a regiment. 
It  happened  one  day  that  a noisy  young  officer, 
bred  in  France,  was  venting  some  new-fangled 
notions,  and  speaking,  in  the  gayety"  of  his  hu- 
mour, against  the  dispensations  of  Providence. 
The  major,  at  first,  only  desired  him  to  talk 
more  respectfully  of  one  for  whom  all  the  com- 
pany had  an  honour  ; but,  finding  him  run  on 
in  his  extravagance,  began  to  reprimand  him 
after  a more  serious  manner.  ‘ Young  man,’ 
said  he,  ‘ do  not  abuse  your  Benefactor  whilst 
you  are  eating  his  bread.  Consider  whose  air 
you  breathe,  whose  presence  you  are  in,  and 
who  it  is  that  gave  you  the  power  of  that  very 
speech  which  you  make  use  of  to  his  dishonour.’ 
The  young  fellow,  who  thought  to  turn  matters 
into  a jest,  asked  him  ‘ if  he  was  going  to 
preach?’  but  at  the  same  time  desired  him  ‘ to 
take  care  what  he  said  when  he  spoke  to  a man 
of  honour.’  ‘ A man  of  honour  !’  says  the  major; 
‘ thou  art  an  infidel  and  a blasphemer,  and  I 
shall  use  thee  as  such.’  In  short,  the  quarrel 
ran  so  high,  that  the  major  was  desired  to  walk 
out.  Upon  their  coming  into  the  garden^  the 
old  fellow  advised  his  antagonist  to  consider  the 
place  into  which  one  pass  might  drive  him  ; 
but  finding  him  grow  upon  him  to  a degree  of 
scurrility,  as  believing  the  advice  proceeded  from 
fear  ; ‘ Sirrah,’  says  he,  ‘ if  a thunderbolt  does 
not  strike  thee  dead  before  I come  at  thee,  I 
shall  not  fail  to  chastise  thee  for  thy  profaneness 
to  thy  Maker,  and  thy  sauciness  to  his  servant.’ 
Upon  this  he  drew  his  sword,  and  cried  out 
with  a loud  voice,  ‘ The  sword  of  the  Lord  and 
of  Gideon  !’  which  so  terrified  his  antagonist, 
that  he  was  immediately  disarmed,  and  thrown 
upon  his  knees.  In  this  posture  he  begged  his 


life ; but  the  major  refused  to  grant  it,  before 
he  liad  asked  pardon  for  his  oftence  in  a short 
extemporary  prayer,  which  the  old  gentleman 
dictated  to  him  upon  the  spot,  and  which  his 
proselyte  repeated  after  him  in  the  presence  of 
the  whole  ordinary,  that  were  now  gathered 
about  him  in  the  garden. 


No.  136.  ] Tuesday,  Felruary2\,  1709-10. 

Deprendi  miserum  est : Fabio  vel  judice  vincam. 

Hot.  1.  Sat.  ii.  ver.  ult. 

To  be  surprised,  is  sure  a wretched  tale, 

And  for  the  truth  to  Fabius  I apjjeal.  Francis. 

V/kite's  Chocolate-house,  February  18. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  TOM  VARNISH. 

Because  I have  a professed  aversion  to  long 
beginnings  of  stories,  I will  go  into  this  at  once, 
by  telling  you,  there  dwells  near  the  Royal 
Exchange  as  happy  a couple  as  ever  entered 
into  wedlock.  These  live  in  that  mutual  con- 
fidence of  each  other,  which  renders  the  satis- 
faction of  marriage  even  greater  than  those  of » 
friendship,  and  makes  wife  and  husband  the 
dearest  appellations  of  human  life.  Mr.  Balance 
is  a merchant  of  good  consideration,  and  under- 
stands the  world,  not  from  speculation,  but 
practice.  His  wife  is  the  daughter  of  an  honest 
house,  ever  bred  in  a family-way ; and  has, 
from  a natural  good  understanding,  and  great 
innocence,  a freedom  wdiich  men  of  sense  know 
to  be  the  certain  sign  of  virtue,  and  fools  take  to 
be  an  encouragement  to  vice. 

Tom  Varnish,  a young  gentleman  of  the 
Middle  Temple,  by  the  bounty  of  a good  father, 
who  was  so  obliging  as  to  die,  and  leave  him, 
in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  besides  a good  estate, 
a large  sum  which  lay  in  the  bands  of  Mr. 
Balance,  had  by  this  means  an  intimacy  at  his 
house ; and,  being  one  of  those  hard  students 
who  read  plays  for  their  improvement  in  the  law, 
took  his  rules  of  life  from  thence.  Upon  mature 
deliberation,  he  conceived  it  very  proper,  that 
he,  as  a man  of  wut  and  pleasure  of  the  town, 
should  have  an  intrigue  witii  his  merchant's 
wife.  He  no  sooner  thought  of  this  adventure, 
but  he  began  it  by  an  amorous  epistle  to  the 
lady,  and  a faithful  promise  to  wait  upon  her  at 
a certain  hour  the  next  evening,  when  he  knew 
her  husband  v.?as  to  be  absent. 

The  letter  was  no  sooner  received,  but  it  was 
communicated  to  the  husband,  and  produced  no 
other  effect  in  him,  than  that  he  joined  with 
his  wife  to  raise  all  the  mirth  they  could  out  of 
this  fantastical  piece  of  gallantry.  They  were 
so  little  concerned  at  this  dangerous  man  of 
mode,  that  they  plotted  ways  to  perplex  him 
without  hurting  him.  Varnish  comes  exactly 
at  his  hour  ; and  the  lady’s  well-acted  confusion 
at  his  entrance  gave  him  opportunity  to  repeat 
some  couplets  very  fit  for  the  occasion  with 
very  much  grace  and  spirit.  His  theatrical 
manner  of  making  love  was  interrupted  by  an 
alarm  of  the  husband’s  coming ; and  the  wife, 
in  a personated  terror,  beseeched  him,  ‘ if  he 
had  any  value  for  the  honour  of  a woman  that 
loved  him,  he  would  jump  out  of  the  windowu’ 


256 


THE  TATLER. 


He  did  so,  and  fell  upon  feather-beds  placed  on 
purpose  to  receive  him. 

It  is  not  to  be  conceived  how  great  the  joy 
of  an  amorous  man  is  when  he  has  suffered  for 
his  mistress,  and  is  never  the  worse  for  it. 
Varnish  the  next  day  writ  a most  elegant  billet, 
wherein  lie  said  all  that  imagination  could  form 
upon  the  occasion.  He  violently  protested, 
‘ going  out  of  the  window  was  no  way  terrible, 
but  as  it  was  going  from  her;’  with  several  other 
kind  expressions,  which  procured  him  a second 
assignation.  Upon  his  second  visit,  he  was 
conveyed  by  a faithful  maid  into  her  bed-cham- 
ber, and  left  there  to  expect  the  arrival  of  her 
mistress.  But  the  wench,  according  to  her  in- 
structions, ran  in  again  to  him,  and  locked  the 
door  after  her  to  keep  out  her  master.  She 
had  just  time  enough  to  eonvey  the  lover  into 
a chest  before  she  admitted  the  husband  and 
his  wife  into  the  room. 

You  may  be  sure  that  trunk  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  be  opened  ; but  upon  her  husband’s 
ordering  it,  she  assured  him,  ‘ she  had  taken 
all  the  care  imaginable  in  packing  up  the  things 
with  her  own  hands,  and  he  might  send  the 
•»  trunk  abroad  as  soon  as  he  thought  fit.’  The 
easy  husband  believed  his  wife,  and  the 
good  eouple  went  to  bed  ; Varnish  having  the 
happiness  to  pass  the  night  in  his  mistress’s 
bed-chamber  without  molestation.  The  morn- 
ing arose,  but  our  lover  was  not  well  situated 
to  observe  her  blushes  ; so  that  all  we  know  of 
his  sentiments  on  this  oceasion  is,  that  he  heard 
Balance  ask  for  the  key,  and  say,  ‘ he  would 
himself  go  with  this  chest,  and  have  it  opened 
before  the  captain  of  the  ship,  for  the  greater 
safety  of  so  valuable  a lading.’ 

The  goods  were  hoisted  away  ; and  Mr.  Ba- 
lance, marching  by  his  chest  with  great  care 
and  diligence,  omitted  nothing  that  might  give 
his  passenger  perplexity.  But,  to  consummate 
all,  he  delivered  the  chest,  with  strict  charge, 
‘in  case  they  were  in  danger  of  being  taken,  to 
throw  it  overboard,  for  there  were  letters  in  it, 
the  matter  of  which  might  be  of  great  service 
to  the  enemy.’ 

N.  B.  It  is  not  thought  advisable  to  proceed 
further  in  this  account ; Mr.  Varnish  being  just 
returned  from  his  travels,  and  willing  to  con- 
ceal the  occasion  of  his  first  applying  himself 
to  the  languages. 

St.  Jaynes's  Coffee-house,  February  20. 

This  day  came  in  a mail  from  Holland,  with 
a confirmation  of  our  late  advices,  that  a treaty 
of  peace  would  very  suddenly  be  set  on  foot, 
and  that  yachts  were  appointed  by  the  States 
to  convey  the  ministers  of  France  from  Moer- 
dyke  to  Gertruydenburgh,  whieh  is  appointed 
for  the  place  wherein  this  important  negotia- 
tion is  to  be  transacted.  It  is  said,  this  affair 
has  been  in  agitation  ever  since  the  close  of 
the  last  campaign ; Mons.  Pettecum  having 
been  appointed  to  receive  from  time  to  time  the 
overtures  of  the  enemy.  During  the  whole 
winter,  the  ministers  of  France  have  used  their 
utmost  skill  in  forming  such  answers  as  might 
amuse  the  allies,  in  hopes  of  a favourable  event 
either  in  the  north,  or  some  other  part  of  Eu- 


[No.  137. 

rope,  which  might  affect  some  part  of  the  alli- 
ance too  nearly  to  leave  it  in  a capacity  of  ad- 
hering  firmly  to  the  interest  of  the  whole.  In 
all  this  transaction,  the  French  king’s  own  name 
has  been  as  little  made  use  of  as  possible:  but 
the  season  of  the  year  advancing  top  fast  to  ad- 
mit of  much  longer  delays  in  the  present  condi- 
tion of  France,  Mons.  Torcy,  in  the  name  of 
the  king,  sent  a letter  to  Mons.  Pettecum, 
wherein  he  says,  ‘That  the  king  is  willing 
all  the  preliminary  articles  shall  rest  as  they 
are  during  the  treaty  for  the  37th.’ 

Sheer-lane,  February  20. 

I have  been  earnestly  solicited  for  a further 
term,  for  wearing  the  fardingal  by  several  of 
the  fair  sex,  but  more  especially  by  the  follow- 
ing petitioners. 

‘ The  humble  petition  of  Deborah  Hark,  Sarah 
Threadpaper,  and  Rachel  Thimble,  spinsters 
and  single  women,  commonly  called  waiting- 
maids,  in  behalf  of  themselves  and  their 
sisterhood ; showeth  : 

‘ That  your  worship  has  been  pleased  to 
order  and  command,  that  no  person  or  persons 
shall  presume  to  wear  quilted  petticoats,  on 
forfeiture  of  the  said  petticoats,  or  penalty  of 
wearing  ruffs,  after  the  seventeenth  instant  now 
expired. 

‘ That  your  petitioners  have,  time  out  of 
mind,  been  entitled  to  wear  their  ladies’ clothes, 
or  to  sell  the  same. 

‘ That  the  sale  of  the  said  clothes  is  spoiled 
by  your  worship’s  said  prohibition. 

‘Your  petitioners  therefore  most  humbly  pray, 
that  your  worship  will  please  to  allow,  that  all 
gentlewomen’s  gentlewomen  may  be  allowed 
to  wear  the  said  dress,  or  to  repair  the  loss 
of  such  a perquisite  in  such  manner  as  your 
worship  shall  think  fit. 

‘ And  your  petitioners,  &c.’ 

I do  allow  the  allegations  of  this  petition  to 
be  just ; and  forbid  all  persons,  but  the  petition- 
ers, or  those  who  shall  purchase  them,  to  wear 
the  said  garment  after  the  date  hereof. 


No.  137.]  Thursday,  February 1709-10. 

Ter  centum  tonat  ore  Deos,  Erebumque,  Chaosque. 

Tergeminamque  Hecaten Virg.  ^n.  iv.  510> 

He  tlirice  invokes  th’  infernal  powers  profound 

Of  Erebus  and  Chaos  ; thrice  he  calls 

On  Hecate’s  triple  form R.  Wynne. 

Sheer-lane,  February  22. 

Dick  Reptile  and  I sat  this  evening  later 
than  the  rest  of  the  club  : and  as  some  men 
are  better  company  when  only  with  one  friend, 
others  when  there  is  a larger  number,  I found 
Dick  to  be  of  the  former  kind.  He  was  be- 
w^ailing  to  me,  in  very  just  terms,  the  offences 
which  he  frequently  met  with  in  the  abuse  of 
speech : some  use  ten  times  more  words  than 
they  need  ; some  put  in  words  quite  foreign  to 
their  purpose  ; and  others  adorn  their  discourses 
with  oaths  and  blasphemies,  by  way  of  tropes 


No.  137.] 


THE  TATLER. 


257 


and  figures.  Wliat  my  good  friend  started 
dwelt  upon  me  after  I came  home  this  evening, 
and  led  me  into  an  inquiry  with  myself,  whence 
should  arise  such  strange  excrescences  in  dis- 
course ? whereas  it  must  be  obvious  to  all  rea- 
sonable beings,  that  the  sooner  a man  speaks 
his  mind,  the  more  complaisant  he  is  to  the 
man  with  whom  he  talks : but,  upon  mature 
deliberation,  I am  come  to  this  resolution,  that 
for  one  man  who  speaks  to  be  understood,  there 
are  ten  who  talk  only  to  be  admired. 

The  ancient  Greeks  had  little  independent 
syllables  called  expletives,  which  they  brought 
into  their  discourses  both  in  verse  and  prose, 
for  no  other  purpose  but  for  the  better  grace 
and  sound  of  their  sentences  and  periods.  I 
know  no  example  but  this,  which  can  autho- 
rize the  use  of  more  words  than  are  necessary. 
But  whether  it  be  from  this  freedom  taken  by 
that  wise  nation,  or  however  it  arises,  Dick 
Reptile  hit  upon  a very  just  and  common  cause 
of  offence  in  the  generality  of  people  of  all 
orders.  We  have  one  here  in  our  lane,  who 
speaks  nothing  without  quoting  an  authority ; 
for  it  is  always  with  him,  so  and  so,  ‘ as  the 
man  said.’  lie  asked  me  this  morning,  how 
I did,  ‘ as  the  man  said  ?’  and  hoped  I would 
come  now  and  then  to  see  him,  ‘ as  the  man 
said.’  I am  acquainted  with  another,  who  never 
delivers  himself  upon  any  subject,  but  he  cries, 
‘he  only  speaks  his  poor  judgment ; this  is  his 
humble  opinion ; as  for  his  part,  if  he  might 
presume  to  offer  any  thing  on  that  subject.’ — 
But  of  all  the  persons  who  add  elegances  and 
superfluities  to  their  discourses,  those  who 
deserve  the  foremost  rank  are  the  swearers ; 
and  the  lump  of  these  may,  I think,  be  very 
aptly  divided  into  the  common  distinction  of 
high  and  low.  Dulness  and  barrenness  of 
thought  is  the  original  of  it  in  both  these  sects, 
and  they  differ  only  in  constitution.  The  low 
is  generally  a phlegmatic,  and  the  high  a chole- 
ric coxcomb.  The  man  of  phlegm  is  sensible 
of  the  emptiness  of  his  discourse,  and  will  tell 
you,  that,  ‘I’fackins,’  such  a thing  is  true  ; or,  if 
you  warm  him  a little,  he  may  run  into  passion, 
and  cry,  ‘ Odsbodikins,  you  do  not  say  right.’ 
But  the  high  affects  a sublimity  in  dulness,  and 
invokes  ‘ hell  and  damnation’  at  the  breaking 
of  a glass,  or  the  slowness  of  a drawer. 

I was  the  other  day  trudging  along  Fleet- 
street  on  foot,  and  an  old  army  friend  came  up 
with  me.  We  were  both  going  towards  West- 
minster ; and,  finding  the  streets  were  so  crowd- 
ed that  we  could  not  keep  together,  we  resolved 
to  club  for  a coach.  This  gentleman  I knew  to 
be  the  first  of  the  order  of  the  choleric.  I must 
confess,  were  there  no  crime  in  it,  nothing 
could  be  more  diverting  than  the  impertinence 
of  the  high  juror  : for,  whether  there  is  remedy 
or  not  against  what  offends  him,  still  he  is  to 
show  he  is  offended;  and  he  must,  sure,  not 
omit  to  be  magnificently  passionate,  by  falling 
on  all  things  in  his  way.  We  were  stopped  by 
a train  of  coaches  at  Temple-bar.  ‘What  the 
devil !’  says  my  companion,  ‘ cannot  you  drive 

on,  coachman  ? D n you  all,  for  a set  of 

sons  of  whores ; you  will  stop  here  to  be  paid 
by  the  hour  ! There  is  not  such  a set  of  con- 
founded dogs  as  the  coachmen  unhanged ! But 
2 K 


these  rascally  cits ’ Ounds,  why  should  not 

there  be  a tax  to  make  these  clogs  widen  their 
gates  ? Oh  ! but  the  hell-hounds  move  at  last.’ 
‘ Ay,’  said  I,  ‘ I knew  you  would  make  them 

whip  on,  if  once  they  heard  you.’ ‘ No,’ 

says  he,  ‘ but  would  it  not  fret  a man  to  the 
devil,  to  pay  for  being  carried  slower  than  he 
can  walk  ? Look  ye  ! there  is  for  ever  a stop 
at  this  hole  by  St.  Clement’s  church.  Blood, 

you  dog!  Hark  ye,  sirrah! Why,  and  be 

d d to  you,  do  not  you  drive  over  that  fel- 
low ? Thunder,  furies,  and  damnation  ! I 

will  cut  your  ears  off’,  you  fellow  before 

there Come  hither,  you  dog  you,  and  let 

me  wring  your  neck  round  your  shoulders.’ 
We  had  a repetition  of  the  same  eloquence  at 
the  Cockpit,  and  the  turning  into  Palace-yard- 
This  gave  me  a perfect  image  of  the  insigni- 
ficancy of  the  creatures  who  practise  this  enor- 
mity ; and  made  me  conclude,  that  it  is  ever 
want  of  sense  makes  a man  guilty  in  this  kind. 
It  was  excellently  well  said,  ‘ that  this  folly 
had  no  temptation  to  excuse  it,  no  man  being 
born  of  a swearing  constitution.’  In  a word, 
a few  rumbling  words  and  consonants  clapped 
together  without  any  sense,  will  make  an  ac- 
complished swearer.  It  is  needless  to  dwell 
long  upon  this  blustering  impertinenee,  which 
is  already  banished  out  of  the  society  of  well- 
bred  men,  and  can  be  useful  only  to  bullies  and 
ill  tragic  writers,  who  would  have  sound  and 
noise  pass  for  courage  and  sense. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  February  22. 

There  arrived  a messenger  last  night  from 
Harwich,  who  left  that  place  just  as  the  duke 
of  Marlborough  was  going  on  board.  The  cha- 
racter of  this  important  general  going  out  by 
the  eomrnand  of  his  queen,  and  at  the  request 
of  his  eountry,  puts  me  in  mind  of  that  noble 
figure  which  Shakspeare  gives  Harry  the  Fifth 
upon  his  expedition  against  France.  The  poet 
wishes  for  abilities  to  represent  so  great  a hero  : 

‘ Oh  for  a muse  of  fire! 

Then  should  the  warlike  Harry  like  himself. 

Assume  the  port  of  Mars,  and  at  his  heels, 

Leash’d  in,  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword,  and  fire, 
Crouch  for  employments.’ 

A conqueror  drawn  like  the  god  of  battle, 
with  such  a dreadful  leash  of  hell-hounds  at  his 
command,  makes  a picture  of  as  much  majesty 
and  terror  as  is  to  be  met  with  in  any  poet. 

Shakspeare  understood  the  force  of  this  par- 
ticular allegory  so  well,  that  he  had  it  in  his 
thoughts  in  another  passage,  which  is  altogether 
as  daring  and  sublime  as  the  former.  What  I 
mean  is  in  the  tragedy  of  Julius  Caesar,  where 
Antony,  after  having  foretold  the  blood-shed 
and  destruction  that  should  be  brought  upon 
the  earth  by  the  death  of  that  great  man,  to  fill 
up  the  horror  of  his  description,  adds  the  fol- 
lowing verses : 

‘ And  Caesar’s  spirit,  raging  for  revenge. 

With  Ate  by  his  side,  come  hot  from  hell, 

Shall  in  these  confines,  with  a monarch’s  voice, 

Cry  havock ; and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war.’ 

I do  not  question  but  these  quotations  will 
call  to  mind,  in  my  readers  of  learning  and 
taste,  that  imaginary  person  described  by  Vir- 

22* 


258 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  138. 


gil  with  the  same  spirit.  He  mentions  it  upon 
the  occasion  of  a peace  which  was  restored  to 
the  Roman  empire  ; and  which  we  may  now 
hope  for  from  the  departure  of  that  great  man, 
who  has  given  occasion  to  these  reflections. 

The  temple  of  Janus,  says  he,  shall  be  shut, 
and  in  the  midst  of  it  military  Fury  shall  sit 
upon  a pile  of  broken  arms,  loaded  with  a hun- 
dred chains,  bellowing  with  madness,  and 
grinding  his  teeth  in  blood. 

Claudentur  belli  portse,  Furor  impiiis  intus 

S»va  sedens  super  arma,  et  centum  vinctus  ahenis 

Post  tergum  nodis,  fremit  liorridus  ore  cruento. 

Virg.  .d3n.  i.  298. 

Janus  himself  before  bis  fane  shall  wait, 

And  keep  the  dreadful  issues  of  his  gate, 

With  bolts  and  iron  bars.  Within  remains 

Imprisoned  Fury  bound  in  brazen  chains; 

High  on  a trophy  raised  of  useless  arms. 

He  sits,  and  threats  the  world  with  vain  alarms. 

Dryden. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  tickets  which  were  delivered  out  for  the 
benefit  of  Signor  Nicolini  Grimaldi  on  the 
twenty.fourth  instant,  will  be  taken  on  Thurs- 
day the  second  of  March,  his  benefit  being  de- 
ferred until  that  day. 

N.  B.  In  all  operas  for  the  future,  where  it 
thunders  and  lightens  in  proper  time,  and  in 
tune,  the  matter  of  the  said  lightning  is  to  be 
of  the  finest  rosin ; and,  for  the  sake  of  harmony, 
the  same  which  is  used  to  the  best  Cremona 
fiddles. 

Note  also,  that  the  true  perfumed  lightning 
is  only  prepared  and  sold  by  Mr.  Charles  Lillie, 
at  the  corner  of  Beaufort-buildings. 

***  The  lady  who  has  chosen  xMr.  Bicker- 
staff  for  her  Valentine,  and  is  at  a loss  what  to 
present  him  with,  is  desired  to  make  him,  w’ith 
her  own  hands,  a warm  nightcap. 


No.  138.]  Saturday,  February  25, 1709-10. 

Secretosque  pios,  his  dantem  jura  Catonem. 

Virg.  A3n.  viii.  670. 

Apart  from  these,  the  happy  souls  he  draws. 

And  Cato’s  pious  ghost  dispensing  laws.  Dryden. 

Sheer-lane,  February  24. 

It  is  an  argument  of  a clear  and  worthy 
spirit  in  a man  to  be  able  to  disengage  himself 
from  the  opinions  of  others,  so  far  as  not  to  let 
the  deference  due  to  the  sense  of  mankind  en- 
snare him  to  act  against  the  dictates  of  his  own 
reason.  But  the  generality  of  the  world  are  so 
far  from  walking  by  any  such  maxim,  that  it  is 
almost  a standing  rule  to  do  as  others  do,  or  be 
ridiculous.  I have  heard  my  old  friend,  Mr. 
Hart,  speak  it  as  an  observation  among  the 
players,  ‘ that  it  is  impossible  to  act  with  grace, 
except  the  actor  has  forgot  that  he  is  before  an 
audience.’  Until  he  is  arrived  at  that,  his 
motion,  his  air,  his  every  step  and  gesture,  has 
something  in  them  which  discovers  he  is  under 
a restraint,  for  fear  of  being  ill  received ; or  if 
he  considers  himself  as  in  the  presence  of  those 
ivho  approve  his  be.haviour,  you  see  an  affecta- 


tion of  that  pleasure  run  through  his  whole 
carriage.  It  is  as  common  in  life,  as  upon  the 
stage,  to  behold  a man  in  tlie  most  indifferent 
action  betray  a sense  he  has  of  doing  what  he 
is  about  gracefully.  Some  have  such  an  immo- 
derate relish  for  applause,  that  they  expect  it 
for  things,  which  in  themselves  are  so  frivolous, 
that  it  is  impossible,  without  this  affectation, 
to  make  them  appear  worthy  either  of  blame 
or  praise.  There  is  Will  Glare,  so  passionately 
intent  upon  being  admired,  that  when  you  see 
him  in  public  places,  every  muscle  of  his  face 
discovers,  his  thoughts  are  fixed  upon  the  con- 
sideration of  what  figure  he  makes.  He  will 
often  fall  into  a musing  posture,  to  attract  ob- 
servation ; and  is  then  obtruding  himself  upon 
the  company,  when  he  pretends  to  be  with- 
drawn from  it.  Such  little  arts  are  the  certain 
and  infallible  tokens  of  a superficial  mind,  as 
the  avoiding  observation  is  the  sign  of  a great 
and  sublime  one.  It  is  therefore  extremely 
difficult  for  a man  to  judge  even  of  his  own 
actions,  without  forming  to  himself  an  idea  of 
what  he  should  act,  were  it  in  his  power  to  exe- 
cute all  his  desires  without  the  observation  of 
the  rest  of  the  world.  There  is  an  allegorical 
fable  in  Plato,  which  seems  to  admonish  us, 
that  we  are  very  little  acquainted  with  our- 
selves, while  we  know  our  actions  are  to  pass 
the  censures  of  others ; but,  had  we  the  power 
to  accomplish  all  our  wishes  unobserved,  we 
should  then  easily  inform  ourselves  how  far  we 
are  possessed  of  real  and  intrinsic  virtue.  The 
fable  I was  going  to  mention  is  that  of  Gyges, 
who  is  said  to  have  had  an  enchanted  ring, 
which  had  in  it  a miraculous  quality,  making 
him  who  wmre  it  visible  or  invisible,  as  he 
turned  it  to  or  from  his  body.  The  use  Gyges 
made  of  his  occasional  invisibility  was,  by  the 
advantage  of  it,  to  violate  a queen,  and  murder 
a king.  Tully  takes  notice  of  this  allegory, 
and  says  very  handsomely,  ‘that  a man  of 
honour  who  had  such  a ring  would  act  just  in 
the  same  manner  as  he  would  without  it.’  It  is 
indeed  no  small  pitch  of  virtue,  under  the  temp- 
tation of  impunity,  and  the  hopes  of  accom- 
plishing all  a man  desires,  not  to  transgress  the 
rules  of  justice  and  virtue  ; but  this  is  rather 
not  being  an  ill  man,  than  being  positively  a 
good  one  ; and  it  seems  wonderful,  that  so  great 
a soul  as  that  of  Tully  should  not  form  to  him- 
self a thousand  worthy  aetions,  which  a virtu- 
ous mind  would  be  prompted  to  by  the  possession 
of  such  a secret.  There  are  certainly  some 
part  of  mankind  who  are  guardian-beings  to 
the  other.  Sallust  could  say  of  Cato,  ‘ That  he 
had  rather  be,  than  appear,  good,’  but,  indeed, 
this  eulogium  rose  no  higher  than,  as  I just 
now  hinted,  to  an  inoffensiveness,  rather  than 
an  active  virtue.  Had  it  occurred  to  the  noble 
orator  to  represent,  in  his  language,  the  glorious 
pleasures  of  a man  secretly  employed  in  benefi- 
cence and  generosity,  it  would  certainly  have 
made  a more  charming  page  than  any  he  has 
left  behind  him.  How  might  a man,  furnished 
with  Gyges’s  secret,  employ  it  in  bringing  to- 
gether distant  friends ; laying  snares  for  cre- 
ating good-will  in  the  room  of  groundless  hatred ; 
in  removing  the  pangs  of  an  unjust  jealousy, 
the  shyness  of  an  imperfect  reconciliation,  and 


THE  TATLER, 


253 


No.  139.] 

the  tremor  of  an  awful  love  ! Such  a one  could 
give  confidence  to  bashful  merit,  and  confusion 
to  overbearing  impudence. 

Certain  it  is,  that  secret  kindnesses  done  to 
mankind  are  as  beautiful  as  secret  injuries  are 
detestable.  To  be  invisibly  good,  is  as  godlike, 
as  to  be  invisibly  ill,  diabolical.  As  degenerate 
as  we  are  apt  to  say  the  age  we  live  in  is,  there 
are  still  amongst  us  men  of  illustrious  minds, 
who  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  of  good  actions,  ex- 
cept that  of  being  commended  for  them.  There 
happens,  among  other  very  worthy  instances 
of  a public  spirit,  one  which  I am  obliged  to  dis- 
cover, because  I know  not  otherwise  how  to  obey 
the  commands  of  the  benefactor.  A citizen  of 
London  has  given  directions  to  Mr.  Rayner, 
the  writing-master  of  St.  Paul’s  school,  to  edu- 
cate at  his  charge  ten  boys,  who  shall  be  nomi- 
nated by  me,  in  writing  and  accounts,  until 
they  shall  be  fit  for  any  trade ; I desire,  therefore, 
such  as  know  any  proper  objects  for  receiving 
this  bounty,  to  give  notice  thereof  to  Mr.  Mor- 
phew,  or  Mr.  Lillie ; and  they  shall,  if  properly 
qualified,  have  instructions  accordingly. 

Actions  of  this  kind  have  in  them  something 
so  transcendant,  that  it  is  an  injury  to  applaud 
them,  and  a diminution  of  that  merit  which 
consists  in  shunning  our  approbation.  We 
shall  therefore  leave  them  to  enjoy  that  glori- 
ous obscurity  ; and  silently  admire  their  virtue 
who  can  contemn  the  most  delicious  of  human 
pleasures,  that  of  receiving  due  praise.  Such 
celestial  dispositions  very  justly  suspend  the 
discovery  of  their  benefactions,  until  they  come 
where  their  actions  cannot  be  misinterpreted, 
and  receive  their  first  congratulations  in  the 
company  of  angels. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas  Mr.  Bickerstalf,  by  a letter  bearing 
date  this  twenty-fourth  of  February,  has  re- 
ceived information,  that  there  are  in  and  about 
the  Royal  Exchange  a sort  of  people  commonly 
known  by  the  name  of  Whetters,  who  drink 
themselves  into  an  intermediate  state  of  being 
neither  drunk  nor  sober  before  the  hour.s  of 
Exchange,  or  business ; and  in  that  condition 
buy  and  sell  stocks,  discount  notes,  and  do 
many  other  acts  of  well-disposed  citizens  ; this 
is  to  give  notice,  that  from  this  day  forward, 
no  Whetter  shall  be  able  to  give  or  endorse  any 
note  or  execute  any  other  point  of  commerce, 
after  the  third  half-pint,  before  the  hour  of  one  : 
and  whoever  shall  transact  any  matter  or  mat- 
ters with  a Whetter,  not  being  himself  of  that 
order,  shall  be  conducted  to  Moor-fields  upon 
the  first  application  of  his  next  of  kin. 

N.  B.  No  tavern  near  the  Exchange  shall 
deliver  wine  to  such  as  drink  at  the  bar  stand- 
ing, except  the  same  shall  be  three-parts  of  the 
best  cider ; and  the  master  of  the  house  shall 
produce  a certificate  of  the  same  from  Mr. 
Tintoret,  or  some  other  credible  wine-painter. 

Whereas  the  model  of  the  intended  Bedlam 
is  now  finished,  and  the  edifice  itself  will  be 
very  suddenly  begun  ; it  is  desired,  that  all  such 
as  have  relations,  whom  they  would  reeommend 
to  our  care,  would  bring  in  their  proofs  with 
all  speed : none  being  to  be  admitted,  of  course. 


but  lovers,  who  are  put  into  an  immediate  regi- 
men. Young  politicians  also  are  received  with- 
out fees  or  examination. 


No.  139.]  Tuesday.,  February  28,  1709-10. 

Nihil  est  quod  credere  de  se 

Non  possit,  cum  laudatur  Diis  aequa  poteslas. 

Juv.  Sat.  iv.  70. 

Nothing  so  monstrous  can  be  said  or  feigned, 

But  with  belief  and  joy  is  entertained. 

When  to  her  face  a giddy  girl  is  praised  : 

By  ill-judged  flattery  to  an  angel  raised.  Dryden. 

Sheer-lane,  February  27. 

When  I reflect  upon  the  many  nights  I have 
sat  up  for  some  months  last  past,  in  the  greatest 
anxiety  for  the  good  of  my  neighbours  and  con- 
temporaries, it  is  no  small  discouragement  to 
me,  to  see  how  slow  a progress  I make  in  the 
reformation  of  the  world.  But  indeed  I must 
do  my  female  readers  the  justice  to  own,  that 
their  tender  hearts  are  much  more  susceptible 
of  good  impressions,  than  the  minds  of  the  other 
sex.  Business  and  ambition  take  up  men’s 
thoughts  too  much  to  leave  room  for  philosophy ; 
but  if  you  speak  to  women  in  a style  and  man- 
ner proper  to  approach  them,  they  never  fail  to 
improve  by  your  counsels.  I shall,  therefore, 
for  the  future,  turn  my  thoughts  more  particu- 
larly to  their  service ; and  study  the  best  me- 
thods to  adorn  their  persons,  and  inform  their 
minds  in  the  justest  methods  to  make  them 
what  nature  designed  them,  the  most  beauteous 
objects  of  our  eyes,  and  the  most  agreeablo 
companions  of  our  lives.  But  when  I say  this, 
I must  not  omit,  at  the  same  time,  to  look  into 
their  errors  and  mistakes,  that  being  the  readi- 
est way  to  the  intended  end  of  adorning  and 
instructing  tliem.  .It  must  be  acknowledged, 
that  the  very  inadvertencies  of  this  sex  ai^ 
owing  to  the  other  ; for  if  men  were  not  flatter- 
ers, women  could  not  fall  into  that  general  cause 
of  all  their  fellies  and  our  misfortunes,  their  love 
of  flattery.  Were  the  commendation  of  these 
agreeable  creatures  built  upon  its  proper  founda- 
tion, the  higher  we  raised  their  opinion  of  them- 
selves, the  greater  would  be  the  advantage  to 
our  sex  ; but  all  the  topic  of  praise  is  drawn  from 
very  senseless  and  extravagant  ideas  we  pretend 
we  have  of  their  beauty  and  perfection.  Thus, 
when  a young  man  fails  in  love  with  a young 
woman,  from  that  moment  she  is  no  more  Mrs. 
Alice  such-a-one  born  of  such  a father,  and 
educated  by  such  a mother ; but  from  the  first 
minute  that  he  cast  his  eye  upon  her  with  de- 
sire, he  conceives  a doubt  in  his  mind,  what 
heavenly  power  gave  so  unexpected  a blow  to 
a heart  that  was  ever  before  untouched.  But 
who  can  resist  fate  and  destiny,  which  are 
lodged  in  Mrs.  Alice’s  eyes  ? after  which  he 
desires  orders  accordingly,  whether  he  is  to  li^'t> 
or  die ; the  smile  or  frown  of  his  goddess  is  the 
only  thing  that  can  now  either  save  or  destroy 
him.  By  this  means,  the  well-humoured  girl, 
that  would  have  romped  with  him  before  she 
had  received  this  declaration,  assaptes  a stat^ 


260 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  140. 


suitable  to  the  majesty  he  has  given  her,  and  | ‘ !Madam, — I sat  near  you  at  the  opera  last 

treats  him  as  the  vassal  he  calls  himself.  The  i night ; but  knew  no  entertainment  from  the  vain 
girl’s  head  is  immediately  turned  by  having  the  ' show  and  noise  about  me,  while  I waited  wholh 
power  of  life  and  death,  and  takes  care  to  suit  intent  upon  the  motion  of  your  bright  eyes,  in 
every  motion  and  air  to  her  new  sovereignty,  j hopes  of  a glance  that  might  restore  me  to  the 
After  he  has  placed  himself  at  this  distance,  he  pleasures  of  sight  and  hearing  in  the  midst  of 
must  never  hope  to  recover  his  former  famili-  beauty  and  harmony.  It  is  said,  the  hell  of  the 


arity,  until  she  has  had  the  addresses  of  another, 
and  found  them  less  sincere. 

If  the  application  to  women  were  justly  turn- 
ed, the  address  of  flattery,  though  it  implied  at 
the  same  time  an  admonition,  would  be  much 
more  likely,  to  succeed.  Should  a captivated 
lover,  in  a "billet,  let  his  mistress  know,  that  her 
piety  to  her  parents,  her  gentleness  of  behaviour, 
her  prudent  economy  with  respect  to  her  own 
little  affairs  in  a virgin  condition,  had  improved 
the  passion  w’hich  her  beauty  had  inspired  him 
with,  into  so  settled  an  esteem  for  her,  that  of 
all  women  breathing  he  wished  her  his  wife  ; 
though  his  commending  her  for  qualities  she 
knew  she  had  as  a virgin,  would  make  her  be- 
lieve he  expected  from  her  an  answerable  con- 
duct in  the  character  of  a matron  ; I will  an- 
swer for  it,  his  suit  would  be  carried  on  wuth 
less  perplexity. 

Instead  of  this,  the  generality  of  our  young 
women,  taking  all  their  notions  of  life  from  gay 
writings,  or  letters  of  love,  consider  themselves 
as  goddesses,  nymphs,  and  shepherdesses. 

By  this  romantic  sense  of  things,  all  the  na- 
tural relations  and  duties  of  life  are  forgotten  ; 
and  our  female  part  of  mankind  are  bred  and 
treated,  as  if  they  were  designed  to  inhabit  the 
happy  fields  of  Arcadia,  rather  than  be  wives 
and  mothers  in  Old  England.  It  is,  indeed,  long 
since  I had  the  happiness  to  converse  familiarly 
with  this  sex,  and  therefore  have  been  fearful  of 
falling  into  the  error  which  recluse  men  are  very 
subject  to,  that  of  giving  false  representations 
of  the  world,  from  which  they  have  retired,  by 
imaginary  schemes  drawn  from  their  own  re- 
flections. An  old  man  cannot  easily  gain  ad- 
‘mittance  into  the  dressinof  room  of  ladies  ; I 
therefore  thought  it  time  well  spent,  to  turn  over 
Agrippa,  and  use  all  my  occult  art,  to  give  my 
old  Cornelian  ring  the  same  force  with  that  of 
Gyges,  which  I have  lately  spoken  of.  By  the 
help  of  this  I went  unobserved  to  a friend’s 
house  of  mine,  and  followed  the  chamher-maid 
invisibly,  about  twelve  of  the  clock,  into  the  bed- 
chamber  of  the  beauteous  Flavia  his  fine  daugh- 
ter, just  before  she  got  up. 

I drew  the  curtains  ; and  being  wrapped  up 
in  the  safety  of  my  old  age,  could  with  much 
pleasure,  wuthout  passion,  behold  her  sleeping, 
with  Waller’s  poems,  and  a letter  fixed  in  that 
part  of  him  where  every  woman  thinks  herself 
described.  The  light  "flashing  upon  her  face, 
awakened  her ; she  opened  her  eyes,  and  her 
lips  too,  repeating  that  piece  of  false  wit  in  that 
admired  poet. 

Such  Helen  was  ; and  who  can  blame  the  boy. 

That  in  so  bright  aflame  consumed  his  Troy  1— Waller. 

This  she  pronounced  with  a most  bewitching 
sweetness  ; but  after  it  fetched  a sigh,  that,  me- 
thought,  had  more  desire  than  languishment ; 
then  took  out  her  letter,  and  read  aloud,  for  the 
pleasure,  I suppose,  of  hearing  soft  words  in 
praise  of  herself,  the  following  epistle  : 


accursed  in  the  next  life  arises  from  an  incapa- 
city to  partake  of  the  joys  of  the  blessed,  though 
they  were  to  be  admitted  to  them.  Such,  I 
am  sure,  was  my  condition  all  that  evening ; 
and  if  you,  my  deity,  cannot  have  so  much 
mercy,  as  to  make  me  by  your  influence  capa- 
ble of  tasting  the  satisfactions  of  life,  my  being 
is  ended,  which  consisted  only  in  your  favour.’ 

The  letter  was  hardly  read  over,  when  she 
rushed  out  of  bed  in  her  wrapping  gown,  and 
consulted  her  glass  for  the  truth  of  his  passion. 
She  raised  her  head,  and  turned  it  to  a profile, 
repeating  the  last  line,  ‘ My  being  is  ended, 
which  consisted  only  in  your  favour.’  The  god- 
dess immediately  called  her  maid,  and  fell  tc 
dressing  that  mischievous  face  of  hers,  without 
any  manner  of  consideration  for  the  mortal  whc 
had  offered  up  his  petition.  Nay,  it  was  so  far 
otherwise,  that  the  whole  time  of  her  woman’s 
combing  her  hair  was  spent  in  discourse  of  the 
impertinence  of  his  passion,  and  ended  in  de- 
claring a resolution,  ‘if  she  ever  had  him,  to 
make  him  wait.’  She  also  frankly  told  the  fa- 
vorite gipsy  that  was  prating  to  her,  ‘ that  her 
passionate  lover  had  put  it  out  of  her  power  to 
be  civil  to  him,  if  she  were  inclined  to  it ; for,’ 
said  she,  ‘ if  I am  thus  celestial  to  my  lover,  he 
will  certainly  so  far  think  himself  disapppoint- 
ed,  as  I grow  into  the  familiarity  and  form  of  a 
mortal  woman.’ 

I came  away  as  I went  in,  without  staying 
for  other  remarks  than  what  confirmed  me  in 
the  opinion,  that  it  is  from  the  notions  the  men 
inspire  them  with,  that  the  women  are  so  fan- 
tastical in  the  value  of  therhselves.  This  ima- 
ginary pre-eminence  w’hich  is  given  to  the  fair 
sex,  is  not  only  formed  from  the  addresses  of 
people  of  condition ; but  it  is  the  fashion  and 
humour  of  all  orders  to  go  regularly  out  of  their 
wits,  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  make  love.  I 
know  at  this  time  three  goddesses  in  the  New 
Exchange ; and  there  are  two  shepherdesses 
that  sell  gloves  in  Westminster-hall. 


No.  140.]  Thursday,  Jilarch  2,  1709-10. 

Aliena  nesotia  centum 

Per  caput,  et  circa  saliunt  latus 

Hor.  2.  Sat.  IV.  33. 

A hundred  men's  affairs  confound 
My  senses,  and  besiege  me  round.  Francis. 

Sheer-lane,  March  2. 

Having  the  honor  to  be,  by  my  great  grand- 
mother, a Welshman,  I have  been  among  some 
choice  spirits  of  that  part  of  Great  Britain, 
where  we  solaced  ourselves  in  celebration  of  the 
day  of  St.  David.  I am,  I confess,  elevated 
above  that  state  of  mind  which  is  proper  for  lu- 
cubration : but  I am  the  less  concerned  at  this, 
because  I have  for  this  day  or  two  last  past  ob- 
served, that  we  novelists  have  been  condemned 


THE  TATLER. 


261 


No.  140.] 

wholly  to  the  pastry-cooks,  the  eyes  of  the  na- 
tion being  turned  upon  greater  matters.’'^  This, 
therefore,  being  a time  when  none  but  my  im- 
mediate correspondents  will  read  me,  I shall 
speak  to  them  chiefly  at  this  present  writing. 
It  is  the  fate  of  us  who  pretend  to  joke,  to  be 
frequently  understood  to  be  only  upon  the  droll 
when  we  are  speaking  the  most  seriously,  as 
appears  by  the  following  letter  to  Charles  Lillie. 

London,  Feb.  28,  1709-10. 

‘ Mr.  Lillie, — It  being  professed  by  Esquire 
Bickerstaff,  that  his  intention  is  to  expose  the 
vices  and  follies  of  the  age,  and  to  promote  vir- 
tue and  good-will  amongst  mankind  ; it  must  be 
a comfort  for  a person  labouring  under  great 
straits  and  difficulties,  to  read  any  thing  that 
has  the  appearance  of  succour.  I should  be 
glad  to  know,  therefore,  whether  the  intelligence 
given  in  his  Tatler  of  Saturday  last,  of  the  in- 
tended charity  of  a certain  citizen  of  London, 
to  maintain  the  education  of  ten  boys  in  writ- 
ing and  accounts  until  they  be  fit  for  trade,  be 
given  only  to  encourage  and  recommend  per- 
sons to  the  practice  of  such  noble  and  charita- 
ble designs  ; or,  whether  there  be  a person  who 
really  intends  to  do  so.  If  the  latter,  I humbly 
beg  Esquire  Bickerstaff’s  pardon  for  making  a 
doubt,  and  impute  it  to  my  ignorance ; and  most 
humbly  crave,  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  give 
notice  in  his  Tatler,  when  he  thinks  fit,  whether 
his  nomination  of  ten  boys  be  disposed,  or 
whether  there  be  room  for  two  boys  to  be  re- 
commended to  him ; and  that  he  will  permit  the 
writer  of  this  to  present  him  with  two  boys, 
who,  it  is  humbly  presumed,  will  be  judged  to 
be  very  remarkable  objects  of  such  charity. 

‘ Sir,  your  most  humble  servant.’ 

I am  to  tell  this  gentleman  in  sober  sad- 
ness, and  without  jest,  that  there  really  is  so 
good  and  charitable  a man  as  the  benefactor  in- 
quired for  in  his  letter,  and  that  there  are  but 
two  boys  yet  named.  The  father  of  one  of  them 
was  killed  at  Blenheim,  the  father  of  the  other 
at  Almanza.  I do  not  here  give  the  names  of 
the  children,  because  I should  take  it  to  be  an 
insolence  in  me  to  publish  them,  in  a charity 
which  I have  only  the  direction  of  as  a servant 
to  that  worthy  and  generous  spirit,  who  bestows 
upon  them  this  bounty  without  laying  the  bon- 
dage of  an  obligation.  What  I have  to  do  is  to 
tell  them,  they  are  beholden  only  to  their  Ma- 
ker, to  kill  in  them,  as  they  grow  up,  the  false 
shame  of  poverty  ; and  let  them  know,  that 
their  present  fortune,  which  is  come  upon  them 
by  the  loss  of  their  poor  fathers  on  so  glorious 
occasions,  is  much  more  honorable  than  the  in- 
heritance of  the  most  ample  ill-gotten  wealth. 

The  next  letter  which  lies  before  me  is  from 
a man  of  sense,  who  strengthens  his  own  au- 
thority with  that  of  Tully,  in  persuading  me  to 
what  he  very  justly  believes  one  cannot  be 
averse. 

London,  Feb.  27,  1709. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I am  so  confident  of 
your  inclination  to  promote  any  thing  that  is 


* An  allusion  to  ‘The  Trial  of  Dr.  Sacheverell,’  which 
was  between  Feb.  27,  and  March  2P.,  1709-10. 


for  the  advancement  of  liberal  arts,  that  I lay 
before  you  the  following  translation  of  a para- 
graph in  Cicero’s  oration  in  defence  of  Archias 
the  i>oet,  as  an  incentive  to  the  agreeable  and 
instructive  reading  of  the  writings  of  the  Au- 
gustan age.  Most  vices  and  follies  proceed  from 
a man’s  incapacity  of  entertaining  himself,  and 
we  are  generally  fools  in  company,  because  we 
dare  not  be  wise  alone.  I hope,  on  some  future 
occasions,  you  will  find  this  no  barren  hint. 
Tully,  after  having  said  very  handsome  things 
of  his  client,  commends  the  arts  of  which  he 
was  master,  as  follows  : 

‘ If  so  much  profit  be  not  reaped  in  the  study 
of  letters,  and  if  pleasure  only  be  found  ; yet, 
in  my  opinion,  this  relaxation  of  the  mind 
should  be  esteemed  most  humane  and  ingenu- 
ous. Other  things  are  not  for  all  ages,  places, 
and  seasons.  These  studies  form  youth,  delight 
old  age,  adorn  prosperity,  and  soften,  and  even 
remove  adversity,  entertain  at  home,  are  no  hin- 
drance abroad ; do  not  leave  us  at  night,  and 
keep  us  company  on  the  road,  and  in  the  coun- 
try.— I am,  your  humble  servant, 

‘ STREPHON.’ 

The  following  epistle  seems  to  want  the 
quickest  despatch,  because  a lady  is  every  mo- 
ment offended  until  it  is  answered  ; which  is 
best  done  by  letting  the  offender  see  in  her  own 
letter  how  tender  she  is  of  calling  him  so. 

‘ Sir, — This  comes  from  a relation  of  yours, 
though  unknown  to  you,  who  besides  the  tie  of 
consanguinity,  has  some  value  for  you  on  the 
account  of  your  lucubrations,  those  being  de- 
signed to  refine  our  conversation,  as  well  as 
cultivate  our  minds.  I humbly  beg  the  favour 
of  you,  in  one  of  your  Tatlers,  after  what  man- 
ner you  please,  to  correct  a particular  friend  of 
mine,  for  an  indecorum  he  is  guilty  of  in  dis- 
course, of  calling  his  acquaintance,  when  he 
speaks  to  them.  Madam  : as  for  example,  my 
cousin  Jenny  Distaff,  Madam  Distaff ; which, 

I am  sure  you  are  sensible,  is  very  unpolite,  and 
it  is  what  makes  me  often  uneasy  for  him, 
though  I cannot  tell  him  of  it  myself,  which 
makes  me  guilty  of  this  presumption,  that  I de- 
pend upon  your  goodness  to  excuse  ; and  I do 
assure  you,  the  gentleman  will  mind  your  re- 
prehension, for  he  is,  as  I am.  Sir,  your  most 
humble  servant  and  cousin, 

‘ DOROTHY  DRUMSTICK. 

‘ I write  this  in  a thin  under-petticoat,  and 
never  did  or  will  wear  a fardignal.’ 

I had  no  sooner  read  the  just  complaint  of 
Mrs.  Drumstick,  but  I received  an  urgent  one 
from  another  of  the  fair  sex,  upon  faults  of 
more  pernicious  consequence. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Observing  that  you  are 
entered  into  a correspondence  with  Pasquin, 
who  is,  I suppose,  a Roman  catholic,  I beg  of 
you  to  forbear  giving  liim  any  account  of  our 
religion  or  manners,  until  you  have  rooted  out 
certain  misdemeanours  even  in  our  churches. 
Among  otliers,  that  of  bowing,  saluting,  taking 


262 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  141. 


snuff,*  and  other  gestures.  Lady  Autumn  made 
me  a very  low  courtesy  the  other  day  from  the 
next  pew,  and,  with  the  most  courtly  air  imagin- 
able, called  herself  miserable  sinner.  Her 
niece,  soon  after,  saying.  Forgive  us  our  tres.^ 
passes,  courtesied  with  a glouting  look  at  my 
brother.  He  returned  it,  opening  his  snuff-box, 
and  repeating  yet  a more  solemn  expression. 
I beg  of  you,  good  Mr.  Censor,  not  to  tell  Pas- 
quin  any  thing  of  this  kind,  and  to  believe  this 
does  not  come  from  one  of  a morose  temper, 
mean  birth,  rigid  education,  narrow  fortune,  or 
bigotry  in  opinion,  or  from  one  in  whom  time 
has  worn  out  all  taste  of  pleasure.  I assure 
you,  it  is  far  otherwise,  for  I am  possessed  of 
all  the  contrary  advantages ; and,  I hope,  wealth, 
good  humour,  and  good  breeding,  may  be  best 
employed  in  the  service  of  religion  and  virtue  ; 
and  desire  you  would,  as  soon  as  possible,  re- 
mark upon  the  above-mentioned  indecorums, 
that  we  may  not  long  transgress  against  the 
latter,  to  preserve  our  reputation  in  the  former. 
Your  humble  servant,  LYDIA.’ 

The  last  letter  I shall  insert  is  what  follows. 
This  is  written  by  a very  inquisitive  lady ; and, 
I think,  such  interrogative  gentlewomen  are  to 
be  answered  no  other  way  than  by  interroga- 
tion. Her  billet  is  this  : 

‘ Dear  Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Are  you  quite  as 
good  as  you  seem  to  be  ? CHLOE.’ 

To  which  I can  only  answer  : 

‘ Dear  Chloe, — Are  you  quite  as  ignorant 
as  you  seem  to  be  ? I.  B.’ 


No.  141.]  Saturday,  March  4,  1709-10. 

Sheer -lane,  March  3. 

While  the  attention  of  the  town  is  drawn 
aside  from  reading  us  writers  of  news,  we  all 
save  ourselves  against  it  is  at  more  leisure.  As 
for  my  own  part,  I shall  still  let  the  labouring 
oar  be  managed  by  my  correspondents,  and  fill 
my  paper  with  their  sentiments,  rather  than  my 
own,  until  I find  my  readers  more  disengaged 
than  they  are  at  present.  When  I came  home 
this  evening,  I found  several  letters  and  peti- 
tions, which  I shall  insert  with  no  other  order, 
than  as  I accidentally  opened  them,  as  follows  : 

March  I,  1709-10. 

‘ Sir, — Having  a daughter  about  nine  years 
of  age,  I would  endeavour  she  might  have  edu- 
cation. I mean  such  as  may  be  useful,  as 
working  well,  and  a good  deportment.  In  order 
to  it,  I am  persuaded  to  place  her  at  some 
boarding-school,  situate  in  a good  air.  My  wife 
opposes  it,  and  gives  for  her  greatest  reason, 
that  she  is  too  much  a woman,  and  understands 
the  formalities  of  visiting  and  a tea-table  so  very 
nicely,  that  none,  though  much  older,  can  ex- 
ceed her  ; and,  with  all  these  perfections,  the 
girl  can  scarce  thread  a needle  : but,  however, 

* At  St.  Mary’s,  among  the  papers  of  the  University 
of  Cambridge,  there  is  a letter  of  James  I.  against  the 
use  of  tobacco. 


after  several  arguments,  we  have  agreed  to  be 
decided  by  your  judgment : and,  knowing  your 
abilities,  shall  manage  our  daughter  exactly  as 
you  shall  please  to  direct.  I am  serious  in  my 
request,  and  hope  you  will  be  so  in  your  answer, 
which  will  lay  a deep  obligation  upon.  Sir, 
your  humble  servant,  T.  T. 

‘ Sir,  pray  answer  it  in  your  Tatler,  that  it 
may  be  serviceable  to  the  public.’ 

I am  as  serious  on  this  subject  as  my  cor- 
respondent can  be ; and  am  of  opinion,  that  the 
great  happiness  or  misfortune  of  mankind  de- 
pend upon  the  manner  of  educating  and  treat- 
ing that  sex.  I have  lately  said,  I design  to 
turn  my  thoughts  more  particularly  to  them, 
and  their  service : I beg  therefore  a little  time 
to  give  my  opinion  on  so  important  a subject, 
and  desire  the  young  lady  may  fill  tea  one  week 
longer,  until  I have  considered  whether  she 
shall  be  removed  or  not. 

Chanceiy-Iane,  Feb.  27, 1709. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Your  notice  in  the  ad- 
vertisement, in  your  Tatler  of  Saturday  last, 
about  Whetters  in  and  about  the  Royal  Ex- 
change, is  mightily  taken  notice  of  by  gentle- 
men who  use  the  coffee-houses  near  the  Chan- 
cery-office in  Chancery-lane.  And  there  being  a 
particular  certain  set  of  both  young  and  old 
gentlemen  that  belong  to,  and  near  adjoining 
to  the  Chancery-office,  both  in  Chancery-lane 
and  Bell-yard,  that  are  not  only  Whetters  all 
the  morning  long,  but  very  musically  given 
about  twelve  at  night  the  same  days,  and  might- 
ily taken  with  the  union  of  the  dulcimer, 
violin,  and  song  ; at  which  recreation  they 
rejoice  together  with  perfect  harmony,  how- 
ever their  clients  disagree  : You  are  humbly 
desired  by  several  gentlemen  to  give  some  re- 
gulation concerning  them;  in  which  you  wiL 
contribute  to  the  repose  of  us,  who  are  youi 
very  humble  servants, 

‘ L.  T.  N.  F.  T.  W.’ 

These  Whetters  are  a people  I have  consider 
ed  with  much  pains  ; and  find  them  to  diffei 
from  a sect  I have  hitherto  spoken  of,  called 
snuff-takers,  only  in  the  expedition  they  take  in 
destroying  their  brains  : the  Whetter  is  obliged 
to  refresh  himself  every  moment  with  a liquor, 
as  the  snuff-taker  with  a powder.  As  for  their 
harmony  in  the  evening,  I have  nothing  to  ob- 
ject; provided  they  remove  to  Wapping,  or  the 
Bridge-foot,  where  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
their  vociferations  will  annoy  the  studious,  the 
busy,  or  the  contemplative.  I once  had  lodg- 
ings in  Gray’s-Inn,  wffiere  w^e  had  two  hard 
students,  who  learned  to  play  upon  the  hautboy ; 
and  I had  a couple  of  cliamber-fellows  over  my 
head  not  less  diligent  in  the  practice  of  back- 
sword and  single-rapier.  I remember  these 
gentlemen  were  assigned  by  the  benchers  the 
tw’o  houses  at  the  end  of  the  terrace-w'alk,  as 
the  only  place  fit  for  their  meditations.  Such 
students  as  will  let  none  improve  but  them 
selves,  ought,  indeed,  to  have  their  proper  dis 
tances  from  societies. 

The  gentlemen  cf  loud  mirth  above-mention- 
ed I take  to  be,  in  the  quality  of  their  crime, 
the  same  as  eaves-droppers  ; for  they  who  will 


No.  142.] 


THE  TATLER. 


263 


be  in  your  company  whether  you  will  or  no, 
are  to  as  great  a degree  offenders,  as  they  who 
hearken  to  what  passes,  without  being  of  your 
company  at  all.  The  ancient  'punishment  for 
the  latter,  when  I first  came  to  this  town,  was 
the  blanket,  which,  I humbly  conceive,  may  be 
as  justly  applied  to  him  that  bawls,  as  to  him 
that  listens.  It  is  therefore  provided  for  the 
future,  that  except  in  the  long  vacation,  no  re- 
tainers  to  the  law  with  dulcimer,  violin,  or  any 
other  instrument  in  any  tavern  within  a furlong 
of  an  inn  of  court,  shall  sing  any  tune,  or 
pretended  tune  whatsoever,  upon  pain  of  the 
blanket,  to  be  administered  according  to  the  dis- 
cretion of  all  such  peaceable  people  as  shall  be 
within  the  annoyance.  And  it  is  further  di- 
rected, that  all  clerks  who  shall  offend  in  tliis 
kind,  shall  forfeit  their  indentures,  and  be  turn- 
ed over  as  assistants  to  the  clerks  of  parishes 
within  the  bills  of  mortality,  who  are  hereby 
empowered  to  demand  them  accordingly. 

I am  not  to  omit  the  receipt  of  the  following 
letter,  with  a night-cap  from  my  Valentine  ; 
which  night-cap,  I find,  was  finished  in  the 
year  1588,  and  is  too  finely  wrouglit  to  be  of 
any  modern  stitching.  Its  antiquity  will  better 
appear  by  rny  Valentine’s  own  words  : 

‘ Sir, — Since  you  are  pleased  to  accept  of  so 
mean  a present  as  a night-cap  from  }mur  Valen- 
tine, I have  sent  you  one,  which  I do  assure 
you  has  been  very  much  esteemed  of  in  our 
family  ; for  my  great-grandmother’s  daughter, 
who  worked  it,  was  maid  of  honour  to  queen 
Elizabeth,  and  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  her 
life  by  pricking  her  finger  in  the  making  of  it, 
of  which  she  bled  to  death,  as  her  tomb  now  at 
Westminster*^  will  show.  For  wdiich  reason, 
neither  myself,  nor  any  of  the  family,  have 
loved  w’ork  ever  since  ; otherwise  you  should 
have  one,  as  you  desired,  made  by  the  hands 
of.  Sir,  your  affectionate  VALENTINE.’ 

‘ To  the  rifiht  worshipful  Isaac  BieJeerstaff, 
Esquire,  Censor  of  Great  Britain,  and  Go- 
vernor of  the  Hospital  erected,  or  to  he  erected 
in  Moor-Jields ; 

‘ The  petition  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  parish 
of  Gotham,  in  tlie  county  of  Middlesex,  hum- 
bly slioweth, 

‘ That  whereas  it  is  the  undoubted  right  of 
your  said  petitioners  to  repair  on  every  Lord’s 
day  to  a chapel  of  ease  in  the  said  parish,  there 
to  be  instructed  in  their  duties  in  the  known  or 
vulgar  tongue  ; yet  so  it  is,  may  it  please  your 
worship,  that  the  preacher  of  the  said  chapel 
has  of  late  given  himself  wholly  up  to  matters 
of  controversy,  in  nowise  tending  to  the  edifica- 
tion of  your  said  petitioners  ; and  in  handling, 
as  he  calls  it,  the  same,  has  used  divers  hard 
and  crabbed  words  ; such  as,  among  many 
others,  orthodox  and  heterodox,  which  are  in  no 
sort  understood  by  your  said  petitioners;  and  it 
is  with  grief  of  heart,  that  your  petitioners  beg 
leave  to  represent  to  you,  that,  mentioning  the 
aforesaid  words  or  names,  the  latter  of  which, 
as  we  have  reason  to  believe,  is  his  deadly  ene- 
my, he  will  fall  into  ravings  and  foamings,  ill  be- 

* A banter  on  an  idle  story,  to  this  day  repeated  by 
the  man  who  shows  the  tombs. 


coming  the  meekness  of  his  office,  and  tending 
to  give  offence  and  scandal  to  all  good  people. 

‘Your  petitioners  further  say,  tliat  they  are 
ready  to  prove  the  aforesaid  allegations ; and 
therefore  humbly  hope,  that  from  a true  sense 
of  their  condition,  you  will  please  to  receive  the 
said  preacher  into  the  hospital,  until  he  shall 
recover  a right  use  of  his  senses. — And  your 
petitioners,  &c.’ 

No.  142.]  Tuesday,  March  7,  1709-10. 

Sheer-lane,  March  6. 

All  persons  who  employ  themselves  in  pub- 
lic, are  still  interrupted  in  the  course  of  their 
affairs  ; and,  it  seems,  the  admired  cavalier 
Nicolini  himself  is  commanded  by  the  ladies, 
who  at  present  employ  their  time  with  groat 
assiduity  in  the  care  of  the  nation,  to  put  off 
his  day  until  he  shall  receive  their  commands, 
and  notice  that  they  are  at  leisure  for  diver- 
sions. In  the  mean  time  it  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed, how  many  cold  chickens  the  fair-ones 
liave  eaten  since  this  day  sevennight  for  the 
good  of  their  country.  This  great  occasion  has 
given  birth  to  many  discoveries  of  high  moment 
for  the  conduct  of  life.  There  is  a toast  of  my 
acquaintance  who  told  me,  ‘ she  had  now  found 
out,  that  it  w^as  day  before  nine  in  the  morning ;’ 
and  I am  very  confident,  if  the  affair  hold  many 
days  longey,  the  ancient  hours  of  eating  will  be 
revived  among  us,  many  having  by  it  been  made 
acquainted  with  the  luxury  of  hunger  and  thirst. 

There  appears,  methinks,  something  very 
venerable  in  all  assemblies  ; and  I must  confess, 
I envied  all  wdio  had  youth  and  health  enough 
to  make  their  appearance  there,  that  they  had 
the  happiness  of  being  a whole  day  in  the  beet 
company  in  the  world.  During  the  adjourn- 
ments of  that  awful  court,  a neighbour  of  mine 
was  telling  me,  that  it  gave  him  a notion  of  the 
ancient  grandeur  of  the  English  hospitality,  to 
see  Westminster-Hall  a dining-room.  There 
is  a cheerfulness  in  such  repasts,  which  is  very 
delightful  to  tempers  which  are  so  happy  as  to  be 
clear  of  spleen  and  vapour  ; for,  to  the  jovial,  to 
see  others  pleased  is  the  greatest  of  all  pleasures. 

But,  since  age  and  infirmities  forbid  my  ap- 
pearance at  such  public  places,  the  next  happi. 
ness  is  to  make  the  best  use  of  privacy,  and  ac- 
quit myself  of  the  demands  of  my  correspon- 
dents. The  following  letter  is  what  has  given 
me  no  small  inquietude,  it  being  an  accusation 
of  partiality,  and  disregard  to  merit,  in  the  per- 
son of  a virtuoso,  who  is  the  most  eloquent  of 
all  men  upon  small  occasions,  and  is  the  more 
to  be  admired  for  his  prodigious  fertility  of  in- 
vention, which  never  appears  but  upon  subjects 
which  others  would  have  thought  barren.  But 
in  consideration  of  his  uncommon  talents,  I am 
contented  to  let  him  be  the  hero  of  my  next 
two  days,  by  inserting  his  friend’s  i*ecommen- 
dation  of  him  at  large. 

Nando’s,*  Feb.  28,  1709. 

‘ Dear  Cousin, — I am  just  come  out  of  the 
country,  and  upon  perusing  your  late  lucubra- 


* It  is  almost  superfluous  to  say,  that  this  cofTee 
house  still  subsists  in  Fleet-street  in  high  reputation. 


264 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  143. 


lions,  I find  Charles  Lillie  to  be  the  darling  of 
your  affections ; that  you  have  given  him  a 
place,  and  taken  no  small  pains  to  establish  him 
in  the  world  ; and,  at  the  same  time,  have  passed 
by  his  name  sake*  at  tliis  end  of  the  town,  as 
if  he  was  a citizen  defunct,  and  one  of  no  use 
in  a commonwealth.  I must  own,  his  circum- 
stances are  so  good,  and  so  well  known,  that  he 
does  not  stand  in  need  of  having  his  fame 
published  to  the  world  ; but,  being  of  an  ambi- 
tious spirit,  and  an  aspiring  soul,  he  would  be 
rather  proud  of  the  honour,  than  desirous  of  the 
profit,  which  might  result  from  your  recom- 
mendation. He  is  a person  of  a particular 
genius,  the  first  that  brought  toys  in  fashion, 
and  baubles  to  perfection.  He  is  admirably 
well  versed  in  screws,  springs,  and  hinges,  and 
deeply  read  in  knives,  combs,  or  scissars,  but- 
tons, or  buckles.  He  is  a perfect  master  of 
words,  which,  uttered  with  a smooth  voluble 
tongue,  flow  into  a most  persuasive  eloquence  ; 
insomuch,  that  I have  known  a gentleman  of 
distinction  find  several  ingenious  faults  with  a 
toy  of  his,  and  show  his  utmost  dislike  to  it,  as 
being  either  useless  or  ill-contrived  ; but  when 
the  orator,  behind  the  counter,  had  harangued 
upon  it  for  an  hour  and  a half,  displayed  its 
hidden  beauties,  and  revealed  its  secret  perfec- 
tions, he  has  wondered  how  he  had  been  able 
to  spend  so  great  a part  of  his  life  without  so 
important  a utensil.  I will  not  pretend  to 
furnish  out  an  inventory  of  all  the  valuable 
commodities  that  are  to  be  found  at  his  shop. 

‘ I shall  content  myself  with  giving  an  ac- 
count of  what  I think  most  curious.  Imprimis, 
his  pocket-books  are  very  neat  and  well  con- 
trived, not  for  keeping  bank-bills,  or  goldsmith’’ s 
notes,  I confess ; but  they  are  admirable  for 
registering  the  lodgings  of  Madonas,  and  for 
preserving  letters  from  ladies  of  quality.  His 
whips  and  spurs  are  so  nice,  that  they  will 
make  one  that  buys  them  ride  a fox-hunting, 
though  before  he  hated  noise  and  early  rising, 
and  was  afraid  of  breaking  his  neck.  His  seals 
are  curiously  fancied,  and  exquisitely  well  cut, 
and  of  great  use  to  encourage  young  gentle- 
men to  write  a good  hand.  Ned  Puzzle-post 
has  been  ill  used  by  his  writing-master,  and 
writ  a sort  of  a Chinese,  or  downright  scrawlian; 
however,  upon  his  buying  a seal  of  my  friend, 
he  is  so  much  improved  by  continual  writing, 
that  it  is  believed  in  a short  time  one  may  be 
able  to  read  his  letters,  and  find  out  his  mean- 
ing, without  guessing.  His  pistols  and  fusees 
are  so  very  good,  that  they  are  fit  to  be  laid  up 
among  the  finest  china.  Then  his  tweezer- 
cases  are  incomparable ; you  shall  have  one  not 
much  bigger  than  your  finger,  with  seventeen 
several  instruments  in  it,  all  necessary  every 
hour  of  the  day,  during  the  whole  course  of  a 
man’s  life.  But  if  this  virtuoso  excels  in  one 
thing  more  than  another,  it  is  in  canes.  He 
has  spent  his  most  select  hours  in  the  know- 
ledge of  them  ; and  is  arrived  at  the  perfection, 
that  he  is  able  to  hold  forth  upon  canes  longer 
than  upon  any  one  subject  in  the  world.  In- 
deed, his  canes  are  so  finely  clouded,  and  so 


well  made  up,  either  with  gold  or  amber  heads, 
that  I am  of  the  opinion  it  is  impossible  for  a 
gentleman  to  walk,  talk,  sit,  or  stand,  as  he 
should  do,  without  one  of  them.  He  knows 
the  value  of  a cane,  by  knowing  the  value  of 
the  buyer’s  estate.  Sir  Timothy  Shallow  has 
two  thousand  pounds  per  annum,  and  Tom 
Empty,  one.  Tliey  both  at  several  times  bought 
a cane  of  Charles:  sir  Timothy’s  cost  ten  guineas, 
and  Tom  Empty’s  five.  Upon  comparing  them, 
they  were  perfectly  alike.  Sir  Timothy,  sur- 
prised there  should  be  no  difference  in  the  canes, 
and  so  much  in  the  price,  comes  to  Charles: 
“ Damn  it,  Charles,”  says  he,  “ you  have  sold  me 
a cane  here  for  ten  pieces,  and  the  very  same  to 
Tom  Empty  for  five.”  “Lord!  sir  Timothy,” 
says  Charles,  “ I am  concerned  that  you,  whom  I 
took  to  understand  canes  better  than  any  baronet 
in  town,  should  be  so  overseen  !”  “Why,  sir 
Timothy,  your’s  is  a true  Jam  bee,  and  esquire 
Empty’s  only  a plain  Dragon.” 

‘ This  virtuoso  has  a parcel  of  Jambees  now 
growing  in  the  East-Indies,  where  he  keeps  a 
man  on  purpose  to  look  after  them,  which  will 
be  the  finest  that  ever  landed  in  Great-Britain, 
and  will  be  fit  to  cut  about  two  years  hence. 
Any  gentleman  may  subscribe  for  as  many  as 
he  pleases.  Subscriptions  will  be  taken  in  at 
his  shop  at  ten  guineas  each  joint.  They  that 
subscribe  for  six  shall  have  a Dragon  gratis. 
This  is  all  I have  to  say  at  present  concerning 
Charles’s  curiosities;  and  hope  it  may  be  suffi- 
cient to  prevail  with  you  to  take  him  into  your 
consideration,  which  if  you  comply  with,  you 
will  oblige  your  humble  servant.’ 

N.  B.  Whereas  there  came  out,  last  term, 
several  gold  snuff-boxes,  and  others:  this  is  to 
give  notice,  that  Charles  will  put  out  a new 
edition  on  Saturday  next,  which  will  be  the 
only  one  in  fashion  until  after  Easter.  The 
gentleman  that  gave  fifty  pounds  for  the  box 
set  with  diamonds,  may  show  it  until  Sunday 
night,  provided  he  goes  to  church  ; but  not  after 
that  time,  there  being  one  to  be  published  on 
Monday,  which  will  cost  fourscore  guineas. 


No.  143.  ] Thursday,  March  9,  1709. 

Sheer-lane,  March  8. 

I WAS  this  afternoon  surprized  with  a visit 
from  my  sister  Jenny,  after  an  absence  of  some 
time.  She  had,  methought,  in  her  manner  and 
air,  something  that  was  a little  below  that  of 
women  of  the  first  breeding  and  quality,  but,  at 
the  same  time,  above  the  simplicity  and 
familiarity  of  her  usual  deportment.  As  soon 
as  she  was  seated,  she  began  to  talk  to  me  of 
the  odd  place  I lived  in,  and  begged  of  me  to 
remove  out  of  the  lane  where  I have  been  so 
long  acquainted  ; ‘ for,’  said  she,  ‘ it  does  so  spoil 
one’s  horses,  that  I must  beg  your  pardon  if 
you  see  me  much  seldomer,  when  I am  to  make 
so  great  a journey  with  a single  pair,  and  make 
visits  and  get  home  the  same  night.’  I under- 
stood her  pretty  well,  but  would  not ; therefore 
desired  her,  ‘ to  pay  off  her  coach,  for  I had  a 
great  deal  to  talk  to  her.’  She  very  pertly  told 


* Cliarles  Mather. 


No.  143.] 


THE  TATLER. 


265 


me,  ‘ she  came  in  her  own  chariot.’  ‘ Why,’ 
said  I,  ‘ is  your  husband  in  town  ? and  has  he 
set  up  an  equipage?’  ‘No,’  answered  she,  ‘but 
I have  received  five  hundred  pounds  by  his  or- 
der ; and  his  letters,  which  came  at  the  same  time, 
bade  me  want  for  nothing  that  was  necessary.’ 
I was  heartily  concerned  at  her  folly,  whose 
affairs  render  her  but  just  able  to  bear  such  an 
expense.  However,  I considered,  that,  accord- 
ing to  the  British  custom  of  treating  women, 
there  is  no  other  method  to  be  used,  in  remov- 
ing any  of  their  faults  and  errors,  but  conduct- 
ing their  minds  from  one  humour  to  another, 
with  as  much  ceremony  as  we  lead  their  persons 
from  one  place  to  another.  I therefore  dissem- 
bled my  concern;  and,  in  compliance  with  her, 
as  a lady  that  was  to  use  her  feet  no  more,  I 
begged  of  her,  after  a short  visit,  ‘to  let  me 
persuade  her  not  to  stay  out  until  it  was  late, 
for  fear  of  catching  cold  as  she  went  into  her 
coach  in  the  dampness  of  the  evening.’  The 
malapert  knew  well  enough  I laughed  at  her  ; 
but  was  not  ill  pleased  with  the  certainty  of  her 
power  over  her  husband,  who,  she  knew,  would 
support  her  in  any  humour  he  was  able,  rather 
than  pass  through  the  torment  of  an  expostula- 
tion to  gainsay  any  thing  she  had  a mind  to. 

As  soon  as  my  fine  lady  was  gone,  I writ  the 
following  letter  to  my  brother  : 

‘Dear  Brother, — I am  at  present  under 
very  much  concern  at  the  splendid  appearance 
I saw  my  sister  make  in  an  equipage,  which 
she  has  set  up  in  your  absence.  I beg  of  you 
not  to  indulge  her  in  this  vanity  ; and  desire 
you  to  consider,  the  world  is  so  whimsical,  that 
though  it  will  value  you  for  being  happy,  it 
will  hate  you  for  appearing  so.  The  posses- 
sion of  wisdom  and  virtue,  the  only  solid  dis- 
tinctions of  life,  is  allowed  much  more  easily 
than  that  of  wealth  and  quality.  Besides  which, 
I must  entreat  you  to  weigh  with  yourself, 
what  it  is  that  people  aim  at  in  setting  them- 
selves out  to  show  in  gay  equipages  and  mode- 
rate fortunes  7 You  are  not  by  this  means  a 
better  man  than  your  neighbour  is  ; but  your 
horses  are  better  than  his  are.  And  will  you 
suffer  care  and  inquietude,  to  have  it  said,  as  you 
pass  by,  ‘ Those  are  very  pretty  punch  nags  !’ 
Nay,  when  you  have  arrived  at  this,  there  are  a 
hundred  worthless  fellows  who  are  still  four 
horses  happier  than  you  are.  Remember,  dear 
brother,  there  is  a certain  modesty  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  moderate  wealth,  which,  to  transgress, 
exposes  men  to  the  utmost  derision  ; and,  as 
tfiere  is  nothing  but  meanness  of  spirit  can 
move  a man  to  value  himself  upon  what  can  be 
purchased  with  money,  so  he  that  shows  an 
ambition  that  way,  and  cannot  arrive  at  it,  is 
more  emphatically  guilty  of  that  meanness.  I 
give  you  only  my  first  thoughts  on  this  occa- 
sion ; but  shall,  as  I am  a Censor,  entertain  you 
in  my  next  with  my  sentiments  in  general  upon 
the  subject  of  equipage  ; and  show,  that  though 
there  are  no  sumptuary  laws  amongst  us,  reason 
and  good  sense  are  equally  binding,  and  will 
ever  prevail  in  appointing  approbation  or  dislike 
in  all  matters  of  an  indifferent  nature,  when 
they  are  pursued  with  earnestness. 

‘ I am.  Sir,  <fec.’ 

2 L 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

To  all  Gentleynen,  and  Ladies,  and  others,  that 
delight  in  soft  lines. 

These  are  to  give  notice,  that  the  proper 
time  of  the  year  for  writing  Pastorals  now 
drawing  near,  there  is  a stage  coach  settled 
from  the  One-bell  in  the  Strand  to  Dorchester, 
which  sets  out  twice  a week,  and  passes  through 
Basingstoke,  Sutton,  Stockbridge,  Salisbury, 
Blandford,  and  so  to  Dorchester,  over  the  finest 
downs  in  England.  At  all  which  places,  there 
are  accommodations  of  spreading  beeches,  beds 
of  flowers,  turf  seats,  and  purling  streams,  for 
happy  swains;  and  thunder-struck  oaks,  and 
left-handed  ravens,  to  foretell  misfortunes  to 
those  that  please  to  be  wretched,  with  all  other 
necessaries  for  pensive  passion. 

And,  for  the  conveniency  of  such  whose  af- 
fairs will  not  permit  them  to  leave  tliis  town,  at 
the  same  place  they  may  be  furnished,  during 
the  season,  with  opening  buds,  flowering  thyme, 
warbling  birds,  sporting  lambkins,  and  fountain 
water,  right  and  good,  and  bottled  on  the  spot 
by  one  sent  down  on  purpose. 

-N.  B.  The  nymphs  and  swains  are  further 
given  to  understand,  that,  in  those  happy  climes, 
they  are  so  far  from  being  troubled  with  wolves, 
that,  for  want  of  even  foxes,  a considerable  pack 
of  hounds  have  been  lately  forced  to  eat  sheep. 

Whereas,  on  the  sixteenth  instant  at  mid- 
night, several  persons  of  light  honour  and  loose 
mirth,  having  taken  upon  them  in  the  shape  of 
men,  but  with  the  voice  of  the  players  belong- 
ing to  Mr.  Powell’s  company,  to  call  up  surgeons 
at  midnight,  and  send  physicians  to  persons  in 
sound  sleep,  and  perfect  health  : This  is  to 
certify,  that  Mr.  Powell  had  locked  up  the  legs 
of  his  company  for  fear  of  mischief  that  night; 
and  that  Mr.  Powell  will  not  pay  for  any 
damages  done  by  the  said  persons.  It  is  also 
further  advised,  that  there  were  no  midwives 
wanted  when  those  persons  called  them  up  in 
the  several  parts  of  Westminster  ; but  that  those 
gentlewomen  who  were  in  the  company  of  the 
said  impostors,  may  take  care  to  call  such  useful 
persons  on  the  sixth  of  December  next. 

The  Censor  having  observed,  that  there  are 
fine- wrought  ladies’  shoes  and  slippers  put  out 
to  view  at  a great  shoemaker’s  shop  towards 
Saint  James’s  end  of  Pall-mall,  which  create 
irregular  thoughts  and  desires  in  the  youth  of 
this  nation  ; the  said  shop-keeper  is  required  to 
take  in  those  eye-sores,  or  show  cause  the  next 
court-day  why  he  continues  to  expose  the  same ; 
and  he  is  required  to  be  prepared  particularly 
to  answer  to  the  slippers  with  green  lace,  and 
blue  heels. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  return  the  obliging 
things  Mr.  Joshua  Barnes  has  said  to  me,  upon 
the  account  of  our  mutual  friend  Homer.  He 
and  I have  read  him  now  forty  years  with  some 
understanding,  and  great  admiration.  A work 
to  be  produced  by  one  who  has  enjoyed  so  great 
an  intimacy  with  an  author,  is  certainly  to  be 
valued  more  than  any  comment  made  by  per- 
sons of  yesterday.  Therefore,  according  to  my 
friend  Joshua’s  request,  I recommend  his  work  ; 
23 


266 


THE  TATLER. 


and,  having  used  a little  magic  in  the  case,  I 
give  this  recommendation  by  way  of  ‘ Amulet 
or  charm  against  the  malignity  of  envious  back- 
biters, who  speak  evil  of  performances  whereof 
themselves  were  never  capable.’  If  I may  use 
my  friend  Joshua’s  own  words,  I shall  at 
present  say  no  more,  but  that  we,  Homer’s 
oldest  acquaintance  now  living,  know  best  his 
ways  ; and  can  inform  the  world,  that  they  are 
often  mistaken  when  they  think  he  is  in  lethar- 
gic fits,  which  we  know  he  was  never  sub- 
ject to;  and  shall  make  appear  to  be  rank, 
scandal  and  envy,  that  of  the  Latin  poet, 

Aliquando  bonus  dormitat  Homerus. 

Hor.  Ars  Poet.  ver.  350. 

Good  old  Homer  sometimes  nods. 


No.  144.]  Saturday,  March  11,  1709 
Sheer-lane,  March  10. 

In  a nation  of  liberty,  there  is  hardly  a per- 
son in  the  whole  mass  of  the  people  more  ab- 
solutely necessary  than  a Censor.  It  is  allowed 
that  I have  no  authority  for  assuming  this  im- 
portant appellation,  and  that  I am  censor  of 
these  nations  just  as  one  is  chosen  king  at  the 
game  of  ‘ Questions  and  Commands ;’  but  if, 
in  the  execution  of  this  fantastical  dignity,  I 
observe  upon  things  which  do  not  fall  within 
the  cognizance  of  real  authority,  I hope  it  will 
be  granted,  that  an  idle  man  could  not  be  more 
usefully  employed.  Among  all  the  irregularities 
of  whicli  I have  taken  notice,  I know  none  so 
proper  to  be  presented  to  the  world  by  a cen- 
sor, as  that  of  the  general  expense  and  affecta- 
tion in  equipage.  I have  lately  hinted,  that 
this  extravagance  must  necessarily  get  footing 
where  we  have  no  sumptuary  laws,  and  where 
every  man  may  be  dressed,  attended,  and  car- 
ried, in  what  manner  he  pleases.  But  my 
tenderness  to  my  fellow-subjects  will  not  per- 
mit me  to  let  tliis  enormity  go  unobserved. 

As  the  matter  now  stands,  every  man  takes 
it  in  his  head,  that  he  has  a liberty  to  spend 
his  money  as  he  pleases.  Thus,  in  spite  of  all 
order,  justice,  and  decorum,  we,  the  greater 
number  of  the  queen’s  loyal  subjects,  for  no 
reason  in  the  world  but  because  we  want  money, 
do  not  share  alike  in  the  division  of  her  majesty’s 
high  road.  The  horses  and  slaves  of  the  rich 
take  up  the  whole  street ; while  we  peripatetics 
are  very  glad  to  watch  an  opportunity  to  whisk 
cross  a passage,  very  thankful  that  we  are  not 
run  over  for  interrupting  the  machine  that  car- 
ries in  it  a person  neither  more  handsome, 
wise,  or  valiant,  than  the  meanest  of  us.  For 
this  reason,  were  I to  propose  a tax,  it  should 
certainly  be  upon  coaches  and  chairs  ; for  no 
man  living  can  assign  a reason,  why  one  man 
should  have  half  a street  to  carry  him  at  his 
ease,  and  perhaps  only  in  pursuit  of  pleasures, 
when  as  good  a man  as  himself  wants  room  for 
his  own  person  to  pass  upon  the  most  necessary 
and  urgent  occasion.  Until  such  an  acknowledg- 
ment is  made  to  the  public,  I shall  take  upon 
me  to  vest  certain  rights  in  the  scavengers  of 
the  cities  of  London  and  Westminster,  to  take 


No.  144.] 

the  horses  and  servants  of  all  such  as  do  not  be- 
come, or  deserve  such  distinctions,  into  their 
peculiar  custody.  The  offenders  themselves  I 
shall  allow  safe  conduct  to  their  places  of  abode  in 
the  carts  of  the  said  scavengers,  but  their  horses 
shall  be  mounted  by  their  footmen,  and  sent  in- 
to the  service  abroad ; and  I take  this  opportu- 
nity, in  the  first  place,  to  recruit  the  regiment 
of  my  good  old  friend,  the  brave  and  honest 
Sylvius,*  that  they  may  be  as  well  taught  as 
they  are  fed.  It  is  to  me  most  miraculous, 
so  unreasonable  a usurpation  as  this  I arn 
speaking  of,  should  so  long  have  been  tolerated. 
We  hang  a poor  fellow  for  taking  any  trifle  from 
us  on  the  road,  and  bear  with  the  rich  for  robbing 
us  of  the  road  itself.  Such  a tax  as  this  would 
be  of  great  satisfaction  to  us  who  walk  on  foot ; 
and,  since  the  distinction  of  riding  in  a coach 
is  not  to  be  appointed  according  to  a man’s 
merit  or  service  to  his  country,  nor  that  liberty 
given  as  a reward  for  some  eminent  virtue,  we 
should  be  highly  contented  to  see  them  pay  some- 
thing for  the  insult  they  do  us,  in  the  state  they 
take  upon  them  while  they  are  drawn  by  us. 

Until  they  have  made  us  some  reparation  of 
this  kind,  we,  the  peripatetics  of  Great  Britain, 
cannot  think  ourselves  well  treated,  while  every 
one  that  is  able  is  allowed  to  set  up  an  equipage. 

As  for  my  part,  I cannot  but  admire  how 
persons,  conscious  to  themselves  of  no  manner 
of  superiority  above  others,  can,  out  of  mere 
pride  or  laziness,  expose  themselves  at  this  rate 
to  public  view,  and  put  us  all  upon  pronouncing 
those  three  terrible  syllables,  ‘ Who  is  that  ?’ 
When  it  comes  to  that  question,  our  method  is, 
to  consider  the  mien  and  air  of  the  passenger, 
and  comfort  ourselves  for  being  dirty  to  the 
ancles,  by  laughing  at  his  figure  and  appearance 
who  overlooks  us.  I must  confess,  were  it  not 
for  the  solid  injustice  of  the  thing,  there  is  no- 
thing could  afford  a discerning  eye  greater 
occasion  for  mirth,  than  this  licentious  huddle 
of  qualities  and  characters  in  the  equipages 
about  this  town.  The  overseers  of  the  highways 
and  constables  have  so  little  skill  or  power  to 
rectify  this  matter,  that  you  may  often  see  the 
equipage  of  a fellow,  whom  all  the  town  knows 
to  deserve  hanging,  make  a stop  that  shall  inter- 
rupt the  lord-high-chancellor  and  all  the  judges 
in  their  way  to  Westminster. 

For  the  better  understanding  of  things  and 
persons  in  this  general  confusion,  I have  given 
directions  to  all  the  coach-makers  and  coach- 
painters  in  town,  to  bring  me  in  lists  of  their 
several  customers ; and  doubt  not,  but  with 
comparing  the  orders  of  each  man,  in  the  placing 
his  arms  on  the  door  of  his  chariot,  as  well  as 
the  words,  devices,  and  cyphers,  to  be  fixed  upon 
them,  to  make  a collection  which  shall  let  us 
into  the  nature,  if  not  the  history,  of  mankind, 
more  usefully  than  the  curiosities  of  any  medal- 
ist in  Europe. 

But  this  evil  of  vanity  in  our  figure,  with 
many  others,  proceeds  from  a certain  gayety 
of  heart,  which  has  crept  into  men’s  very 

■»=  The  real  person  here  alluded  to,  under  his  Latin 
name  of  Sylvius,  was  most  probably  Cornelius  Wood, 
a gentleman  of  an  excellent  character,  and  very  dis 
tingnished  military  merit.  He  was  born  in  Stafford 
shire  ann.  1636. 


No.  145.] 


THE  TATLER. 


267 


thoughts  and  complexions.  The  passions  and 
adventures  of  heroes,  when  they  enter  the  lists 
for  the  tournament  in  romances,  are  not  more 
easily  distinguishable  by  their  palfreys  and  their 
armour,  than  the  secret  springs  and  affections 
of  the  several  pretenders  to  show  amongst  us 
are  known  by  their  equipages  in  ordinary  life. 
The  young  bridegroom  with  his  gilded  cupids 
and  winged  angels,  has  some  excuse  in  the  joy 
of  his  heart  to  launch  out  into  something  that 
may  be  significant  of  his  present  happiness. 
But  to  see  men,  for  no  reason  upon  earth  but 
that  they  are  rich,  ascend  triumphant  chariots, 
and  ride  through  the  people,  has  at  the  bottom 
nothing  else  in  it  but  an  insolent  transport, 
arising  only  from  the  distinction  of  fortune. 

It  is  therefore  high  time  that  I call  in  such 
coaches  as  are,  in  their  embellishments,  impro- 
per for  the  character  of  their  owners.  But  if  I 
find  I am  not  obeyed  herein,  and  that  I cannot 
pull  down  those  equipages  already  erected,  I 
shall  take  upon  me  to  prevent  the  growth  of  this 
evil  for  the  future,  by  inquiring  into  the  preten- 
sions of  the  persons,  who  shall  hereafter  attempt 
to  make  public  entries  with  ornaments  and  deco- 
rations of  their  own  appointment.  If  a man, 
who  believed  he  had  the  handsomest  leg  in  this 
kingdom,  should  take  a fancy  to  adorn  so  de- 
serving a limb  with  a blue  garter,  he  would 
justly  be  punished  for  offending  against  the  most 
noble  order  : and  I think,  the  general  prostitu- 
tion of  equipage  and  retinue  is  as  destructive 
to  all  distinction,  as  the  impertinence  of  one 
man,  if  permitted,  would  certainly  be  to  that  il- 
lustrious fraternity. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  censor  having  lately  received  intelligence, 
that  the  ancient  simplicity  in  the  dress  and  man- 
ners of  that  part  of  this  island  called  Scotland 
begins  to  decay  ; and  that  there  are  at  tliis 
time,  in  the  good  town  of  Edinburgh,  beaux, 
fops,  and  coxcombs : his  late  correspondent 
from  that  place  is  desired  to  send  up  their  names 
and  characters  with  all  expedition,  that  they 
may  be  proceeded  against  accordingly,  and  pro- 
per officers  named  to  take  in  their  canes,  snuff- 
boxes, and  all  other  useless  necessaries  com- 
monly worn  by  such  offenders. 


No.  145.]  Tuesday^  March  14,  1709-10. 

Nescio  quis  teneros  oculus  mihi  fascinat  agnos. 

Virg.  Eel.  iii.  103. 

Ah ! what  ill  eyes  bewitch  my  tender  lambs  ? 

White’s  Chocolate-house,  March  13. 

This  evening  was  allotted  for  taking  into  con- 
sideration a late  request  of  two  indulgent  pa- 
rents, touching  the  care  of  a young  daughter, 
whom  they  design  to  send  to  a boarding-school, 
or  keep  at  home,  according  to  my  determina- 
tion ; but  I am  diverted  from  that  subject  by 
letters  which  I have  received  from  several  ladies, 
complaining  of  a certain  sect  of  professed  ene- 
mies to  the  repose  of  the  fair  sex,  called  Oglers. 
I’hese  are,  it  seems,  gentlemen  who  look  with 
deep  attention  on  one  object  at  the  playhouses, 
and  are  ever  staring  all  round  them  in  clmrches. 


It  is  urged  by  my  correspondents,  that  they  do 
all  that  is  possible  to  keep  their  eyes  off  these 
ensnarers  ; but  that,  by  what  power  they  know 
not,  both  their  diversions  and  devotions  are  in- 
terrupted by  them  in  such  a manner,  as  that 
they  cannot  attend  to  either,  without  stealing 
looks  at  the  persons  whose  eyes  are  fixed  upon 
them.  By  this  rneans,  my  petitioners  say,  they 
find  themselves  grow  insensibly  less  offended, 
and  in  time  enamoured  of  these  their  enemies. 
What  is  required  of  me  on  this  occasion  is,  that 
as  I love  and  study  to  preserve  the  better  part 
of  mankind,  the  females,  I would  give  them 
some  account  of  this  dangerous  way  of  assault ; 
against  which  there  is  so  little  defence,  that  it 
lays  ambush  for  the  sight  itself,  and  makes 
them  seeingly,  knowingly,  willingly,  and  forci- 
bly, go  on  to  their  own  captivitju 

This  representation  of  the  present  state  of 
affairs  between  the  two  sexes  gave  me  very 
much  alarm  ; and  I had  no  more  to  do  but  to 
recollect  what  I had  seen  at  any  one  assembly 
for  some  years  last  past,  to  be  convinced  of  the 
truth  and  justice  of  this  remonstrance.  If  there 
be  not  a stop  put  to  this  evil  art,  all  the  modes 
of  address,  and  the  elegant  embellishments  of 
life,  which  arise  out  of  the  noble  passion  of  love, 
will  of  necessity  decay.  Who  would  be  at  the 
trouble  of  rhetoric,  or  study  the  Ion  mien,  when 
his  introduction  is  so  much  easier  obtained  by  a 
sudden  reverence  in  a downcast  look  at  the 
meeting  the  eye  of  a fair  lady,  and  beginning 
again  to  ogle  her  as  soon  as  she  glances  another 
way  ? I remember  very  well,  when  I was  last 
at  an  opera,  I could  perceive  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  audience  cast  into  particular  cross  angles 
one  upon  another,  without  any  manner  of  regard 
to  the  stage,  though  king  Latinus  was  himself 
present  when  I made  that  observation.  It  was 
then  very  pleasant  to  look  into  the  hearts  of  the 
whole  company  ; for  the  balls  of  sight  are  so 
formed,  that  one  man’s  eyes  are  spectacles  to 
another  to  read  his  heart  with.  The  most  ordi- 
nary beholder  can  take  notice  of  any  violent 
agitation  in  the  mind,  any  pleasing  transport, 
or  any  inward  grief,  in  the  person  he  looks  at ; 
but  one  of  these  oglers  can  see  a studied  indif- 
ference, a concealed  love,  or  a smothered  resent- 
ment, in  the  very  glances  that  are  made  to  hide 
those  dispositions  of  thought.  The  naturalists 
tell  us,  that  the  rattle-snake  will  fix  himself  un- 
der a tree  where  he  sees  a squirrel  playing  ; 
and,  when  he  has  once  got  the  exchange  of  a 
glance  from  the  pretty  wanton,  will  give  it  such 
a sudden  stroke  on  its  imagination,  that  though 
it  may  play  from  bough  to  bough,  and  strive  to 
avert  its  eyes  from  it  for  some  time,  yet  it 
comes  nearer  and  nearer  by  little  intervals  of 
looking  another  w^ay,  until  it  drops  into  the 
jaws  of  the  animal,  which  it  knew  gazed  at  it 
for  no  other  reason  but  to  ruin  it.  I did  not  be- 
lieve this  piece  of  philosophy  until  that  night  I 
was  just  now  speaking  of;  but  I then  saw  the 
same  thing  pass  between  an  ogler  and  a co- 
quette. Mirtillo,  the  most  learned  of  the  former 
had  for  some  time  discontinued  to  visit  Flavia, 
no  less  eminent  among  the  latter.  They  in- 
dustriously avoided  all  places  where  they  might 
probably  meet,  but  chance  brought  them  to- 
gether  to  the  play-iiouse,  and  seated  tliem  in  a 


268 


TliE  TATLER. 


[No.  146. 


direct  line  over  against  each  other,  she  in  a 
front  box,  he  in  the  pit  next  the  stage.  As  soon 
as  Flavia  had  received  the  looks  of  the  whole 
crowd  with  that  air  of  insensibility  which  is 
necessary  at  the  first  entrance,  she  began  to 
look  around  her,  and  saw  tlie  vagabond  Mirtillo, 
who  had  so  long  absented  himself  from  her  cir- 
cle; and  when  she  first  discovered  him,  she 
looked  upon  him  with  that  glance,  which,  in  the 
language  of  the  oglers,  is  called  the  scornful, 
but  immediately  turned  her  observation  another 
way,  and  returned  upon  him  with  the  indiffer- 
ent. This  gave  Mirtillo  no  small  resentment ; 
but  he  used  her  accordingly.  He  took  care  to 
be  ready  for  her  next  glance.  She  found  his 
eyes  full  in  the  indolent,  with  his  lips  crumpled 
up,  in  the  posture  of  one  whistling.  Her  an- 
ger at  this  usage  immediately  appeared  in  every 
muscle  of  her  face ; and  after  many  emotions, 
which  glistened  in  her  eyes,  she  cast  them 
round  the  whole  house,  and  gave  them  softnesses 
in  the  face  of  every  man  she  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore. After  she  thought  she  had  reduced  all 
she  saw  to  her  obedience,  the  play  began,  and 
ended  their  dialogue.  As  soon  as  the  first  act 
was  over,  she  stood  up  with  a visage  full  of  dis- 
sembled alacrity  and  pleasure,  with  which  she 
overlooked  the  audience,  and  at  last  came  to 
him  ; he  was  then  placed  in  a side  way,  with 
his  hat  slouched  over  his  eyes,  and  gazing  at  a 
wench  in  the  side-box,  as  talking  of  that  gipsy  to 
the  gentleman  who  sat  by  him.  But,  as  she 
fixed  upon  him,  he  turned  suddenly  with  a full 
face  upon  her,  and,  with  all  the  respect  imagina- 
ble, made  her  the  most  obsequious  bow  in  the 
presence  of  the  whole  theatre.*  This  gave  her 
a pleasure  not  to  be  concealed ; and  she  made 
him  the  recovering,  or  second  courtesy,  with  a 
smile  that  spoke  a perfect  reconciliation.  Be- 
tween the  ensuing  acts,  they  talked  to  each 
other  with  gestures  and  glances  so  significant, 
that  they  ridiculed  the  whole  house  in  this  silent 
speech,  and  made  an  appointment  that  Mirtillo 
should  lead  her  to  her  coach. 

The  peculiar  language  of  one  eye,  as  it  dif- 
fers from  another  as  much  as  the  tone  of  one 
voice  from  another,  and  the  fascination  or  en- 
chantment, which  is  lodged  in  the  optic  nerves 
of  the  persons  concerned  in  these  dialogues,  is, 
I must  confess,  too  nice  a subject  for  one  who 
is  not  an  adept  in  these  speculations  ; but  I 
shall,  for  the  good  and  safety  of  the  fair  sex, 
call  my  learned  friend  sir  William  Read  to  my 
assistance,  and,  by  the  help  of  his  observations 
on  this  organ,  acquaint  them  when  the  eye  is 
to  be  believed,  and  when  distrusted.  On  the 
contrary,  I shall  conceal  the  true  meaning  of 
the  looks  of  ladies,  and  indulge  in  them  all  the 
art  they  can  acquire  in  the  management  of  their 
glances : all  which  is  but  too  little  against 
creatures  who  triumph  in  falsehood,  and  begin 
to  forswear  with  their  eyes,  when  their  tongues 
can  he  no  longer  believed. 

ADVERTISE.MENT. 

A very  clean  well-behaved  young  gentleman, 
who  is  in  a very  good  way  in  Cornhill,  has  writ 

* For  many  years  last  past  this  behaviour  from  a per- 
son in  the  pit,  to  a lady  or  even  a gentleman  in  a box, 
would  be  thought  monstrous. 


to  me  the  following  lines  ; and  seems  in  some 
passages  of  his  letter,  which  I omit,  to  lay  it 
very  much  to  heart,  that  I have  not  spoken  of 
a supernatural  beauty,  whom  he  sighs  for,  and 
complains  to  in  most  elaborate  language.  Alas  i 
What  can  a monitor  do  ? All  mankind  live  in 
romance. 

Royal  Exchange,  March  11. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Some  time  since,  you 
were  pleased  to  mention  the  beauties  in  the 
New  Exchange  and  Westminster-hall,  and,  in 
my  judgment,  were  not  very  impartial ; for  if 
you  were  pleased  to  allow  there  was  one  god- 
dess in  the  New  Exchange,  and  two  shepherd 
esses  in  Westminster-hall,  you  very  well  might 
say,  there  was  and  is  at  present  one  angel  in 
the  Royal  Exchange  ; and  I humbly  beg  the  fa 
vour  of  you  to  let  justice  be  done  her,  by  insert 
ing  this  in  your  next  Tatler  ; which  will  make 
her  my  good  angel,  and  me  your  most  humble 
servant,  A.  E.’ 


No.  146.]  Thursday,  March  16,  1709-10. 

Perinittes  ipsis  expendere  numinibus,  quid 
Conveniat  nobis,  rebusque  sit  utile  nostris. 

Nam  pro  jucundis  aptissima  quaeque  dabunt  Dii 
Carior  est  illis  homo,  quam  sibi.  Nos  animoruro, 
Iinpulsu  cieco  magnaque  cupidine  ducti, 

Con.jugium  p°timas,  partumque  uxoris;  at  illis 
Notum,  qui  pueri,  qualisque  futura  sit  uxor. 

Juc.  Sat.  X.  347,  et  seq. 
Intrust  thy  fortune  to  the  powers  above  ; 

Leave  them  to  manage  for  thee,  and  to  grant 
What  their  unerring  wisdom  sees  thee  want : 

In  goodness  as  in  greatness  they  excel : 

Ah  ! that  we  loved  ourselves  but  half  so  well. 

We,  blitidly  by  our  headstrong  passions  led. 

Are  hot  for  action,  and  desire  to  wed  ; 

Then  wish  for  heirs,  but  to  the  gods  alone. 

Our  future  offspring  and  our  wives  are  known. 

Drrjden 

From  my  own  Apartment,  March  15. 
Among  the  various  sets  of  correspondents  who 
apply  to  me  for  advice,  and  send  up  their  cases 
from  all  parts  of  Great  Britain,  there  are  none 
who  are  more  importunate  with  me,  and  whom 
I am  more  inclined  to  answer,  than  the  Com- 
plainers.  One  of  them  dates  his  letter  to  me 
from  the  banks  of  a purling  stream,  where  he 
used  to  ruminate  in  solitude  upon  the  divine 
Clarissa,  and  where  he  is  now  looking  about  for 
a convenient  leap,  which  he  tells  me  he  is  re- 
solved to  take,  unless  I support  him  under  the 
loss  of  that  charming  perjured  woman.  Poor 
Lavinia  presses  as  much  for  consolation  on  the 
other  side,  and  is  reduced  to  such  an  extremity 
of  despair  by  the  inconstancy  of  Philander,  that 
she  tells  me  she  writes  her  letter  with  her  pen 
in  one  hand,  and  her  garter  in  the  other.  A 
gentleman  of  an  ancient  family  in  Norfolk  is 
almost  out  of  his  wits  upon  the  account  of  a 
greyhound,  that,  after  having  been  his  insepara- 
ble companion  for  ten  years,  is  at  last  run  mad. 
Another,  who,  I believe,  is  serious,  complains  to 
me,  in  a very  moving  manner,  of  the  loss  of  a 
wife  ; and  another,  in  terms  still  more  moving, 
of  a purse  of  money  that  was  taken  from  him 
on  Bagshot-heath,  and  which,  he  tells  me,  would 
not  have  troubled  him,  if  he  had  given  it  to  the 
poor.  In  short,  there  is  scarce  a calamity  in 
i human  life  that  has  not  produced  me  a letter. 


No.  146.] 


THE  TATLER. 


269 


It  is  indeed  wonderful  to  consider,  how  men 
are  able  to  raise  affliction  to  themselves  out  of 
every  thing.  Lands  and  houses,  sheep  and  oxen, 
can  convey  happiness  and  misery  into  the  hearts 
of  reasonable  creatures.  Nay,  I have  known  a 
muff,  a scarf,  or  a tippet,  become  a solid  bless- 
ing or  misfortune.  A lap-dog  has  broke  the 
hearts  of  thousands.  Flavia,  who  had  buried 
five  children  and  two  husbands,  was  never  able 
to  get  over  the  loss  of  her  parrot.  How  often 
has  a divine  creature  been  thrown  into  a fit  by 
a neglect  at  a ball  or  an  assembly  ? Mopsa  has 
kept  her  chamber  ever  since  the  last  masque- 
rade, and  is  in  greater  danger  of  her  life  upon 
being  left  out  of  it,  than  Clarinda  from  the  vio- 
lent cold  which  she  caught  at  it.  Nor  are  these 
dear  creatures  the  only  sufferers  by  such  imagi- 
nary calamities.  Many  an  author  has  been  de- 
jected at  the  censure  of  one  whom  he  ever  look- 
ed upon  as  an  idiot : and  many  a hero  cast  into 
a fit  of  melancholy,  because  the  rabble  have  not 
hooted  at  him  as  he  passed  through  the  streets. 
Theron  places  all  his  happiness  in  a running 
horse,  Suffenus  in  a gilded  chariot,  Fulvius  in  a 
blue  string,  and  Florio  in  a tulip-root.  It  would 
be  endless  to  enumerate  the  many  fantastical 
afflictions  that  disturb  mankind  ; but  as  a misery 
is  not  to  be  measured  from  the  nature  of  the 
evil,  but  from  the  temper  of  the  sufferer,  I shall 
present  my  readers,  who  are  unhappy  either  in 
reality  or  imagination,  with  an  allegory,  for 
which  I am  indebted  to  the  great  father  and 
prince  of  poets. 

As  I was  sitting  after  dinner  in  my  elbow- 
chair,  I took  up  Horner,  and  dipped  into  that 
famous  speech  of  Achilles  to  Priam,*  in  which 
he  tells  him,  that  Jupiter  has  by  him  two  great 
vessels,  the  one  filled  with  blessings,  and  the 
other  misfortunes ; out  of  which  he  mingles  a 
composition  for  every  man  that  comes  into  the 
world.  This  passage  so  exceedingly  pleased 
me,  that,  as  I fell  insensibly  into  my  afternoon’s 
slumber,  it  wrought  my  imagination  into  the 
following  dream. 

When  Jupiter  took  into  his  hands  the  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  the  several  parts  of  nature, 
with  the  presiding  deities,  did  homage  to  him. 
One  presented  him  with  a mountain  of  winds, 
another  with  a magazine  of  hail,  and  a third 
with  a pile  of  thunder-bolts.  The  stars  offered 
up  their  influences  ; ocean  gave  in  his  trident, 
earth  her  fruits,  and  the  sun  his  seasons.  Among 
the  several  deities  who  came  to  make  their 
court  on  this  occasion,  the  destinies  advanced 
with  two  great  tuns  carried  before  them,  one  of 
which  they  fixed  at  the  right  hand  of  Jupiter,  as 
he  sat  upon  his  throne,  and  the  other  on  his 
left.  The  first  was  filled  with  all  the  blessings, 
and  the  other  with  all  the  calamities  of  human 
life.  Jupiter,  in  the  beginning  of  his  reign, 
finding  the  world  much  more  innocent  than  it 


* Two  urns  by  Jove’s  high  throne  have  ever  stood, 
The  source  of  evil  one,  and  one  of  good  ; 

From  tlience  the  cup  of  mortal  man  he  fills, 
Blessings  to  those,  to  those  distributes  ills  ; 

To  most  he  mingles  both ; the  wretch  decreed 
To  taste  the  bad,  unmixed,  is  curst  indeed  ; 
Pursued  by  wrongs,  by  meagre  famine  driven. 

He  wanders,  outcast  both  of  earth  and  heaven. 

Pope's  Horn.  II.  xiv.  ver.  8G3. 


is  in  this  iron  age,  poured  very  plentifully  out 
of  the  tun  that  stood  at  his  right  hand , but,  as 
mankind  degenerated,  and  became  unworthy 
of  his  blessings,  he  set  abroach  the  other 
vessel,  that  filled  the  world  with  pain  and 
poverty,  battles  and  distempers,  jealousy  and 
falsehood,  intoxicating  pleasures,  and  untimely 
deaths. 

He  was  at  length  so  very  much  incensed  at 
the  great  depravation  of  human  nature,  and  the 
repeated  provocations  which  he  received  from 
all  parts  of  the  earth,  that,  having  resolved  to 
destroy  the  whole  species,  except  Deucalion  and 
Pyrrha,  he  commanded  the  destinies  to  gather 
up  the  blessings  which  he  had  thrown  away 
upon  the  sons  of  men,  and  lay  them  up  until 
the  world  should  be  inhabited  by  a more  vir- 
tuous and  deserving  race  of  mortals. 

The  three  sisters  immediately  repaired  to  the 
earth,  in  search  of  the  several  blessings  that 
had  been  scattered  on  it;  but  found  the  task 
which  was  enjoined  them,  to  be  much  more  dif- 
ficult than  they  imagined.  The  first  places  they 
resorted  to,  as  the  most  likely  to  succeed  in, 
were  cities,  palaces,  and  courts ; but,  instead  of 
meeting  with  what  they  looked  for  here,  they 
found  nothing  but  envy,  repining,  uneasiness, 
and  the  like  bitter  ingredients  of  the  left-hand 
vessel.  Whereas,  to  their  great  surprise,  they 
discovered  content,  cheerfulness,  health,  inno- 
cence, and  other  the  most  substantial  blessings 
of  life,  in  cottages,  shades,  and  solitudes. 

There  was  another  circumstance  no  less  un- 
expected than  the  former,  and  which  gave  them 
very  great  perplexity  in  the  discharge  of  the 
trust  which  Jupiter  had  committed  to  them. 
They  observed,  that  several  blessings  had  de- 
generated into  calamities,  and  that  several  ca- 
lamities had  improved  into  blessings,  according 
as  they  fell  into  the  possession  of  wise  or  foolish 
men.  They  often  found  power,  with  so  much 
insolence  and  impatience  cleaving  to  it,  that  it 
became  a misfortune  to  the  person  on  whom  it 
was  conferred.  Youth  had  often  distempers 
growing  about  it,  worse  than  the  infirmities  of 
old  age.  Wealth  was  often  united  to  such  a 
sordid  avarice,  as  made  it  the  most  uncomfort- 
able and  painful  kind  of  poverty.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  often  found  pain  made  glorious  by 
fortitude,  poverty  lost  in  content,  deformity 
beautified  with  virtue.  In  a word,  the  blessings 
were  often  like  good  fruits  planted  in  a bad  soil, 
that  by  degrees  fall  off  from  their  natural  relish, 
into  tastes  altogether  insipid  or  unwholesome ; 
and  the  calamities,  like  harsh  fruits,  cultivated 
in  a good  soil,  and  enriched  by  proper  grafts 
and  inoculations,  until  they  swell  with  generous 
and  delightful  juices. 

There  was  still  a third  circumstance  that  oc- 
casioned as  great  a surprise  to  the  three  sisters 
as  either  of  the  foregoing,  when  they  discovered 
several  blessings  and  calamities  which  had  never 
been  in  either  of  the  tuns  that  stood  by  the 
throne  of  Jupiter,  and  were  nevertheless  as 
great  occasions  of  happiness  or  misery  as  any 
there.  These  were  that  spurious  crop  of  bless- 
ings and  calamities  which  were  never  sown  by 
the  hand  of  the  deity,  but  grow  of  themselves 
out  of  the  fancies  and  dispositions  of  human 
creatures.  Such  are  dress,  titles,  place,  equi- 


270 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  147. 


page,  false  shame,  and  groundless  fear,  with  the 
like  vain  imaginations,  that  shoot  up  in  trifling, 
weak,  and  irresolute  minds. 

The  destinies,  finding  themselves  in  so  great 
a perplexity,  concluded  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  them  to  execute  the  commands  that 
had  been  given  them,  according  to  their  first 
intention ; for  which  reason  they  agreed  to  throw 
all  the  blessings  and  calamities  together  into 
one  large  vessel,  and  in  that  manner  offer  them 
up  at  the  feet  of  Jupiter. 

This  was  performed  accordingly ; the  eldest 
sister  presenting  herself  before  the  vessel,  and 
introducing  it  with  an  apology  for  what  they 
had  done: 

‘O  Jupiter,’  says  she,  ‘ we  ha,ve  gathered  to- 
gether all  the  good  and  evil,  the  comforts  and 
distresses  of  human  life,  which  we  thus  present 
before  thee  in  one  promiscuous  heap.  We  be- 
seech thee,  that  thou  thyself  wilt  sort  them  out 
for  the  future,  as  in  thy  wisdom  thou  shalt  think 
fit.  For  we  acknowledge,  that  there  is  none  be- 
sides thee  that  can  judge  what  will  occasion 
grief  or  joy  in  the  heart  of  a human  creature, 
and  what  will  prove  a blessing  or  a calamity  to 
the  person  on  whom  it  is  bestowed.’ 


No.  147.]  Saturday^  March  18,  1709-10. 

Ut  ameris,  amabilis  esto.  Ovid. 

Be  lovely,  that  you  may  be  loved. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  March  17. 

Reading  is  to  the  mind,  what  exercise  is  to 
the  body.  As  by  the  one,  health  is  preserved, 
strengthened,  and  invigorated ; by  the  other, 
virtue,  which  is  the  health  of  the  mind,  is  kept 
alive,  cherished,  and  confirmed.  But  as  exer- 
cise becomes  tedious  and  painful,  V'hen  we 
make  it  of  use  only  as  the  means  of  health,  so 
reading  is  apt  to  grow  uneasy  and  burdensome, 
when  we  apply  ourselves  to  it  only  for  our  im- 
provement in  virtue.  For  this  reason,  the  virtue 
which  we  gather  from  a fable,  or  an  allegory, 
is  like  the  health  we  get  by  hunting ; as  we  are 
engaged  in  an  agreeable  pursuit  tliat  draws  us 
on  with  pleasure,  and  makes  us  insensible  of 
the  fatigues  that  accompany  it. 

After  this  preface,  I shall  set  down  a very 
beautiful  allegorical  fable  of  the  great  poet 
whom  I mentioned  in  my  last  paper,  and  wliom 
it  is  very  difficult  to  lay  aside  when  one  is  en- 
gaged in  the  reading  of  him.  And  this  I par- 
ticularly design  for  the  use  of  several  of  my  fair 
correspondents,  who,  in  their  letters,  have  com- 
plained to  me,  that  they  have  lost  the  affections 
of  their  husbands,  and  desire  my  advice  how  to 
recover  them. 

Juno,  says  Homer,  seeing  her  Jupiter  seated 
on  the  top  of  mount  Ida,  and  knowing  that  he 
had  conceived  an  aversion  to  her,  began  to  study 
how  she  should  regain  his  affections,  and  make 
herself  amiable  to  him.*  With  this  thought  she 


* resolv’d  to  ])rove 

The  old,  yet  still  succes.«ful  cheats  of  love  : 


immediately  retired  into  her  chamber,  where 
she  bathed  herself  in  ambrosia;  which  gav’e  her 
person  all  its  beauty,  and  diffused  so  divine  an 
odour,  as  refreshed  all  nature,  and  sweetened 
both  heaven  and  earth.  She  let  her  immortal 
tresses  flow  in  the  most  graceful  manner,  and 
took  a particular  care  to  dress  herself  in  several 
ornaments,  which  the  poet  describes  at  length, 
and  which  the  goddess  chose  out  as  the  most 
proper  to  set  off  her  person  to  the  best  advantage. 
In  the  next  place,  she  made  a visit  to  Venus,  the 
deity  who  presides  over  love,  and  begged  of 
her,  as  a particular  favour,  that  she  would  lend 
her  for  a while  those  charms  with  which  she 
subdued  the  hearts  both  of  gods  and  men.  ‘ For,* 
says  the  goddess,  ‘ I would  make  use  of  them 
to  reconcile  the  two  deities,  who  took  care  of 
me  in  my  infancy,  and  who  at  present  are  at  so 
great  a variance,  that  they  are  estranged  from 
each  other’s  bed.’  Venus  was  proud  of  an  op- 
portunity of  obliging  so  great  a goddess,*  and 
therefore  made  her  a present  of  the  cestus  which 
she  used  to  wear  about  her  own  waist,  with  ad- 
vice to  hide  it  in  her  bosom  until  she  had  ac- 
complished her  intention.  This  cestus  was  a 
fine  party-coloured  girdle,  which,  as  Homer 
tells  us,  had  all  the  attractions  of  the  sex  wrought 
into  it.  The  four  principal  figures  in  the  em- 
broidery were  love,  desire,  fondness  of  speech, 
and  conversation,  filled  with  that  sweetness  and 
complacency,  which,  says  the  poet,  insensibly 
steal  away  the  hearts  of  the  wisest  men. 

Juno,  after  having  made  these  necessary  pre- 
parations, came,  as  by  accident,  into  the  pre- 
sence of  Jupiter,  who  is  said  to  have  been  as 
much  inflamed  with  her  beauty,  as  when  he  first 
stole  to  her  embraces  without  the  consent  of  their 
parents.  Juno,  to  cover  her  real  thoughts,  told 
him,  as  she  had  told  Venus,  that  she  was  going 
to  make  a visit  to  Oceanus  and  Tethys.  He 
prevailed  upon  her  to  stay  with  him,  protesting 
to  her,  that  she  appeared  more  amiable  in  his 
eye,  than  ever  any  mortal,  goddess,  or  even  her- 
self, had  appeared  to  him  until  that  day.  The 
poet  then  represents  him  in  so  great  an  ardour, 
that,  without  going  up  to  the  house  which  had 
been  built  by  the  hands  of  Vulcan  according  to 
Juno’s  direction,  he  threw  a golden  cloud  over 
their  heads  as  they  sat  upon  the  top  of  mount 
Ida,  while  the  earth  beneath  them  sprung  up  in 
lotuses,  saffrons,  hyacinths,  and  a bed  of  the 
softest  flowers  for  their  repose. 

This  close  translation  of  one  of  the  finest  pas- 
sages in  Homer,  may  suggest  abundance  of  in- 
struction to  a woman,  who  has  a mind  to  preserve 
or  recall  the  affection  of  her  husband.  The 
care  of  the  person,  and  the  dress,  wuth  the  par- 
ticular blandishments  woven  in  the  cestus,  are 


Against  his  wisdom  to  oppose  her  charms, 

And  lull  the  lord  of  thunder  in  her  arms. 

Pope's  Horn.  II.  xiv.  ver.  1ST. 

’•= With  awe  divine  the  queen  of  Love 

Obeyed  the  sister  and  the  wife  of  Jove  ; 

And  from  her  fragrant  heap  the  zone  unbraced, 
With  various  skill,  and  high  embroidery  graced. 
In  this  was  every  art,  and  every  charm. 

To  win  the  wisest,  and  the  coldest  warm  : 

Fond  love,  the  gentle  vow,  the  gay  desire. 

The  kind  deceit',  the  still  reviving  fire. 
Persuasive  speech,  and  more  jiersuasive  sighs. 
Silence  that  spoke,  and  eloquence  of  eyes. 

Pope's  Horn  II.  xiv.  ver.  1411. 


No.  148. 


THE  Ti 

so  plainly  recommended  by  this  fable,  and  so 
indispensably  necessary  in  every  female  who  de- 
sires to  please,  that  they  need  no  further  explana- 
tion. The  discretion  likewise  in  covering  all 
matrimonial  quarrels  from  the  knowledge  of 
others,  is  taught  in  the  pretended  visit  to  Tethys, 
in  the  speech  where  Juno  addresses  herself  to 
Venus  ; as  the  chaste  and  prudent  management 
of  a wife’s  charms  is  intimated  by  the  same 
pretence  for  her  appearing  before  Jupiter,  and 
by  the  concealment  of  the  cestus  in  her  bo- 
som. 

I shall  leave  this  tale  to  the  consideration  of 
such  good  housewives  who  are  never  well  dress- 
ed but  when  they  are  abroad,  and  think  it  ne- 
cessary to  appear  more  agreeable  to  all  men 
living  than  their  husbands  : as  also  to  those  pru- 
dent ladies,  who,  to  avoid  the  appearance  of 
being  overfond,  entertain  their  husbands  with 
indifference,  aversion,  sullen  silence,  or  exas- 
perating language. 

Sheer-lane^  March  17. 

Upon  my  coming  home  last  night,  I found  a 
very  handsome  present  of  wine  left  for  me,  as 
a taste  ‘ of  two  hundred  and  sixteen  hogsheads, 
which  are  to  be  put  to  sale  at  twenty  pounds  a 
hogshead,  at  Garraway’s  coffee-house  in  Ex- 
change-alley, on  the  twenty-second  instant,  at 
three  in  the  afternoon,  and  to  be  tasted  in  major 
Long’s  vaults  from  the  twentieth  instant  until 
the  time  of  sale.’  This  having  been  sent  to  me 
with  a desire  that  I would  give  my  judgment 
upon  it,  I immediately  empanelled  a jury  of 
men  of  nice  palates,  and  strong  heads,  who  be- 
ing all  of  them  very  scrupulous,  and  unwilling 
to  proceed  rashly  in  a matter  of  so  great  im- 
portance, refused  to  bring  in  their  verdict  until 
three  in  the  morning ; at  which  time  the  fore- 
man pronounced,  as  well  as  he  was  able,  ‘ Ex- 
tra-a-ordinary  French  claret.’  For  my  own 
part,  as  I love  to  consult  my  pillow  in  all  points 
of  moment,  I slept  upon  it  before  I would  give 
my  sentence,  and  this  morning  confirmed  the 
verdict. 

Having  mentioned  this  tribute  of  wine,  I 
must  give  notice  to  my  correspondents  for  the 
future,  who  shall  apply  to  me  on  this  occasion, 
that,  as  I shall  decide  nothing  unadvisedly  in 
matters  of  this  nature,  I cannot  pretend  to  give 
judgment  of  a right  good  liquor,  without  exa- 
mining at  least  three  dozen  bottles  of  it.  I 
must,  at  the  same  time,  do  myself  the  justice  to 
let  the  world  know,  that  I have  resisted  great 
temptations  in  this  kind  ; as  it  is  well  known  to 
a butcher  in  Glare-market,  who  endeavoured  to 
corrupt  me  with  a dozen  and  a half  of  marrow- 
bones. I had  likewise  a bribe  sent  me  by  a fish- 
monger, consisting  of  a collar  of  brawn,  and  a 
jole  of  salmon ; but  not  finding  them  excellent 
in  their  kinds,  I had  the  integrity  to  eat  them 
both  up,  without  speaking  one  word  of  them. 
However,  for  the  future,  I shall  have  an  eye  to 
the  diet  of  this  great  city,  and  will  recommend 
the  best  and  most  wholesome  food  to  them,  if 
I receive  these  proper  and  respectful  notices 
from  the  sellers ; that  it  may  not  be  said  here- 
after, that  my  readers  were  better  taught  than 
fed. 


LER.  271 

No.  148.]  Tuesday^  March  21,  1709-10. 

Gustuselementa  per  omnia  quaerunt, 

Nunquam  animo  pretiis  obstantibus 

Juo.  Sat.  xi.  14. 

They  ransack  every  element  for  choice 
Of  every  fish  and  fowl,  at  any  price.  Congreve. 

From  my  oicn  Apartment.,  March  20. 

Having  intimated  in  my  last  paper,  that  I de- 
sign to  take  under  my  inspection  the  diet  of  this 
great  city,  I shall  begin  with  a very  earnest 
and  serious  exhortation  to  all  my  well-disposed 
readers,  that  they  would  return  to  the  food  of 
their  forefathers,  and  reconcile  themselves  to 
beef  and  mutton.  This  was  the  diet  which 
bred  that  hardy  race  of  mortals  who  won  the 
fields  of  Cressy  and  Agincourt.  I need  not  go 
up  so  high  as  the  history  of  Guy  Earl  of  War- 
wick, who  is  well  known  to  have  eaten  up  a dun 
cow  of  his  own  killing.  The  renowned  king 
Arthur  is  generally  looked  upon  as  the  first  who 
ever  sat  down  to  a whole  roasted  ox,  which  was 
certainly  the  best  way  to  preserve  the  gravy ; 
and  it  is  further  added,  that  he  and  his  knights 
sat  about  it  at  his  round  table,  and  usually  con- 
sumed it  to  the  very  bones  before  they  would 
enter  upon  any  debate  of  moment.  The  Black 
Prince  was  a professed  lover  of  the  brisket ; 
not  to  mention  the  history  of  the  surloin,  or  the 
institution  of  the  order  of  Beef-eaters  ; which 
are  all  so  many  evident  and  undeniable  marks 
of  the  great  respect,  which  our  warlike  prede- 
cessors have  paid  to  this  excellent  food.  The 
tables  of  the  ancient  gentry  of  this  nation  were 
covered  thrice  a-day  wfith  hot  roast  beef ; 
and  I am  credibly  informed,  by  an  antiquary 
who  has  searched  the  registers  in  which  the 
bills  of  fare  of  the  court  are  recorded,  that  in- 
stead of  tea  and  bread  and  butter,  which  have 
prevailed  of  late  years,  the  maids  of  honour  in 
queen  Elizabeth’s  time  were  allowed  three 
rumps  of  beef  for  their  breakfast.  Mutton  has 
likewise  been  in  great  repute  among  our  valiant 
countrymen ; but  was  formerly  observed  to  be 
the  food  rather  of  men  of  nice  and  delicate  appe- 
tites, than  those  of  strong  and  robust  constitu- 
tions. For  which  reason,  even  to  this  day,  we 
use  the  word  Sheep-biter  as  a term  of  reproach, 
as  we  do  Beef-eater  in  a respectful  and  hon- 
ourable sense.  As  for  the  flesh  of  lamb,  veal, 
chicken,  and  other  animals  under  age,  they 
were  the  invention  of  sickly  and  degenerate 
palates,  according  to  that  wholesome  remark  of 
Daniel  the  historian  ; who  takes  notice,  that  in 
all  taxes  upon  provisions  during  the  reigns  of 
several  of  our  kings,  there  is  nothing  mention- 
ed besides  the  flesh  of  such  fowl  and  cattle  as 
were  arrived  at  their  full  growth,  and  were  ma- 
ture for  slaughter.  The  common  people  of  this 
kingdom  do  still  keep  up  the  taste  of  their  an- 
cestors ; and  it  is  to  this  that  we,  in  a great 
measure,  owe  the  unparalleled  victories  that 
have  been  gained  in  this  reign : for  I would  de- 
sire my  reader  to  consider,  what  work  our 
countrymen  would  have  made  at  Blenheim 
and  Ramifies,  if  they  had  been  fed  with  fricas- 
sees and  ragouts. 

For  this  reason,  we  at  present  see  the  florid 
complexion,  the  strong  limb,  and  the  hale  con- 


272 


THE  TATLER, 


[No.  149 


stitution,  are  to  be  found  chiefly  among  the 
meaner  sort  of  people,  or  in  the  wild  gentry 
v»^ho  have  been  educated  among  the  woods 
or  mountains.  Whereas  many  great  families 
are  insensibly  fallen  off  from  the  athletic  con- 
stitution of  their  progenitors,  and  are  dwindled 
away  into  a pale,  sickly,  spindle-legged  genera- 
tion of  valetudinarians. 

I may  perhaps  be  thought  extravagant  in  my 
notion  ; but,  I must  confess,  I am  apt  to  im- 
pute  the  dishonours  that  sometimes  happeri  in 
great  families,  to  the  inflaming  kind  of  diet 
which  is  so  much  in  fashion.  Many  dishes  can 
excite  desire  without  giving  strength,  and  heat 
the  body  without  nourishing  it ; as  physicians 
observe,  that  the  poorest  and  most  dispirited 
blood  is  most  subject  to  fevers.  I look  upon  a 
French  ragout  to  be  as  pernicious  to  the  sto- 
mach as  a glass  of  spirits  ; and  when  I have 
seen  a young  lady  swallow  all  the  instigations 
of  high  soups,  seasoned  sauces,  and  forced 
meats,  I have  wondered  at  the  despair  or  tedious 
sighing  of  her  lovers. 

The  rules  among  these  false  delicates  are  to 
be  as  contradictory  as  they  can  be  to  nature. 

Without  expecting  the  return  of  hunger,  they 
eat  for  an  appetite,  and  prepare  dishes,  not  to 
allay,  but  to  excite  it. 

They  admit  of  nothing  at  their  tables  in  its 
natural  form,  or  v/ithout  some  disguise. 

They  are  to  eat  every  thing  before  it  comes 
in  season,  and  to  leave  it  off  as  soon  as  it  is  good 
to  be  eaten. 

They  are  not  to  approve  any  thing  that  is 
agreeable  to  ordinary  palates  ; and  nothing  is  to 
gratify  their  senses,  but  what  w'ould  offend 
those  of  their  inferiors. 

I remember  I was  last  summer  invited  to  a 
friend’s  house,  who  is  a great  admirer  of  the 
French  cookery,  and,  as  the  phrase  is,  ‘eats  well.’ 
At  our  sitting  down,  I found  the  table  covered 
with  a great  variety  of  unknown  dishes.  I was 
mightily  at  a loss  to  learn  what  they  were,  and 
therefore  did  not  know  where  to  help  myself. 
That  which  stood  before  me,  I took  to  be  a 
roasted  porcupine,  however  did  not  care  for 
asking  questions ; and  have  since  been  inform- 
ed, that  it  was  only  a larded  turkey.  I after- 
wards passed  my  eye  over  several  hashes,  which 
I do  not  know  the  names  of  to  this  day  ; and, 
hearing  that  they  were  delieacies,  did  not  think 
fit  to  meddle  with  them. 

Among  other  dainties,  I saw  something  like 
a pheasant,  and  therefore  desired  to  be  helped 
to  a wing  of  it ; but,  to  my  great  surprise,  my 
friend  told  me  it  was  a rabbit,  which  is  a sort 
of  meat  I never  cared  for.  At  last  I discovered, 
with  some  joy,  a pig  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
table,  and  begged  a gentleman  that  was  near  it 
to  cut  me  a piece  of  it.  Upon  which  the  gen- 
tleman of  the  house  said,  with  great  civility,  ‘ I 
am  sure  you  will  like  the  pig,  for  it  was  whip- 
ped to  death.’  I must  confess,  I heard  him 
with  horror,  and  could  not  eat  of  an  animal  that 
had  died  so  tragical  a death.  I was  now  in 
great  hunger  and  confusion,  when  methought  I 
smelled  the  agreeable  savour  of  roast  beef ; but 
could  not  tell  from  what  dish  it  arose,  though  I 
did  not  question  but  it  lay  disguised  in  one  of 
them.  Upon  turning  my  head,  I saw  a noble 


surloin  on  the  side  table  smoking  in  the  most 
delicious  manner.  I had  recourse  to  it  more 
than  once,  and  could  not  see,  without  some  in- 
dignation, that  substantial  English  dish  banish- 
ed in  so  ignominious  a manner,  to  make  way 
for  French  kickshaws. 

The  dessert  was  brought  up  at  last,  which  in 
truth  was  as  extraordinary  as  any  thing  that 
had  come  before  it.  The  whole,  when  ranged 
in  its  proper  order,  looked  like  a very  beautiful 
winter-piece.  There  were  several  pyramids  of 
candied  sweetmeats,  that  hung  like  icicles,  with 
fruits  scattered  up  and  down,  and  hid  in  an  ar- 
tificial kind  of  frost.  At  the  same  time  there 
were  great  quantities  of  cream,  beaten  up  into  a 
snow;  and  near  them  little  plates  of  sugar-plums, 
disposed  like  so  many  heaps  of  hail-stones,  with 
a multitude  of  congelations  in  jellies  of  various 
colours.  I was  indeed  so  pleased  with  the 
several  objects  which  lay  before  me,  that  I did 
not  care  for  displacing  any  of  them ; and  was 
half  angry  with  the  rest  of  the  company,  that, 
for  the  sake  of  a piece  of  lemon-peel,  or  a sugar- 
plum, would  spoil  so  pleasing  a picture.  Indeed, 
I could  not  but  smile  to  see  several  of  them 
cooling  their  mouths  with  lumps  of  ice,  which 
they  had  just  before  been  burning  with  salts 
and  peppers. 

As  soon  as  this  show  was  over,  I took  my 
leave,  that  I might  finish  my  dinner  at  my  own 
house.  For  as  I in  every  thing  love  what  is 
simple  and  natural,  so  particularly  in  my  food ; 
two  plain  dishes,  with  two  or  three  good-na- 
tured, cheerful,  ingenious  friends,  would  make 
me  more  pleased  and  vain,  than  all  that  pomp 
and  luxury  can  bestow.  For  it  is  my  maxim, 
that  ‘ he  keeps  the  greatest  table  who  has  the 
most  valuable  company  at  it.’ 


No.  149.]  Thursday,  March  23, 1709-10. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  March  22. 

It  has  often  been  a solid  grief  to  me,  when  1 
have  reflected  on  this  glorious  nation,  which  w 
the  scene  of  public  happiness  and  liberty,  that 
there  are  still  crowds  of  private  tyrants,  against 
whom  there  neither  is  any  law  now  in  being, 
nor  can  there  be  invented  any  by  the  wit  of  man. 
These  cruel  men  are  ill-natured  husbands.  The 
commerce  in  the  conjugal  state  is  so  delicate, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  prescribe  rules  for  the 
conduct  of  it,  so  as  to  fit  ten  thousand  nameless 
pleasures  and  disquietudes  which  arise  to  people 
in  that  condition.  But  it  is  in  this  as  in  some 
other  nice  cases,  where  touching  upon  the  mala- 
dy tenderly  is  half  way  to  the  cure ; and  tliere 
are  some  faults  which  need  only  to  be  observed, 
to  be  amended.  I am  put  into  this  way  of 
thinking  by  a late  conversation,  which  I am 
going  to  give  an  account  of. 

I made  a visit  the  other  day  to  a family  for 
which  I have  a great  honour,  and  found  the 
father,  the  mother,  and  two  or  three  of  the 
younger  children  drop  off  designedly,  to  leave 
me  alone  with  the  eldest  daughter,  who  was 
but  a visitant  there  as  well  as  myself,  and  is  tl^ 
wife  of  a gentleman  of  a very  fair  character  in 


Mo.  149.] 


THE  TATLER. 


273 


the  world.  As  soon  as  we  were  alone,  I saw 
her  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  methought  she  had 
much  to  say  to  me,  for  which  she  wanted  en- 
couragement. ‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘ you  know  I 
wish  you  all  as  well  as  any  friend  you  have  : 
speak  freely  what  I see  you  are  oppressed  with  ; 
and  you  may  be  sure,  if  I cannot  relieve  your 
distress,  you  may  at  least  reap  so  much  present 
advantage,  as  safely  to  give  yourself  the  ease 
of  uttering  it.’  She  immediately  assumed  the 
most  becoming  composure  of  countenance,  and 
spoke  as  follows  : ‘ It  is  an  aggravation  of  af- 

fliction in  a married  life,  that  there  is  a sort  of 
guilt  in  communicating  it:  for  which  reason  it 
is,  that  a lady  of  your  and  my  acquaintance,  in- 
stead of  speaking  to  you  herself,  desired  me, 
the  next  time  I saw  you,  as  you  are  a professed 
friend  to  our  sex,  to  turn  your  thoughts  upon 
the  reciprocal  complaisance  which  is  the  duty 
of  a married  state. 

‘ My  friend  was  neither  in  birth,  fortune,  nor 
education  below  the  gentleman  whom  she  mar- 
ried. Her  person,  her  age,  and  her  character, 
are  also  such  as  he  can  make  no  exception  to. 
But  so  it  is,  that  from  the  moment  the  marriage 
ceremony  was  over,  the  obsequiousness  of  a 
lover  was  turned  into  the  haughtiness  of  a mas- 
ter. All  the  kind  endeavours  which  she  uses 
to  please  him,  are  at  best  but  so  many  instances 
of  her  duty.  This  insolence  takes  away  that 
secret  satisfaction,  which  does  not  only  excite 
to  virtue,  but  also  rewards  it.  It  abates  the  fire 
of  a free  and  generous  love,  and  embitters  all 
the  pleasures  of  a social  life.’  The  young  lady 
spoke  all  this  with  such  an  air  of  resentment, 
as  discovered  how  nearly  she  was  concerned  in 
the  distress. 

When  I observed  she  had  done  speaking, 
‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘ the  affliction  you  mention  is 
the  greatest  that  can  happen  in  human  life,  and 
I know  but  one  consolation  in  it,  if  that  be  a 
consolation,  that  the  calamity  is  a pretty  general 
one.  There  is  nothing  so  common  as  for  men 
to  enter  into  marriage,  without  so  much  as  ex- 
pecting to  be  happy  in  it.  They  seem  to  pro- 
pose to  themselves  a few  holidays  in  the  begin- 
ning of  it ; after  which  they  are  to  return  at  best 
to  the  usual  course  of  their  life  ; and,  for  aught 
they  know,  to  constant  misery  and  uneasiness. 
From  this  false  sense  of  the  state  they  are  going 
into,  pi’oceed  the  immediate  coldness  and  indif- 
ference, or  hatred  and  aversion,  which  attend 
ordinary  marriages,  or  rather  bargains  to  co- 
habit.’ Our  conversation  was  here  interrupted 
by  company  which  came  in  upon  us. 

The  humour  of  affecting  a superior  carriage, 
generally  rises  from  a false  notion  of  the  weak- 
ness of  a female  understanding  in  general,  or 
an  over-weening  opinion  that  we  have  of  our 
own ; for  when  it  proceeds  from  a natural  rug- 
gedness and  brutality  of  temper,  it  is  altogether 
incorrigible,  and  not  to  be  amended  by  admo- 
nition. Sir  Francis  Bacon,  as  I remember,  lays 
it  d-owri  as  a maxim,  that  no  marriage  can  bo 
happy  in  which  the  wife  has  no  opinion  of  her 
husband’s  wisdom;  but,  without  offence  to  so 
great  an  authority,  I may  venture  to  say,  that 
a sullen  wise  man  is  as  bad  as  a good-natured 
fool.  Knowledge,  softened  with  complacency 
and  good-breeding,  will  make  a man  equally 
2 M 


beloved  and  respected ; but  when  joined  with 
a severe,  distant,  and  unsociable  temper,  it  cre- 
ates rather  fear  than  love.  I,  who  am  a bache- 
lor, have  no  other  notions  of  conjugal  tenderness 
but  what  I learn  from  books ; and  shall  therefore 
produce  three  letters  of  Pliny,  who  was  not  only 
one  of  the  greatest,  but  the  most  learned  man  in 
the  whole  Roman  empire.  At  the  same  time  I 
am  very  much  ashamed,  that  on  such  occasions 
I am  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  heathen  au- 
thors ; and  shall  appeal  to  my  readers,  if  they 
would  not  think  it  a mark  of  a narrow  educa- 
tion in  a man  of  quality,  to  write  such  passion- 
ate letters  to  any  woman  but  a mistress.  They 
were  all  three  written  at  a time  when  she  was 
at  a distance  from  him.  The  first  of  them  puts 
me  in  mind  of  a married  friend  of  mine,  who 
said,  ‘ Sickness  itself  is  pleasant  to  a man  that 
is  attended  in  it  by  one  whom  he  dearly  loves.’ 

‘ Pliny  to  Calphurnia. 

‘ I never  was  so  much  offended  at  business, 
as  when  it  hindered  me  from  going  with  you 
into  the  country,  or  following  you  thither ; for 
I more  particularly  wish  to  be  with  you  at  pre- 
sent, that  I might  be  sensible  of  the  progress 
you  make  in  the  recovery  of  your  strength  and 
health  ; as  also  of  the  entertainment  and  diver- 
sions you  can  meet  with  in  your  retirement. 
Believe  me,  it  is  an  anxious  state  of  mind  to 
live  in  ignorance  of  what  happens  to  those  whom 
we  passionately  love.  I am  not  only  in  pain 
for  your  absence,  but  also  for  your  indisposition. 
I am  afraid  of  every  thing,  fancy  every  thing, 
and,  as  it  is  the  nature  of  man  in  fear,  I fancy 
those  things  most,  which  I am  most  afraid  of. 
Let  me,  therefore,  earnestly  desire  you  to  favour 
me,  under  these  my  apprehensions,  with  one 
letter  every  day,  or,  if  possible,  with  two ; for  I 
shall  be  a little  at  ease  while  I am  reading  your 
letters,  and  grow  anxious  again  as  soon  as  I 
have  read  them.’ 

SECOND  LETTER. 

‘ You  tell  me,  that  you  are  very  much  afflict- 
ed at  my  absence,  and  that  you  liave  no  satis, 
faction  in  any  thing  but  my  writings,  which 
you  often  lay  by  you  upon  my  pillow.  You 
oblige  me  very  much  in  wishing  to  see  me,  and 
making  me  your  comforter  in  my  absence.  In 
return,  I must  let  you  know,  I am  no  less  pleased 
with  the  letters  which  you  writ  to  me,  and  read 
them  over  a thousand  times  with  new  pleasure. 
If  your  letters  are  capable  of  giving  me  so  much 
pleasure,  what  would  your  conversation  do? 
Let  me  beg  of  you  to  write  to  me  often ; though, 
at  the  same  time,  I must  confess,  your  letters 
give  me  anguish  whilst  they  give  me  pleasure.’ 

THIRD  LETTER. 

‘It  is  impossible  to  conceive  how  much  I lan- 
guish for  you  in  your  absence ; the  tender  love 
I bear  you  is  the  chief  cause  of  this  my  uneasi- 
ness ; which  is  still  the  more  insupportable,  be- 
cause absence  is  wholly  a new  thing  to  us.  I 
lie  awake  most  part  of  the  night  in  thinking  of 
you,  and  several  times  of  the  day  go  as  natural- 
ly to  your  apartment  as  if  you  were  there  to  re- 
ceive me ; but  when  I miss  you,  I come  away 


274 


THE  TATLER. 


dejected,  out  of  humour,  and  like  a man  that  had 
suffered  a repulse.  There  is  but  one  part  of 
the  day  in  which  I am  relieved  from  this  anxi- 
ety,  and  that  is  when  I am  engaged  in  public 
affairs. 

‘You  may  guess  at  the  uneasy  condition  of 
one  who  has  no  rest  but  in  business,  no  conso- 
lation but  in  trouble.’ 

I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  a beautiful 
passage  out  of  Milton,  and  leave  it  as  a lecture 
to  those  of  my  own  sex,  who  have  a mind  to 
make  their  conversation  agreeable,  as  well  as 
instructive,  to  the  fair  partners  who  are  fallen 
into  their  care.  Eve  having  observed  that  Adam 
was  entering  into  some  deep  disquisitions  with 
the  angel,  who  was  sent  to  visit  him,  is  describ- 
ed as  retiring  from  their  company,  with  a de- 
sign of  learning  what  should  pass  there  from 
her  husband : — 

‘ So  spoke  our  sire,  and  by  his  count’nance  seemed 
Entering  on  studious  thoughts  abstruse,  which  Eve 
Perceiving  where  she  sat  retired  in  sight, 

With  lowliness  majestic,  from  her  seat 

Rose,  and  went  forth  among  her  fruits  and  flowers. 

Yet  went  site  not,  as  not  with  such  discourse 

Delighted,  or  not  capable  her  ear 

Of  what  was  high.  Such  pleasures  she  reserv’^d, 

Adam  relating,  she  sole  auditress  ; 

Her  husband  the  relater  she  preferred 

Before  the  angel,  and  of  him  to  ask 

Chose  rather.  He,  she  knew,  would  intermix 

Grateful  digressions,  and  solve  high  dispute 

With  conjugal  caresses ; from  his  lip 

Not  words  alone  pleased  her.  O ! when  meet  now 

Such  pairs,  in  love  and  mutual  honour  joined*' 


No.  150.]  Saturday,  March  25,  1710. 

Haec  sunt  jucundi  causa,  cibusque  mali.  Ovid. 

’Tis  this  that  causes  and  foments  the  evil, 

And  gives  a pleasure  mixt  with  pain — 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  March  24. 

I HAVE  received  the  following  letter  upon  the 
subject  of  my  last  paper.  The  writer  of  it  tells 
roe,  I there  spoke  of  marriage  as  one  that  knows 
it  only  by  speculation,  and  for  that  reason  he 
sends  me  his  sense  of  it,  as  drawn  from  experi- 
ence. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — ■!  have  received  your  pa- 
per of  this  day,  and  think  you  have  done  the 
nuptial  state  a great  deal  of  justice  in  the  au- 
thority you  give  us  of  Pliny,  whose  letters  to 
his  wife  you  have  there  translated.  But  give 
me  leave  to  tell  you,  that  it  is  impossible  for 
you  that  are  a bachelor,  to  have  so  just  a notion 
of  this  way  of  life,  as  to  touch  the  affections  of 
your  readers  in  a particular,  wherein  every 
man’s  own  heart  suggests  more  than  the  nicest 
observer  can  form  to  himself  without  experi- 
ence. I,  therefore,  who  am  an  old  married  man, 
have  sat  down  to  give  you  an  account  of  the 
matter  from  my  own  knowledge,  and  the  obser- 
vations which  I have  made  upon  the  conduct  of 
others  in  that  most  agreeable  or  wretched  con- 
dition. 

‘ It  is  very  commonly  observed,  that  the  most 


[No.  15a 

smart  pangs  which  we  meet  with,  are  in  the 
beginning  of  wedlock,  which  proceed  from  ig- 
norance of  each  other’s  humour,  and  want  of 
prudence  to  make  allowances  for  a change  from 
the  most  careful  respect,  to  the  most  unbounded 
familiarity.  Hence  it  arises,  that  trifles  are 
commonly  occasions  of  the  greatest  anxiety ; 
for  contradiction  being  a thing  wholly  unusual 
between  a new-married  couple,  the  smallest  in- 
stance of  it  is  taken  for  the  highest  injury  ; and 
it  very  seldom  happens,  that  the  man  is  slow 
enough  in  assuming  the  character  of  a husband, 
or  the  woman  quick  enough  in  condescending 
to  that  of  a wife.  It  immediately  follows,  that 
I they  think  they  have  all  the  time  of  their  court- 
ship been  talking  in  masks  to  each  other,  and 
j therefore  begin  to  act  like  disappointed  people. 
Philander  finds  Delia  ill-natured  and  imperti- 
nent, and  Delia,  Philander  surly  and  inconstant 

‘ I have  known  a fond  couple  quarrel  in  the 
very  honey-moon  about  cutting  up  a tart : nay, 
I could  name  two,  who,  after  having  had  seven 
children,  fell  out  and  parted  beds  upon  the  boil- 
ing of  a leg  of  mutton.  My  very  next  neigh- 
bours have  not  spoke  to  one  another  these  three 
days,  because  they  differed  in  their  opinions, 
whether  the  clock  should  stand  by  the  window, 
or  over  the  chimney.  It  may  seem  strange  to 
you,  who  are  not  a married  man,  when  I tell 
you  how  the  least  trifle  can  strike  a woman 
dumb  for  a week  together.  But,  if  you  ever 
enter  into  this  state,  you  will  find  that  the  soft 
sex  as  often  express  their  anger  by  an  obstinate 
silence,  as  by  an  ungovernable  clamour. 

‘ Those  indeed  who  begin  this  course  of  life 
without  jars  at  their  setting  out,  arrive  within 
few  months  at  a pitch  of  benevolence  and  affec- 
tion, of  which  the  most  perfect  friendship  is  but 
a faint  resemblance.  As  in  the  unfortunate 
marriage,  the  most  minute  and  indifferent  things 
are  objects  of  the  sharpest  resentment ; so  in  a 
happy  one,  they  are  occasions  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite satisfaction.  For,  what  does  not  oblige 
in  one  we  love  ? What  does  not  offend  in  one 
we  dislike?  For  these  reasons  I take  it  for  a 
rule,  that  in  marriage,  the  chief  business  is  to 
acquire  a prepossession  in  favour  of  each  other. 
They  should  consider  one  another’s  words  and 
actions  with  a secret  indulgence.  There  should 
be  always  an  inward  fondness  pleading  for  eaeh. 
other,  such  as  may  add  new  beauties  to  every- 
thing that  is  excellent,  give  charms  to  what  is 
indifferent,  and  cover  every  thing  that  is  defec- 
tive. For  want  of  this  kind  propensity  and  bias  of 
mind,  the  married  pair  often  take  things  ill  of 
each  other,  which  no  one  else  would  take  notice 
of  in  either  of  them. 

‘But  the  most  unhappy  circumstance  of  all  is, 
where  each  party  is  always  laying  up  fuel  for 
dissension,  and  gathering  together  a magazine 
of  provocations,  to  exasperate  each  other  with 
when  they  are  out  of  humour.  These  people, 
in  common  discourse,  make  no  scruple  to  let 
those  who  are  by,  know  they  are  quarrelling 
with  one  another ; and  think  they  are  discreet 
enough,  if  they  conceal  from  the  company  the 
matters  which  they  are  hinting  at.  About  a 
week  ago,  I was  entertained  for  a whole  dinner 
with  a mysterious  conversation  of  this  nature: 
out  of  whicli  I could  learn  no  more,  than  that 


No.  151.] 


THE  TATLER. 


275 


the  husband  and  wife  were  angry  at  one  ano- 
ther. We  had  no  sooner  sat  down,  but  says 
the  gentleman  of  the  house,  in  order  to  raise 
discourse,  “ I thought  Margarita*  sung  ex- 
tremely well  last  night.”  Upon  this,  says  the 
lady,  looking  as  pale  as  ashes,  “ I suppose  she 
had  cherry-coloured  ribbands  on.”  “ No,”  an- 
swered the  husband,  with  a flush  in  his  face,  “ but 
she  had  laced  shoes,"  I look  upon  it,  that  a 
stander-by  on  such  occasions  has  as  much  rea- 
son to  be  out  of  countenance  as  either  of  the 
combatants.  To  turn  off  my  confusion,  and 
seem  regardless  of  what  had  passed,  I desired 
the  servant  who  attended,  to  give  me  the  vine- 
gar, which  unluckily  created  a new  dialogue  of 
hints  ; for,  as  far  I could  gather  by  the  subse- 
quent discourse,  they  had  dissented  the  day  be- 
fore about  the  preference  of  elder  to  wine  vine- 
gar. In  the  midst  of  their  discourse,  there  ap- 
peared a dish  of  chicken  and  asparagus,  when 
the  husband  seemed  disposed  to  lay  aside  all 
disputes  ; and,  looking  upon  her  with  a great 
deal  of  good  nature,  said,  “ Pray,  my  dear,  will 
you  help  my  friend  to  a wing  of  the  fowl  that 
lies  next  you,  for  I think  it  looks  extremely 
well.”  The  lady,  instead  of  answering  him,  ad- 
dressing herself  to  mo,  “ Pray,  sir,”  said  she, 
“ do  you  in  Surry  reckon  the  white  or  the  black- 
legged fowls  the  best?”  I found  the  husband 
changed  colour  at  the  question ; and,  before  I 
could  answer,  asked  me,  “ Whether  we  did  not 
call  hops  broom  in  our  country  ?”  I quickly 
found  they  did  not  ask  questions  so  much  out  of 
curiosity  as  anger  : for  which  reason  I thought 
fit  to  keep  my  opinion  to  myself,  and,  as  an 
honest  man  ought  when  he  sees  two  friends  in 
warmth  with  each  other,  I took  the  first  oppor- 
tunity I could  to  leave  them  by  themselves. 

‘ You  see,  sir,  I have  laid  before  you  only 
small  incidents,  which  are  seemingly  frivolous : 
but  take  it  from  a man  very  well  experienced 
in  this  state,  they  are  principally  evils  of  this 
nature  which  make  marriages  unhappy.  At  the 
same  time,  that  I may  do  justice  to  this  excel- 
lent institution,  I must  own  to  you,  there  are 
unspeakable  pleasures  which  are  as  little  re- 
garded in  the  computation  of  the  advantages  of 
marriage,  as  the  others  are  in  the  usual  survey 
that  is  made  of  its  misfortunes. 

‘ Lovemore  and  his  wife  live  together  in  the 
happy  possession  of  each  other’s  hearts,  and,  by 
that  means,  have  no  indiflerent  moments,  but 
their  whole  life  is  one  continued  scene  of  de- 
light. Their  passion  for  each  other  communi- 
cates a certain  satisfaction,  like  that  which  they 
themselves  are  in,  to  all  that  approach  them. 
When  she  enters  the  place  where  he  is,  you  see 
a pleasure  which  he  cannot  conceal,  nor  he,  or 
any  one  else,  describe.  In  so  consummate  an 
affection,  the  very  presence  of  the  person  be- 
loved has  the  effect  of  the  most  agreeable  con- 
versation. Whether  they  have  matter  to  talk 
of  or  not,  they  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  society,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  freedom  of  solitude.  Their 


* Francesca  Margarita  de  I’Epine,  a native  of  Tus- 
cany. TJiis  celebrated  singer  performed  in  many  of  the 
earlier  Italian  operas  represented  in  England.  She 
and  Mrs.  Tofts  were  rivals  for  the  public  favour,  and  it 
seems  they  divided  prettv  equally  the  applause  of  the 
town. 


ordinary  life  is  to  be  preferred  to  the  happiest 
moments  of  other  lovers.  In  a word,  they  have 
each  of  them  great  merit,  live  in  the  esteem  of 
all  who  know  them,  and  seem  but  to  comply 
with  the  opinions  of  their  friends,  in  the  just 
value  they  have  for  each  other.’ 


No.  151.]  Tuesday,^  March  28,  1710. 

Ni  vis  boni 

In  ipsa  inesset  forma,  htec  formam  extinguerunt. 

Ter. 

These  things  would  extinguish  beauty,  if  there  were 
not  an  innate  pleasure-giving  energy  in  beauty  itself. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  March  27. 

When  artists  would  expose  their  diamonds  to 
an  advantage,  they  usually  set  them  to  show  in 
little  cases  of  black  velvet.  By  this  means  the 
jewels  appear  in  their  true  and  genuine  lustre, 
while  there  is  no  colour  that  can  infect  their 
brightness,  or  give  a false  cast  to  the  water. 
When  I was  at  the  opera  the  other  night,  the 
assembly  of  ladies  in  mourning  made  me  con- 
sider them  in  the  same  kind  of  view.  A dress 
wherein  there  is  so  little  variety  shows  the  face 
in  all  its  natural  charms,  and  makes  one  differ 
from  another  only  as  it  is  more  or  less  beautiful. 
Painters  are  ever  careful  of  offending  against  a 
rule  which  is  so  essential  in  all  just  representa- 
tions. The  chief  figure  must  have  the  strong- 
est point  of  light,  and  not  be  injured  by  any 
gay  colourings  that  may  draw  away  the  atten- 
tion to  any  less  considerable  part  of  the  picture. 
The  present  fashion  obliges  every  body  to  be 
dressed  with  propriety,  and  makes  the  ladies’ 
faces  the  principal  objects  of  sight.  Every 
beautiful  person  shines  out  in  all  the  excellence 
with  which  nature  has  adorned  her;  gaudy  rib- 
bands and  glaring  colours  being  now  out  of 
use,  the  sex  has  no  opportunity  given  them  to 
disfigure  themselves,  which  they  seldom  fail  to 
do  whenever  it  lies  in  their  power.  When  a 
woman  comes  to  her  glass,  she  does  not  employ 
her  time  in  making  herself  look  more  advan- 
tageously than  what  she  really  is ; but  endea- 
vours to  be  as  much  another  creature  as  she 
possibly  can.  Whether  this  happens  because 
they  stay  so  long,  and  attend  their  work  so  dili- 
gently,  that  they  forget  the  faces  and  persons 
which  they  first  sat  down  with,  or,  whatever  it 
is,  they  seldom  rise  from  the  toilet  the  same 
women  they  appeared  when  they  began  to  dress. 
What  jewel  can  the  charming  Cleora  place  in 
her  ears  that  can  please  her  beholders  so  much 
as  her  eyes?  The  cluster  of  diamonds  upon  the 
breast  can  add  no  beauty  to  the  fair  chest  of 
ivory  which  supports  it.  It  may  indeed  tempt 
a man  to  steal  a woman,  but  never  to  love  her. 
Let  Thalestris  change  herself  into  a motely 
party-coloured  animal:  the  pearl  necklace,  the 
flowered  stomacher,  the  artificial  nosegay,  and 
shaded  furbelow,,  may  be  of  use  to  attract  the 
eye  of  the  beholder,  and  turn  it  from  the  imper- 
fections of  her  features  and  shape.  But  if  ladies 
will  take  my  word  for  it,  (and  as  they  dress  to 
please  men,  they  ought  to  consult  our  fancy 
rather  than  their  own  in  this  particular,)  I can 


276 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  152. 


assure  them,  there  is  nothing  touches  our  ima- 
gination so  much  as  a beautiful  woman  in  a 
plain  dress.  There  might  be  more  agreeable 
ornaments  found  in  our  own  manufacture,  than 
any  that  rise  out  of  the  looms  of  Persia. 

This,  I know,  is  a very  harsh  doctrine  to 
womankind,  who  are  carried  away  with  every 
thing  that  is  showy,  and  with  what  delights  the 
eye,  more  than  any  other  species  of  living 
creatures  whatsoever.  Were  the  minds  of  the 
sex  laid  open,  we  should  find  the  chief  idea  in 
one  to  be  a tippet,  in  another  a muff,  in  a third 
a fan,  and  in  a fourth  a fardingal.  The  me- 
mory of  an  old  visiting  lady  is  so  filled  with 
gloves,  silks,  and  ribbands,  that  I can  look  upon 
it  as  nothing  else  but  a toy-shop.  A matron 
of  my  acquaintance,  complaining  of  her  daugh- 
ter’s vanity,  was  observing,  that  she  had  all  of 
a sudden  held  up  her  head  higher  than  ordinary, 
and  taken  an  air  that  showed  a secret  satisfac- 
tion in  herself,  mixed  with  a scorn  of  others. 
‘ I did  not  know,’  says  my  friend,  ‘ what  to 
make  of  the  carriage  of  this  fantastical  girl, 
until  I was  informed  by  her  eldest  sister,  that 
she  had  a pair  of  striped  garters  on.’  This  odd 
turn  of  mind  often  makes  the  sex  unhappy,  and 
disposes  them  to  be  struck  with  every  thing 
that  makes  a show,  however  trifling  and  super- 
ficial. 

Many  a lady  has  fetched  a sigh  at  the  toss 
of  a wig,  and  been  ruined  by  the  tapping  of  a 
snuff-box.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  all  the 
execution  that  was  done  by  the  shoulder-knot, 
while  that  fashion  prevailed,  or  to  reckon  up 
all  the  virgins  that  have  fallen  a sacrifice  to  a 
pair  of  fringed  gloves.  A sincere  heart  has 
not  made  half  so  many  conquests  as  an  open 
waistcoat ; and  I should  be  glad  to  see  an  able 
head  make  so  good  a figure  in  a woman’s  com- 
pany as  a pair  of  red  heels.  A Grecian  hero, 
when  he  was  asked  whether  he  could  play  upon 
the  lute,  thought  he  had  made  a very  good  reply, 
when  he  answered,  ‘ No ; but  1 can  make  a 
great  city  of  a little  one.’  Notwithstanding 
his  boasted  wisdom,  I appeal  to  the  heart  of  any 
toast  in  town,  whether  she  would  not  think  the 
Zwtenist  preferable  to  the  statesman?  I do  not 
speak  this  out  of  any  aversion  that  I have  to 
the  sex  ; on  the  contrary,  I have  always  had  a 
tenderness  for  them ; but,  I must  confess,  it 
troubles  me  very  much,  to  see  the  generality  of 
them  place  their  affections  on  improper  objects, 
and  give  up  all  the  pleasures  of  life  for  gew- 
gaws and  trifles. 

Mrs.  Margery  Bickerstaff,  my  great  aunt, 
had  a thousand  pounds  to  her  portion,  which 
our  family  was  desirous  of  keeping  among 
themselves,  and  therefore  used  all  possible 
means  to  turn  off  her  thoughts  from  marriage. 
The  method  they  took  was,  in  any  time  of  dan- 
ger, to  throw  a new  gown  or  petticoat  in  her 
way.  When  she  was  about  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  she  fell  in  love  with  a man  of  an  agree- 
able temper  and  equal  fortune,  and  would  cer- 
tainly have  married  him,  had  not  my  grand- 
father, sir  Jacob,  dressed  her  up  in  a suit  of 
flowered  sattin ; upon  which  she  set  so  immo- 
derate a value  upon  herself,  that  the  lover  was 
contemned  and  discarded.  In  the  fortieth  year 
of  her  age,  she  was  again  smitten  ; but  very 


luckily  transferred  her  passion  to  a tippet, 
which  was  presented  to  her  by  another  relation 
who  was  in  tlie  plot.  This,  with  a white  sarsenet 
hood,  kept  her  safe  in  the  family  until  fifty. 
About  sixty,  which  generally  produces  a kind 
of  latter  spring  in  amorous  constitutions,  my 
aunt  Margery  had  again  a colt’s  tooth  in  her 
head  ; and  w’ould  certainly  have  eloped  from  the 
mansion-house,  had  not  her  brother  Simon,  who 
was  a wise  man  and  a scholar,  advised  to  dress 
her  in  cherry -coloured  ribbands,  which  was  the 
only  expedient  that  could  have  been  found  out 
I by  the  wit  of  man  to  preserve  the  thousand 
j pounds  in  our  family,  part  of  which  I enjoy  at 
this  time. 

This  discourse  puts  me  in  mind  of  a hu- 
! morist  mentioned  by  Horace,  called  Eutrapelus, 
I who,  when  he  designed  to  do  a man  a mischief, 

I made  him  a present  of  a gay  suit ; and  brings 
! to  my  memory  another  passage  of  the  same 
j author,  when  he  describes  the  most  ornamental 
dress  that  a woman  can  appear  in,  with  two 
words,  simplex  munditiis,  whicli  I have  quoted 
for  the  benefit  of  my  female  readers. 


I No.  152.]  Thursday,  March  30,  1710. 

I I)ii,  qnibns  iinperiuin  est  animarum,  iimbraeque  silentes, 
Et  Chaos,  et  Plilegetlion,  loca  node  silentia  late, 
i Pit  milii  fas  audita  loqui ; sit  nuinine  vestro 
Pamleie  res  alta  terra  et  caligine  inersas. 

I Firg.  ^En.  vi.  2C4. 

' Infernal  gods,  who  rule  the  shades  below. 

Chaos  and  Phlegethon,  the  realms  of  woe ; 

Grant  what  Pve  heard  I may  to  light  expose, 

Sedets  which  earth,  and  night,  and  hell  inclose ! Pitt. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  March  29. 

A MAX  who  confines  his  speculations  to  the 
time  present,  has  but  a very  narrow”^  province 
to  employ  his  thoughts  in.  For  this  reason, 
persons  of  studious  and  contemplative  natures 
; often  entertain  themselves  w’ith  the  history  of 
past  ages,  or  raise  schemes  and  conjectures 
upon  futurity.  For  my  own  part,  I love  to 
range  through  that  half  of  eternity  which  is 
still  to  come,  rather  than  look  on  that  which  is 
! already  run  out ; because  I know  I have  a real 
I share  and  interest  in  the  one,  whereas  all  that 
was  transacted  in  the  other  can  be  only  matter 
of  curiosity  to  me. 

Upon  this  account,  I have  been  always  very 
much  delighted  with  meditating  on  the  soul’s 
immortality,  and  in  reading  the  several  notions 
w'hich  the  wisest  of  men,  both  ancient  and  mo- 
dern, have  entertained  on  that  subject.  What 
the  opinions  of  the  greatest  philosophers  have 
been,  I have  several  times  hinted  at,  and  shall 
give  an  account  of  them  from  time  to  time  as 
occasion  requires.  It  may  likewise  be  w’orth 
while  to  consider,  what  men  of  the  most  exalted 
genius  and  elevated  imagination  have  thought 
of  this  matter.  Among  these,  Homer  stands 
up  as  a prodigy  of  mankind,  that  looks  down 
upon  the  rest  of  human  creatures  as  a species 
beneath  him.  Since  he  is  the  most  ancient 
heathen  author,  we  may  guess  from  his  relation, 
what  were  the  common  opinions  in  his  time 
concerning  the  state  of  the  soul  after  death. 


No.  152.] 


THE  TATLER. 


277 


Ulysses,  he  tells  us,  made  a voya^ro  to  the 
regions  of  the  dead,  in  order  to  consult  Tiresias 
how  he  should  return  to  his  own  country,  and 
recommend  himself  to  the  favour  of  the  gods. 
The  poet  scarcely  introduces  a single  person, 
who  doth  not  suggest  some  useful  precept  to 
his  reader,  and  designs  his  description  of  the 
dead  for  the  amendment  of  the  living. 

Ulysses,  after  having  made  a very  plenteous 
sacrifice,  sat  him  down  by  the  pool  of  holy 
blood,  which  attracted  a prodigious  assembly 
of  ghosts  of  all  ages  and  conditions,  that  ho- 
vered about  the  hero,  and  feasted  upon  the 
streams  of  his  oblation.  The  first  he  knew  was 
the  shade  of  Elpenor,  who,  to  show  the  activity 
of  a spirit  above  that  of  body,  is  represented  as 
arrived  there  long  before  Ulysses,  notwithstand- 
ing the  winds  and  seas  had  contributed  all 
their  force  to  hasten  his  voyage  thither.  This 
Elpenor,  to  inspire  the  reader  with  a detestation 
of  drunkenness,  and  at  the  same  time  with  a 
religious  care  of  doing  proper  honours  to  the 
dead,  describes  himself  as  having  broken  his 
neck  in  a debauch  of  wine  ; and  begs  Ulysses, 
that  for  the  repose  of  his  soul,  he  would  build  a 
monument  over  him,  and  perform  funeral  rites 
to  his  memory.  Ulysses,  with  great  sorrow  of 
heart,  promises  to  fulfil  his  request,  and  is  im- 
mediately diverted  to  an  object  much  more 
moving  than  the  former.  The  ghost  of  his 
own  mother,  Anticlea,  whom  he  still  thouglit 
living,  appears  to  him  among  the  multitudes  of 
shades  that  surrounded  him,  and  sits  down  at  a 
small  distance  from  him  by  the  lake  of  blood, 
without  speaking  to  him,  or  knowing  who  he 
was.  Ulysses  was  exceedingly  troubled  at  the 
sight,  and  could  not  forbear  weeping  as  he 
looked  upon  her ; but  being  all  along  set  forth 
as  a pattern  of  consummate  wisdom,  he  makes 
his  affection  give  way  to  prudence  ; and  there- 
fore, upon  his  seeing  Tiresias,  does  not  reveal 
himself  to  his  mother,  until  he  had  consulted 
that  great  prophet,  who  was  the  occasion  of  this 
his  descent  into  the  empire  of  the  dead.  Tiresias 
having  cautioned  him  to  keep  himself  and  his 
companions  free  from  the  guilt  of  sacrilege,  and 
to  pay  his  devotions  to  all  the  gods,  promises 
him  a safe  return  to  his  kingdom  and  family, 
and  a happy  old  age  in  the  enjoyment  of  them. 

The  poet,  having  thus  with  great  art  kept 
the  curiosity  of  his  reader  in  suspense,  repre- 
sents his  wise  man,  after  the  despatch  of  his 
business  with  Tiresias,  as  yielding  himself  up 
to  the  calls  of  natural  affection,  and  making 
himself  known  to  his  mother.  Her  eyes  are 
no  sooner  opened,  but  she  cries  out  in  tears, 

‘ Oh  my  son  !’  and  inquires  into  the  occasions 
that  brought  him  thither,  and  the  fortune  that 
attended  him. 

Ulysses,  on  the  other  hand,  desires  to  know 
what  the  sickness  was  that  had  sent  her  into 
those  regions,  and  the  condition  in  which  she 
had  left  his  father,  his  son,  and  more  particu- 
larly his  wife.  She  tells  him,  ‘ they  were  all 
three  inconsolable  for  his  absence.  As  for  my- 
self,’ says  she,  ‘that  was  the  sickness  of  which 
I died.  My  impatience  for  your  return,  my 
anxiety  for  your  welfare,  and  my  fondness  for 
my  dear  Ulysses,  were  the  only  distempers 
that  preyed  upon  my  life,  and  separated  my 


soul  from  my  body.’  Ulysses  was  melted  with 
these  expressions  of  tenderness,  and  thrice  en- 
deavoured to  catch  the  apparition  in  his  arms, 
that  he  might  hold  his  mother  to  his  bosom, 
and  weep  over  her. 

This  gives  the  poet  occasion  to  describe  the 
notion  the  heathens  at  that  time  had  of  an  un- 
bodied  soul,  in  the  excuse  which  the  mother 
makes  for  seeming  to  withdraw  herself  from 
her  son’s  embraces.  ‘ The  soul,’  says  she,  ‘ is 
composed  neither  of  bones,  flesh,  nor  sinews ; 
but  leaves  behind  her  all  those  encumbrances 
of  mortality  to  be  consumed  on  the  funeral  pile. 
As  soon  as  she  has  thus  cast  her  burden,  she 
makes  her  escape,  and  flies  away  from  it  like 
a dream.’ 

When  this  melancholy  conversation  is  at  an 
end,  the  poet  draws  up  to  view  as  charming  a 
vision  as  could  enter  into  man’s  imagination. 
He  describes  the  next  who  appeared  to  Ulysses, 
to  have  been  the  shades  of  the  finest  women 
that  had  ever  lived  upon  the  earth,  and  who 
had  either  been  the  daughters  of  kings,  the 
mistresses  of  gods,  or  mothers  of  heroes ; such 
as  Antiope,  Alcmena,  Leda,  Ariadne,  Iphime- 
dia,  Eriphyle,  and  several  others,  of  whom  he 
gives  a catalogue,  with  a short  history  of  their 
adventures.  The  beautiful  assembly  of  appa- 
ritions were  all  gathered  together  about  the 
blood.  ‘ Eacli  of  them,’  says  Ulysses,  as  a 
gentle  satire  upon  female  vanity,  ‘ giving  me 
an  account  of  her  birth  and  family.’  This 
scene  of  extraordinary  women,  seems  to  have 
been  designed  by  the  poet  as  a lecture  of  mor- 
tality to  the  whole  sex,  and  to  put  them  in 
mind  of  what  they  must  expect,  notwithstanding 
the  greatest  perfections,  and  highest  honours, 
they  can  arrive  at. 

The  circle  of  beauties  at  length  disappeared, 
and  was  succeeded  by  the  shades  of  several 
Grecian  heroes,  who  had  been  engaged  with 
Ulysses  in  the  siege  of  Troy.  The  first  that 
approached  was  Agamemnon,  the  generalissimo 
of  that  great  expedition,  who,  at  the  appearance 
of  his  old  friend,  wept  very  bitterly,  and,  without 
saying  any  thing  to  him,  endeavoured  to  grasp 
him  by  the  hand.  Ulysses,  who  was  much 
moved  at  the  sight,  poured  out  a flood  of  tears, 
and  asked  him  the  occasion  of  his  death,  which 
Agamemnon  related  to  him  in  all  its  tragical 
circumstances  ; how  he  was  murdered  at  a 
banquet  by  the  contrivance  of  his  own  wife,  in 
confederacy  with  her  adulterer  : from  whence 
he  takes  occasion  to  reproach  the  whole  sex, 
after  a manner  which  would  be  inexcusable  in 
a jnan  who  had  not  been  so  great  a sufferer  by 
them.  ‘ My  wife,’  says  he,  ‘ has  disgraced  all 
the  women  that  shall  ever  be  born  into  the  world, 
even  those  who  hereafter  shall  be  innocent. 
Take  care  how  you  grow  too  fond  of  your  wife. 
Never  tell  her  all  you  know.  If  you  reveal 
some  things  to  her,  be  sure  you  keep  others 
concealed  from  her.  You,  indeed,  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  your  Penelope,  she  will  not  use  you 
as  my  wife  has  treated  me  ; however,  take  care 
how  you  trust  a woman.’  The  poet,  in  this 
and  other  instances,  according  to  the  system  of 
many  heathen  as  well  as  Christian  philosophers, 
shows  how  anger,  revenge,  and  other  habits 
which  the  soul  had  contracted  in  the  body, 
24 


278 


THE  TATLER. 


subsist,  and  grow  in  it  under  its  state  of  sepa- 
ration. 

I am  extremely  pleased  with  the  companions 
which  the  poet  in  the  next  description  assigns 
to  Achilles.  ‘ Achilles,’  says  the  hero,  ‘ came 
up  to  me  with  Patroclus  and  Antilochus.’  By 
which  we  may  see  that  it  was  Homer’s  opinion, 
and  probably  that  of  the  age  he  lived  in,  that 
the  friendships  which  are  made  among  the 
living,  will  likewise  continue  among  the  dead. 
Achilles  inquires  after  the  welfare  of  his  son, 
and  of  his  father,  with  a fierceness  of  the  same 
character  that  Homer  has  every  where  express- 
ed in  the  actions  of  his  life.  The  passage  rela- 
ting to  his  son  is  so  extremely  beautiful,  that  I 
must  not  omit  it.  Ulysses,  after  having  describ- 
ed him  as  wise  in  council,  and  active  in  war,  and 
mentioned  the  foes  whom  he  had  slain  in  battle, 
adds  an  observation  that  he  himself  had  made 
of  his  behaviour,  whilst  he  lay  in  the  wooden 
horse.  ‘ Most  of  the  generals,’  says  he,  ‘ that 
were  with  us,  either  wept  or  trembled  ; as  for 
your  son,  I never  saw  him  wipe  a tear  from  his 
cheeks,  or  change  his  countenance.  On  the 
contrary,  he  would  often  lay  his  hand  upon  his 
sword,  or  grasp  his  spear,  as  impatient  to  em- 
ploy them  against  the  Trojans.’  He  then  in- 
forms his  father  of  the  great  honour  and  rewards 
which  he  had  purchased  before  Troy,  and  of  his 
return  from  it  without  a wound.  ‘ The  shade 
of  Achilles,’  says  the  poet,  was  so  pleased  with 
the  account  he  received  of  his  son,  that  he  in- 
quired no  further,  but  stalked  away  with  more 
than  ordinary  majesty  over  the  green  meadow 
that  lay  before  them.’ 

This  last  circumstance,  of  a deceased  father’s 
rejoicing  in  the  behaviour  of  his  son,  is  very 
finely  contrived  by  Homer,  as  an  incentive  to 
virtue,  and  made  use  of  by  none  that  I know 
besides  himself. 

The  description  of  Ajax,  which  follows,  and 
his  refusing  to  speak  to  Ulysses,  who  had  won 
the  armour  of  Achilles  from  him,  and  by  that 
means  occasioned  his  death,  is  admired  by  every 
one  that  reads  it.  When  Ulysses  relates  the 
sullenness  of  his  deportment,  and  considers  the 
greatness  of  the  hero,  he  expresses  himself  with 
generous  and  noble  sentiments.  ‘ Oh  ! that  I 
had  never  gained  a prize  which  cost  the  life  of 
so  brave  a man  as  Ajax  ! who,  for  the  beauty 
of  his  person,  and  greatness  of  his  actions,  was 
inferior  to  none  but  the  divine  Achilles.’  The 
same  noble  condescension,  which  never  dwells 
but  in  truly  great  minds,  and  such  as  Homer 
would  represent  that  of  Ulysses  to  have  been, 
discovers  itself  likewise  in  the  speech  which  he 
made  to  the  ghost  of  Ajax  on  that  occasion. 

‘ Oh,  Ajax  !’  says  he,  ‘ will  you  keep  your  re- 
sentments even  after  death  ? What  destructions 
hath  this  fatal  armour  brought  upon  the  Greeks, 
by  robbing  them  of  you,  who  were  their  bul- 
wark and  defence?  Achilles  is  not  more  bit- 
terly lamented  among  us  than  you.  Impute  not 
then  your  death  to  any  one  but  Jupiter,  who, 
out  of  his  anger  to  the  Greeks,  took  you  away 
from  among  them:  let  me  entreat  you  to  ap- 
proaeh  me  ; restrain  the  fierceness  of  your 
wrath,  and  the  greatness  of  your  soul,  and  hear 
what  I have  to  say  to  you.’  Ajax,  without  ma- 


[No.  153. 

king  a reply,  turned  his  back  upon  him,  and 
retired  into  a crowd  of  ghosts. 

Ulysses,  after  all  these  visions,  took  a view 
of  those  impious  wretches  who  lay  in  tortures 
for  the  crimes  they  had  committed  upon  the 
earth,  whom  he  describes  under  all  the  varieties 
of  pain,  as  so  many  marks  of  divine  vengeance, 
to  deter  others  from  following  their  example. 
He  then  tells  us,  that  notwithstanding  he  had 
a great  curiosity  to  see  the  heroes  that  lived 
in  the  ages  before  him,  the  ghosts  began  to 
gather  about  him  in  such  prodigious  multitudes, 
and  with  such  a confusion  of  voices,  that  his 
heart  trembled  as  he  saw  himself  amidst  so 
great  a scene  of  horrors.  He  adds,  that  he  was 
afraid  lest  some  hideous  spectre  should  appear 
to  him,  that  might  terrify  him  to  distraction  ; 
and  therefore  withdrew  in  time. 

I question  not  but* my  reader  will  be  pleased 
with  this  description  of  a future  state,  repre- 
sented by  such  a noble  and  fruitful  imagination, 
that  had  nothing  to  direct  it  besides  the  light  of 
nature,  and  the  opinions  of  a dark  and  ignorant 
age. 


No.  153.]  Saturday,  April  1,  1710. 

Bombalio,  clangor,  stridor,  taratantara,  murmur. 

Farn.  Rhet. 

Rend  with  tremendous  sounds  your  ears  asunder, 

With  gun,  drum,  trumpet,  blunderbuss,  and  thunder. 

Pope. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  March  31. 

I HAVE  heard  of  a very  valuable  picture, 
wherein  all  the  painters  of  the  age  in  which  it 
was  drawn,  are  represented  sitting  together  in  a 
circle,  and  joining  in  a consort  of  music.  Each 
of  them  plays  upon  • such  a particular  instru- 
ment as  is  the  most  suited  to  his  character,  and 
expresses  that  style  and  manner  of  painting 
wl’.ich  is  peculiar  to  him.  The  famous  cupola- 
painter  of  those  times,  to  show  the  grandeur 
and  boldness  of  his  figures,  hath  a horn  in  his 
mouth,  which  he  seems  to  wind  with  great 
strength  and  force.  On  the  contrary,  an  emi- 
nent artist,  who  wrought  up  his  pictures  witli 
the  greatest  accuracy,  and  gave  them  all  those 
delicate  touches  which  are  apt  to  please  the 
nicest  eye,  is  represented  as  tuning  a theorbo. 
The  same  kind  of  humour  runs  through  the 
whole  piece. 

I have  often,  from  this  hint,  imagined  to  my- 
self, that  different  talents  in  discourse  might  be 
shadowed  out  after  the  same  manner  by  different 
kinds  of  music  ; and  that  the  several  conversa- 
ble  parts  of  mankind  in  this  great  city,  might 
be  cast  into  proper  characters  and  divisions,  as 
they  resemble  several  instruments  that  are  in 
use  among  the  masters  of  harmony.  Of  these 
therefore  in  their  order  ; and  first,  of  the  Drum. 

Your  Drums  are  the  blusterers  in  conversa- 
tion, that,  with  a loud  laugh,  unnatural  mirth, 
and  a torrent  of  noise,  domineer  in  public  a^ 
semblies  ; overbear  men  of  sense  ; stun  their 
companions  ; and  fill  the  place  they  are  in  with 
a rattling  sound,  that  hath  seldom  any  wit,  hu- 
mour, or  good  breeding  in  it.  The  Drum,  not- 
withstanding, by  this  boisterous  vivacity,  is  very 


No.  153.] 


THE  TATLER. 


270 


proper  to  impose  upon  the  ignorant ; and  in  con- 
versation with  ladies  who  are  not  of  the  finest 
taste,  often  passes  for  a man  of  mirth  and  wit, 
and  for  wonderful  pleasant  company.  I need 
not  observe,  that  the  emptiness  of  the  Drum 
very  much  contributes  to  its  noise. 

The  Lute  is  a character  directly  opposite  to 
the  Drum,  that  sounds  very  finely  by  itself,  or 
in  a very  small  consort.  Its  notes  are  exqui- 
sitely sweet,  and  very  low,  easily  drowned  in  a 
multitude  of  instruments,  and  even  lost  among 
a few,  unless  you  give  a particular  attention  to 
it.  A Lute  is  seldom  heard  in  a company  of 
more  than  five,  whereas  a Drum  will  show  itself 
to  advantage  in  an  assembly  of  five  hundred. 
The  Lutenists,  therefore,  are  men  of  a fine 
genius,  uncommon  reflection,  great  affability, 
and  esteemed  chiefly  by  persons  of  a good  taste, 
who  are  the  only  proper  judges  of  so  delightful 
and  soft  a melody. 

The  Trumpet  is  an  instrument  that  has  in  it 
no  compass  of  music,  or  variety  of  sound,  but 
is  notwithstanding  very  agreeable,  so  long  as  it 
keeps  within  its  pitch.  It  has  not  above  four  or 
five  notes,  which  are  Jmwever  very  pleasing, 
and  capable  of  exquisite  turns  and  modulations. 
The  gentlemen  who  fall  under  this  denomina- 
tion, are  your  men  of  the  most  fashionable  edu- 
cation, and  refined  breeding,  who  have  learned 
a certain  smoothness  of  discourse,  and  spright- 
liness of  air,  from  the  polite  company  they  have 
kept ; but,  at  the  same  time,  have  shallow  parts, 
weak  judgments,  and  a short  reach  of  under- 
standing. A play-house,  a drawing-room,  a ball, 
a visiting-day,  or  a ring  at  Hyde-park,  are  the 
few  notes  they  are  masters  of,  which  they  touch 
upon  in  all  conversations.  The  Trumpet,  how- 
ever, is  a necessary  instrument  about  a court, 
and  a proper  enlivener  of  a consort,  though  of 
no  great  harmony  by  itself. 

Violins  are  the  lively,  forward,  importunate 
wits,  that  distinguish  themselves  by  the  flou- 
rishes of  imagination,  sharpness  of  repartee, 
glances  of  satire,  and  bear  away  the  upper  part 
in  every  consort.  I cannot  however  but  observe, 
that  when  a man  is  not  disposed  to  hear  music, 
there  is  not  a more  disagreeable  sound  in  har- 
mony than  that  of  a Violin. 

There  is  another  musical  instrument,  which 
is  more  frequent  in  this  nation  than  any  other ; 
I mean  your  Bass-viol,  which  grumbles  in  the 
bottom  of  the  consort,  and  with  a surly  mascu- 
line sound  strengthens  the  harmony,  and  tem- 
pers the  sweetness  of  the  several  instruments 
that  play  along  with  it.  The  Bass-viol  is  an  in- 
strument of  a quite  different  nature  to  the  Trum- 
pet, and  may  signify  men  of  rough  sense  and 
unpolished  parts  ; who  do  not  love  to  hear  them- 
selves talk,  but  sometimes  break  out  with  an 
agreeable  bluntness,  unexpected  wit,  and  surly 
pleasantries,  to  the  no  small  diversion  of  their 
friends  and  companions.  In  short,  I look  upon 
every  sensible  true-born  Briton,  to  be  naturally 
a Bass-viol. 

As  for  your  rural  wits,  who  talk  with  great 
eloquence  and  alacrity  of  foxes,  hounds,  horses, 
quickset  hedges,  and  six-bar-gates,  double  ditch- 
es, and  broken  necks,  I am  in  doubt,  whether  I 
should  give  them  a place  in  the  conversable 
world.  However,  if  they  will  content  them- 


selves with  being  raised  to  the  dignity  of  Hunt- 
ing-horns, I shall  desire  for  the  future  that  they 
may  be  known  by  that  name. 

I must  not  here  omit  the  Bagpipe  species, 
that  will  entertain  you  from  morning  to  night 
with  the  repetition  of  a few  notes,  which  are 
played  over  and  over,  with  the  perpetual  hum- 
ming of  a drone  running  underneath  them. 
These  are  your  dull,  heavy,  tedious,  story  tellers, 
the  load  and  burden  of  conversations,  that  set 
up  for  men  of  importance  by  knowing  secret 
history,  and  giving  an  account  of  transactions, 
that,  whether  they  ever  passed  in  the  world  or 
not,  doth  not  signify  a halfpenny  to  its  instruc- 
tion, or  its  welfare.  Some  have  observed,  that 
the  northern  parts  of  this  island  are  more  par- 
ticularly fruitful  in  Bagpipes. 

There  are  so  very  few  persons  who  are  mas- 
ters in  every  kind  of  conversation,  and  can  talk 
on  all  subjects,  that  I do  not  know  whether  we 
should  make  a distinct  species  of  them.  Never- 
theless, that  my  scheme  may  not  be  defective, 
for  the  sake  of  those  few  who  are  endowed  with 
such  extraordinary  talents,  I shall  allow  them 
to  be  Harpsichords,  a kind  of  music  which  every 
one  knows  is  a consort  by  itself. 

As  for  your  Passing-bells,  who  look  upon 
mirth  as  criminal,  and  talk  of  nothing  but  what 
is  melancholy  in  itself,  and  mortifying  to  human 
nature,  I shall  not  mention  them. 

I shall  likewise  pass  over  in  silence  all  the 
rabble  of  mankind,  that  crowd  our  streets,  coffee- 
houses, feasts,  and  public  tables.  I cannot  call 
their  discourse  conversation,  but  rather  some- 
thing that  is  practised  in  imitation  of  it.  For 
which  reason,  if  I would  describe  them  by  any 
musical  instrument,  it  should  be  by  those  mo- 
dern inventions  of  the  bladder  and  string,  tongs 
and  key,  marrow-bone  and  clever. 

My  reader  will  doubtless  observe,  that  I have 
only  touched  here  upon  male  instruments, 
having  reserved  my  female  consort  to  another 
occasion.  If  he  has  a mind  to  know  where 
these  several  characters  are  to  be  met  with,  I 
could  direct  him  to  a whole  club  of  Drums;  not 
to  mention  another  of  Bagpipes,  which  I have 
before  given  some  account  of  in  my  description 
of  our  nightly  meetings  in  Sheer-lane.  The 
Lutes  may  often  be  met  with  in  couples  upon 
the  banks  of  a crystal  stream,  or  in  the  retreats 
of  shady  woods,  and  ffowery  meadows ; which, 
for  different  reasons,  are  likewise  the  great 
resort  of  your  Hunting-horns.  Bass-viols-  are 
frequently  to  be  found  over  a glass  of  stale-beer, 
and  a pipe  of  tobacco ; whereas  those  who  set 
up  for  Violins,  seldom  fail  to  make  their  appear- 
ance at  Will’s  once  every  evening.  You  may 
meet  with  a Trumpet  any  where  on  the  other 
side  of  Charing-cross. 

That  we  may  draw  something  for  our  ad- 
vantage in  life  out  of  the  foregoing  discourse, 
I must  entreat  my  reader  to  make  a narrow 
search  into  his  life  and  conversation,  and,  upon 
his  leaving  any  company,  to  examine  himself 
seriously  whether  he  has  behaved  himself  in 
it  like  a Drum  or  a Trumpet,  a Violin  or  a 
Bass-viol ; and  accordingly  endeavour  to  mend 
his  music  for  the  future.  For  my  own  part,  I 
must  confess,  I was  a Drum  for  many  years ; 
nay,  and  a very  noisy  one,  until,  having  polished 


280 


THE  TATLER. 


mjself  a little  in  good  company,  I threw  as 
much  of  the  Trumpet  into  my  conversation, 
as  was  possible  for  a man  of  an  impetuous  tem- 
per ; by  which  mixture  of  different  musics  I look 
upon  myself,  during  the  course  of  many  years, 
to  have  resembled  a Tabor  and  Pipe.  I have 
since  very  much  endeavoured  at  the  sweetness 
of  the  Lute  ; but,  in  spite  of  all  my  resolutions, 
I must  confess,  with  great  confusion,  that  I 
find  myself  dailj’^  degenerating  into  a Bagpipe  ; 
whether  it  be  the  effect  of  m}’'  old  age,  or  of  the 
company  I keep,  I know  not.  All  that  I can 
do,  is  to  keep  a watch  over  my  conversation, 
and  to  silence  the  Drone  as  soon  as  I find  it 
begin  to  hum  in  my  discourse,  being  determined 
rather  to  hear  the  notes  of  others,  than  to  play 
out  of  time,  and  encroach  upon  their  parts  in 
the  consort  by  the  noise  of  so  tiresome  an  in- 
strument. 

I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  a letter 
which  I received  last  night  from  a friend  of 
mine,  W'ho  knows  very  well  my  notions  upon 
this  subject,  and  invites  me  to  pass  the  evening 
at  his  house,  with  a select  company  of  friends, 
in  the  following  words  : 

‘ Dear  Isaac, — I intend  to  have  a consort  at 
my  house  this  evening,  having  by  great  chance 
got  a Harpsichord,  which  I am  sure  will  enter- 
tain you  very  agreeably.  There  will  be  like- 
wise two  Lutes  and  a Trumpet : let  me  beg  you 
to  put  yourself  .in  tune  ; and  believe  me  your 
very  faithful  servant, 

‘ NICHOLAS  HUMDRUM.’* 


No.  154.]  Tuesday,  April  4,  1710. 

Obscuris  vera  involvens.  ^irg.  vi.  100. 

Involving  truth  in  terms  obscure. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  3. 

W E have  already  examined  Homer’s  descrip- 
tion of  a future  state,  and  the  condition  in 
which  he  hath  placed  the  souls  of  the  deceased. 
I shall,  in  this- paper,  make  some  observations 
on  the  account  which  Virgil  hath  given  us  of 
the  same  subject,  who,  besides  a greatness  of 
genius,  had  all  the  lights  of  philosophy  and 
human  learning  to  assist  and  guide  him  in  his 
discoveries. 

jEneas  is  represented  as  descending  into  the 
empire  of  death,  with  a prophetess  by  his  side, 
who  instructs  him  in  the  secrets  of  those  lower 
regions. 

Upon  tlie  confines  of  the  dead,  and  before  the 
very  gates  of  this  infernal  world,  Virgil  describes 
several  inhabitants,  whose  natures  are  wonder- 
fully suited  to  the  situation  of  the  place,  as 
being  either  the  occasions  or  resemblances  of 
death.  Of  the  first  kind  are  the  shadows  of 
Sickness,  Old  Age,  Fear,  Famine,  and  Poverty  ; 
apparitions  very  terrible  to  behold,  with  several 
others,  as  Toil,  War,  Contention,  and  Discord, 
which  contribute  all  of  them  to  people  this  com- 
mon receptacle  of  human  souls.  As  tliis  was 
likewise  a very  proper  residence  for  every  thing 
that  resembles  death,  the  poet  tells  us,  that  Sleep, 
whom  he  represents  as  a near  relation  to  death, 

* See  Taller  157. 


[No.  154. 

has  likewise  his  habitation  in  these  quarters  • 
and  describes  in  them  a huge  gloomy  elm-tree, 
which  seems  a very  proper  ornament  for  the 
place,  and  is  possessed  by  an  innumerable  swarm 
of  dreams,  that  hang  in  clusters  under  every 
leaf  of  it.  He  then  gives  us  a list  of  imaginary 
persons,  who  very  naturally  lie  within  the  sha- 
dow of  the  dream-tree,  as  being  of  the  same 
kind  of  make  in  themselves,  and  the  materials, 
or,  to  use  Shakspeare’s  phrase,  ‘ the  stuff  of 
which  dreams  are  made.’  Such  are  the  shades 
of  a giant  with  a hundred  hands,  and  of 
his  brother  with  three  bodies ; of  the  double 
shaped  Centaur  and  Scylla;  the  Gmrgon  with 
snaky  hair  ; the  Harpy  with  a woman’s  face 
and  lion’s  talons ; the  seven-headed  Hydra  ; and 
the  Chimaera,  w'hich  breathes  forth  a flame, 
and  is  a compound  of  three  animals.  These 
several  mixed  natures,  the  creatures  of  imagina- 
tion, are  not  only  introduced  with  great  - art 
after  the  dreams,  but,  as  they  are  planted  at  the 
very  entrance,  and  within  the  very  gates  of 
those  regions,  do  probably  denote  the  wild  deli- 
riums and  extravagances  of  fancy,  which  the 
soul  usually  falls  into  when  she  is  just  upon  the 
verge  of  death. 

Thus  far  ^Eneas  travels  in  an  allegory.  The 
rest  of  the  description  is  drawn  with  great  ex- 
actness, according  to  the  religion  of  the  hea- 
thens, and  the  opinions  of  the  Platonic  philoso- 
phy. I shall  not  trouble  my  reader  with  a com- 
mon dull  story,  that  gives  an  account  why  the 
heathens  first  of  all  supposed  a ferry-man  in 
hell,  and  his  name  to  be  Charon  ; but  must  not 
pass  over  in  silence  the  point  of  doctrine  which 
Virgil  hath  very  much  insisted  upon  in  this 
book.  That  the  souls  of  those  who  are  unburied, 
are  not  permitted  to  go  over  into  their  respec- 
tive places  of  rest,  until  they  have  wandered 
a hundred  years  upon  the  banks  of  Styx.  This 
was  probably  an  invention  of  the  heathen 
priesthood,  to  make  the  people  extremely  careful 
of  performing  proper  rites  and  ceremonies  to  the 
memory  of  the  dead.  I shall  not,  however, 
with  the  infamous  scribblers  of  the  age,  take  an 
occasion  from  such  a circumstance,  to  run  into 
declamations  against  priestcraft,  but  rather  look 
upon  it,  even  in  this  light,  as  a religious  artifice, 
to  raise  in  the  minds  of  men  an  esteem  for  the 
memory  of  their  forefathers,  and  a desire  to 
recommend  themselves  to  that  of  posterity  ; as 
also  to  excite  in  them  an  ambition  of  imitating 
the  virtues  of  the  deceased,  and  to  keep  alive  in 
their  thoughts  the  sense  of  the  soul’s  immor- 
tality. In  a word,  we  may  say  in  defence  of  the 
severe  opinions  relating  to  the  shades  of  unbu- 
ried persons,  what  hath  been  said  by  some  of  our 
divines  in  regard  to  the  rigid  doctrines  concern- 
ing the  souls  of  such  who  die  without  being 
initiated  into  our  religion,  that  supposing  they 
should  be  erroneous,  they  can  do  no  hurt  to  the 
dead,  and  will  have  a good  effect  upon  the  living, 
in  making  them  cautious  of  neglecting  such 
necessary  solemnities. 

Charon  is  no  sooner  appeased,  and  the  triple- 
headed dog  laid  asleep,  but  JEneas  makes  his 
entrance  into  the  dominions  of  Pluto.  There 
are  three  kinds  of  persons  described,  as  being 
situate  on  the  borders ; ana  1 can  give  no  rea- 
son for  their  being  stationed  there  in  so  particu- 


THE  TATLER. 


281 


No.  154.] 

lar  a manner,  but  because  none  of  them  seem 
to  have  had  a proper  right  to  a place  among  the 
dead,  as  not  having  run  out  the  whole  thread  of 
their  days,  and  finished  the  term  of  life  that  had 
been  allotted  them  upon  earth.  The  first  of 
these  are  the  souls  of  infants,  who  are  snatched 
away  by  untimely  ends.  The  second  are  of  those 
who  are  put  to  death  wrongfully,  and  by  an  un- 
just sentence;  and  the  third,  of  those  who  grew 
weary  of  their  lives,  and  laid  violent  hands  up- 
on themselves.  As  for  the  second  of  these,  Vir- 
gil adds,  with  great  beauty,  that  Minos,  the 
judge  of  the  dead,  is  employed  in  giving  them  a 
rehearing,  and  assigning  them  their  several 
quarters  suitable  to  the  parts  they  acted  in  life. 
The  poet,  after  having  mentioned  the  souls  of 
those  unhappy  men  who  destroyed  themselves, 
breaks  out  into  a fine  exclamation.  ‘ Oh  ! how 
gladly,’  says  he,  ‘ would  they  now  endure  life 
with  all  its  miseries ! but  the  destinies  forbid 
their  return  to  earth,  and  the  waters  of  Styx 
surround  them  with  nine  streams  that  are  un- 
passable.’  It  was  very  remarkable,  that  Virgil, 
notwithstanding  self-murder  was  so  frequent 
among  the  heathens,  and  had  been  practised  by 
some  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  very  age  before 
him,  hath  here  represented  it  as  so  heinous  a 
crime.  But  in  this  particular  he  was  guided 
by  the  doctrines  of  his  great  master  Plato  ; who 
says  on  this  subject,  that  a man  is  placed  in  his 
station  of  life,  like  a soldier  in  his  proper  post, 
which  he  is  not  to  quit,  whatever  may  happen, 
until  he  is  called  oif  by  his  commander  who 
planted  him  in  it. 

There  is  another  point  in  the  Platonic  phi- 
losophy, which  Virgil  has  made  the  groundwork 
of  the  greatest  part  in  the  piece  we  are  now 
examining ; having  with  wonderful  art  and 
beauty  materialized,  if  I may  so  call  it,  a scheme 
of  abstracted  notions,  and  clothed  the  most  nice 
refined  conceptions  of  philosophy  in  sensible 
images,  and  poetical  representations.  The  Pla- 
tonists  tell  us,  that  the  soul,  during  her  residence 
in  the  body,  contracts  many  virtuous  and  vicious 
habits,  so  as  to  become  a beneficent,  mild,  charit- 
able ; or  an  angry,  malicious,  revengeful  being  ; 
a substance  inflamed  with  lust,  avarice,  and 
pride  ; or,  on  the  contrary,  brightened  with 
pure,  generous,  and  humble  dispositions  : that 
these  and  the  like  habits  of  virtue  and  vice 
growing  into  the  very  essence  of  the  soul,  sur- 
vive and  gather  strength  in  her  after  her  disso- 
lution : that  the  torments  of  a vicious  soul  in  a 
future  state  arise  principally  from  those  impor- 
tunate passions  which  are  not  capable  of  being 
gratified  without  a body  ; and  that,  on  the  con- 
trary,  the  happiness  of  virtuous  minds  very 
much  consists  in  their  being  employed  in  sub- 
lime speculations,  innocent  diversions,  sociable 
affections,  and  all  the  ecstacies  of  passion  and 
rapture  which  are  agreeable  to  reasonable  na- 
tures, and  of  which  they  gained  a relish  in  this 
life. 

Upon  this  foundation  the  poet  raises  that 
beautiful  description  of  the  secret  haunts  and 
walks,  which,  he  tells  us,  are  inhabited  by  de- 
ceased lovers. 

Not  far  from  hence,  says  he,  lies  a great  waste 
of  plains,  that  are  called  ‘ the  Fields  of  Melan- 
2 N 


choly.’  In  these  there  grows  a forest  of  myrtle, 
divided  into  many  shady  retirements  and. cover- 
ed walks,  and  inhabited  by  the  souls  of  those 
who  pined  away  with  love.  The  passion,  says 
he,  continues  with  them  after  death.  He  then 
gives  a list  of  this  languishing  tribe,  in  which 
his  own  Dido  makes  the  principal  figure,  and 
is  described  as  living  in  this  soft  romantic  scene 
with  the  shade  of  her  first  husband  Sicheeus. 

The  poet,  in  the  next  place,  mentions  another 
plain  that  was  peopled  with  the  ghosts  of  war- 
riors, as  still  delighting  in  each  other’s  com- 
pany, and  pleased  with  the  exercise  of  arms. 
He  there  represents  the  Grecian  generals  and 
common  soldiers  who  perished  in  the  siege  of 
Troy,  as  drawn  up  in  squadrons,  and  terrified  at 
the  approach  of  /Eneas,  which  renewed  in  them 
those  impressions  of  fear  they  had  before  receiv- 
ed in  battle  with  the  Trojans.  He  afterwards 
likev/ise,  upon  the  same  notions,  gives  a view 
of  the  Trojan  heroes  who  lived  in  former  ages, 
amidst  a visionary  scene  of  chariots  and  arms, 
flowery  meadows,  shining  spears,  and  generous 
steeds,  wliich  he  tells  us  were  their  pleasures 
upon  earth,  and  now  make  up  their  happiness 
in  Elysium.  For  the  same  reason  also,  he  men- 
tions others  as  singing  Paeans,  and  songs  of  tri- 
umph, amidst  a beautiful  grove  of  laurel.  The 
chief  of  the  consort  was  the  poet  Musaeus  ; who 
stood  inclosed  with  a circle  of  admirers,  and 
rose  by  the  head  and  shoulders  above  the  throng 
of  shades  that  surrounded  him.  The  habitations 
of  unhappy  spirits,  to  show  the  duration  of  their 
torments,  and  the  desperate  condition  they  are 
in,  are  represented  as  guarded  by  a fury,  moat- 
ed round  with  a lake  of  fire,  strengthened  with 
towers  of  iron,  encompassed  with  a triple  wall, 
and  fortified  with  pillars  of  adamant,  which  all 
the  gods  together  are  notable  to  heave  from  their 
foundations.  The  noise  of  stripes,  the  clank  of 
chains,  and  the  groans  of  the  tortured,  strike 
the  pious  jEneas  with  a kind  of  horror.  The 
poet  afterwards  divides  tlie  criminals  into  two 
classes.  The  first  and  blackest  catalogue  con- 
sists of  such  as  were  guilty  of  outrages  against 
the  gods ; and  the  next,  of  such  who  were  con- 
victed of  injustice  between  man  and  man ; the 
greatest  number  of  whom,  says  the  poet,  are 
those  who  followed  the  dictates  of  avarice. 

It  was  an  opinion  of  the  Platonists,  that  the 
souls  of  men  having  contracted  in  the  body  great 
stains  and  pollutions  of  vice  and  ignorance, 
there  were  several  purgations  and  cleansings 
necessary  to  be  passed  through,  both  here 
and  hereafter,  in  order  to  refine  and  purify 
them. 

Virgil,  to  give  this  thought  likewise  a clothing 
of  poetry,  describes  some  spirits  as  bleaching  in 
the  winds,  others  as  cleansing  under  great  falls 
of  waters,  and  others  as  purging  in  fire,  to  re- 
cover the  primitive  beauty  and  purity  of  their 
natures. 

It  was  likewise  an  opinion  of  the  same  sect 
of  philosophers,  that  the  souls  of  all  men  exist 
in  a separate  state,  long  before  their  union  with 
their  bodies ; and  that,  upon  their  immersion  into 
flesh,  they  forget  every  thing  which  passed  in 
the  state  of  pre-existence ; so  that  what  we  here 
call  knowledge,  is  nothing  else  but  memory,  cr 


282 


THE  TATLER. 


the  recovery  of  those  things  which  we  knew 
before. 

In  pursuance  of  this  scheme,  Virgil  gives  us 
a view  of  several  souls,  who,  to  prepare  them- 
selves for  living  upon  earth,  flock  about  the 
banks  of  the  river  Lethe,  and  swill  themselves 
with  the  waters  of  oblivion. 

The  same  scheme  gives  him  an  opportunity 
of  making  a noble  compliment  to  his  country- 
men, where  Anchises  is  represented  taking  a 
survey  of  the  long  train  of  heroes  that  are  to 
descend  from  him,  and  giving  his  son  ^Eneas  an 
account  of  all  the  glories  of  his  race. 

I need  not  mention  the  revolution  of  the  Pla- 
tonic year,  which  is  but  just  touched  upon  in 
this  book ; and,  as  I have  consulted  no  author’s 
thoughts  in  this  explication,  shall  be  very  well 
pleased,  if  it  can  make  the  noblest  piece  of  the 
most  accomplished  poet  more  agreeable  to  my 
female  readers,  when  they  think  fit  to  look  into 
Dryden’s  translation  of  it. 


No.  155.  ] Thursday,  April  6,  1710. 

Aliena  negotia  curat, 

Excussus  propriis.  Hor.  3.  Sat.  ii.  19. 

When  he  had  lost  all  business  of  his  own, 

He  ran  in  quest  of  news  through  all  the  town. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  5. 

There  lived  some  years  since,  within  my 
neighbourhood,  a very  grave  person,  an  uphol- 
sterer,*  who  seemed  a man  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary application  to  business.  He  was  a very 
early  riser,  and  was  often  abroad  two  or  three 
hours  before  any  of  his  neighbours.  He  had  a 
particular  carefulness  in  the  knitting  of  his 
brows,  and  a kind  of  impatience  in  all  his  mo- 
tions, that  plainly  discovered  he  was  always  in- 
tent on  matters  of  importance.  Upon  my  in- 
quiry into  his  life  and  conversation,  I found  him 
to  be  the  greatest  newsmonger  in  our  quarter : 
that  he  rose  before  day  to  read  the  Post-man ; 
and  that  he  would  take  two  or  three  turns  to  the 
other  end  of  the  town  before  his  neighbours 
were  up,  to  see  if  there  were  any  Dutch  mails 
come  in.  He  had  a wife  and  several  children  ; 
but  was  much  more  inquisitive  to  know  what 
passed  in  Poland  than  in  his  own  family,  and 
was  in  greater  pain  and  anxiety  of  mind  for 
king  Augustus’s  welfare  than  that  of  his  near- 
est relations.  He  looked  extremely  thin  in  a 
dearth  of  news,  and  never  enjoyed  himself  in  a 
westerly  wind.  This  indefatigable  kind  of  life 
was  the  ruin  of  his  shop  ; for,  about  the  time 
that  his  favourite  prince  left  the  crown  of  Po- 
land, he  broke  and  disappeared. 

This  man  and  his  affairs  had  been  long  out 
of  my  mind,  until  about  three  days  ago,  as  I was 


* Mr.  Arne,  an  upholsterer  in  Covent  Garden,  was, 
it  is  said,  the  original  of  the  politician  exposed  in  this 
paper.  He  was  the  father  of  Dr.  Thomas  Augustine 
Arne,  an  eminent  musician,  and  a dramatic  writer, 
who  died  in  1778. 


[No.  155, 

walking  in  St.  James’s  park,  I heard  somebody 
at  a distance  hemming  after  me ; and  who 
should  it  be  but  my  old  neighbour  the  uphol- 
sterer? I saw  he  was  reduced  to  extreme  pov- 
erty,  by  certain  shabby  superfluities  in  his  dress  r 
for,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  a very  sultry 
day  for  the  time  of  the  year,  he  wore  a loose 
great  coat  and  a muff,  with  a long  campaign 
wig  out  of  curl,  to  which  he  had  added  the  orna- 
ment of  a pair  of  black  garters  buckled  under 
the  knee.  Upon  his  coming  up  to  me,  I was 
going  to  inquire  into  his  present  circumstances  : 
but  was  prevented  by  his  asking  me,  with  a 
whisper,  ‘ Whether  the  last  letters  brought  any 
accounts  that  one  might  rely  upon  from  Ben- 
der ?’  I told  him,  ‘ None  that  I heard  of ;’  and 
asked  him,  ‘ whether  he  had  yet  married  his 
eldest  daughter  V He  told  me,  ‘ no.  But  pray,’ 
says  he,  ‘ tell  me  sincerely,  what  are  your 
thoughts  of  the  king  of  Sweden  ?’  For  though 
his  wife  and  children  were  starving,  I found  his 
chief  concern  at  present  was  for  this  great 
monarch.  I told  him,  ‘ that  I looked  upon  him 
as  one  of  the  first  heroes  of  the  age.’  ‘ But  pray,’ 
says  he,  ‘ do  you  think  there  is  any  truth  in  the 
story  of  his  wound?’  And  finding  me  surprised 
at  the  question,  ‘Nay,’  says  he,  ‘ I only  propose 
it  to  you.’  I answered,  ‘ that  I thought  there 
was  no  reason  to  doubt  of  it.’  ‘ But  why  in  the 
heel,’  says  he,  ‘more  than  in  any  other  part 
of  the  body  V ‘ Because,’  said  I,  ‘ the  bullet 
chanced  to  light  there.’ 

This  extraordinary  dialogue  was  no  sooner 
ended,  but  he  began  to  launch  out  into  a long 
dissertation  upon  the  affairs  of  the  North ; and 
after  having  spent  some  time  on  them,  he  told 
me,  ‘ he  was  in  a great  perplexity  how  to  re- 
concile the  Supplement  with  the  English  Post, 
and  had  been  just  now  examining  what  the 
other  papers  say  upon  the  same  subject.  The 
Daily  Courant,’  says  he,  ‘ has  these  words. 
“We  have  advices  from  very  good  hands,  that 
a certain  prince  has  some  matters  of  great  im- 
portance  under  consideration.”  This  is  very 
mysterious:  but  the  Post-boy  leaves  us  more  in 
the  dark  ; for  he  tells  us,  “ That  there  are  private 
intimations  of  measures  taken  by  a certain 
prince,  which  time  will  bring  to  light.”  Now 
the  Post-man,’  says  he,  ‘ who  uses  to  be  very 
clear,  refers  to  the  same  news  in  these  words : 
“ The  late  conduct  of  a certain  prince  affords 
great  matter  of  speculation.”  This  certain 
prince,’  says  the  upholsterer,  ‘whom  they  are 

all  so  cautious  of  naming,  I take  to  be .’ 

Upon  which,  though  there  was  nobody  near  us, 
he  whispered  something  in  my  ear,  which  I did 
not  hear,  or  think  worth  my  while  to  make  him 
repeat. 

We  were  now  got  to  the  upper  end  of  the 
Mall,  where  were  three  or  four  very  odd  fellows 
sitting  together  upon  the  bench.  These  I found 
were  all  of  them  politicians,  who  used  to  sun 
themselves  in  that  place  every  day  about  din- 
ner-time.  Observing  them  to  be  curiosities  in 
their  kind,  and  my  friend’s  acquaintance,  I sat 
down  among  them. 

The  chief  politician  of  the  bench  was  a great 
asserter  of  paradoxes.  He  told  us,  with  a seem- 
ing concern,  ‘ that,  by  some  news  he  had  lately 


No.  I5ij.i 


THE  TATLER. 


283 


read  from  Muscovy,  it  appeared  to  him  that 
there  was  a storm  gathering-  in  the  Black-sea, 
which  might  in  time  do  hurt  to  the  naval  forces 
of  this  nation.’  To  this  he  added,  ‘that  for  his 
part,  he  could  not  wish  to  see  the  Turk  driven 
out  of  Europe,  which  he  believed  could  not  but 
be  prejudicial  to  our  woollen  manufacture.’  He 
then  told  us,  ‘ that  he  looked  upon  those  extra- 
ordinary revolutions  which  had  lately  happened 
in  those  parts  of  the  world,  to  have  risen  chiefly 
from  two  persons  who  were  not  much  talked  of  ; 
and  those,’  says  he,  ‘ are  prince  MenzikofF,  and 
the  dutchess  of  Mirandola.’  He  backed  his  as- 
sertions with  so  many  broken  hints,  and  such  a 
show  of  depth  and  wisdom,  that  we  gave  bur- 
selves  up  to  his  opinions. 

The  discourse  at  length  fell  upon  a point 
which  seldom  escapes  a knot  of  true-born  Eng- 
lishmen, whether,  in  case  of  a religious  war,  the 
Protestants  would  not  be  too  strong  for  the  Pa- 
pists? This  we  unanimously  determined  on  the 
Protestant  side.  One  who  sat  on  my  right 
hand,  and,  as  I found  by  his  discourse,  had  been 
in  the  West  Indies,  assured  us,  ‘that  it  would 
be  a very  easy  matter  for  the  Protestants  to  beat 
the  pope  at  sea  ; and  added,  ‘ that  whenever  such 
a war  does  break  out,  it  must  turn  to  the  good  of 
the  Leeward  Islands.’  Upon  this,  one  who  sat  at 
the  end  of  the  bend),  and,  as  I afterwards  found, 
was  the  geographer  of  the  company,  said,  ‘that 
in  case  the  Papists  should  drive  the  Protestants 
from  these  parts  of  Europe,  when  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
beat  them  out  of  Norway  and  Greenland,  pro- 
vided the  northern  crowns  hold  together,  and  the 
czar  of  Muscovy  stand  neuter.’  He  further  told 
us,  for  our  comfort,  ‘ that  there  were  vast  tracts 
of  lands  about  the  pole,  inhabited  neither  by 
Protestants  nor  Papists,  and  of  greater  extent 
than  all  the  Roman  catholic  dominions  in 
Europe.’ 

When  we  had  fully  discussed  this  point,  my 
friend  the  upholsterer  began  to  exert  himself 
upon  the  present  negotiations  of  peace  ; in  which 
he  deposed  princes,  settled  the  bounds  of  king- 
doms, and  balanced  the  power  of  Europe,  with 
g-reat  justice  and  impartiality. 

I at  length  took  my  leave  of  the  company, 
and  was  going  away ; but  had  not  gone  thirty 
yards,  before  the  upholstererhemmed  again  after 
me.  Upon  his  advancing  towards  me  with  a 
whisper,  I expected  to  hear  some  secret  piece 
of  news,  which  he  had  not  thought  fit  to  com- 
municate to  the  bench  ; but  instead  of  that,  he 
desired  me  in  my  ear  to  lend  him  half-a-crown. 
In  compassion  to  so  needy  a statesman,  and  to 
dissipate  the  confusion  I found  he  was  in,  I told 
him,  ‘ if  he  pleased,  I would  give  him  five  shil- 
lings,  to  receive  five  pounds  of  him  when  the 
great  Turk  was  driven  out  of  Constantinople  ;’ 
which  he  very  readily  accepted,  but  not  before 
he  had  laid  down  to  me  the  impossibility  of 
such  an  event,  as  the  affairs  of  Europe  now 
stand. 

This  paper  I design  for  the  particular 
benefit  of  those  worthy  citizens  who  live  more 
in  a coffee-house  than  in  their  shops,  and 
whose  thoughts  are  so  taken  up  with  the  af- 
fairs of  the  allies,  that  they  forget  their  cus- 
tomers. 1 


No.  156.]  Saturday^  April  8,  1710. 

Sequiturque  patrem  non  passibus  Eequis. 

Virg.  ^n.  ii.  742. 

follows  his  father, 

But  with  steps  not  equal 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  7. 

We  have  already  described  out  of  Homer  the 
voyage  of  Ulysses  to  the  infernal  shades,  with 
the  several  adventures  that  attended  it.  If  we 
look  into  the  beautiful  romance  published  not 
many  years  since  by  the  archbishop  of  Cam- 
bray,  we  may  see  the  son  of  Ulysses  bound  on 
the  same  expedition,  and  after  the  same  manner 
making  his  discoveries  among  the  regions  of  the 
dead.  The  story  of  Telemachus  is  formed  alto- 
gether in  the  spirit  of  Homer,  and  will  give  an 
unlearned  reader  a notion  of  that  great  poet’s 
manner  of  writing,  more  than  any  translation 
of  him  can  possibly  do.  As  it  was  written  for 
tlie  instruction  of  a young  prince  who  may  one 
day  sit  upon  the  throne  of  France,  the  author 
took  care  to  suit  the  several  parts  of  his  story, 
and  particularly  the  description  we  are  now  en- 
tering upon,  to  the  character  and  quality  of  his 
pupil.  For  which  reason,  he  insists  very  much 
on  the  misery  of  bad,  and  the  happiness  of  good 
kings,  in  the  account  he  hath  given  of  punish, 
ments  and  rewards  in  the  other  world. 

We  may  however  observe,  notwithstanding 
the  endeavours  of  this  great  and  learned  author, 
to  copy  after  the  style  and  sentiments  of  Flomer, 
that  there  is  a certain  tincture  of  Christianity 
running  through  the  whole  relation.  The  pre- 
late  in  several  places  mixes  himself  with  the 
poet ; so  that  his  future  state  puts  me  in  mind 
of  Michael  Angelo’s  ‘ Last  Judgment where 
Charon  and  his  boat  are  represented  as  bearing 
a part  in  the  dreadful  solemnities  of  that  great 
day. 

Telemachus,  after  having  passed  through  the 
dark  avenues  of  Death  in  the  retinue  of  Mer- 
cury,  who  every  day  delivers  up  a certain  tale  of 
ghosts  to  the  ferryman  of  Styx,  is  admitted  to 
the  infernal  bark.  Among  the  companions  of 
his  voyage  is  the  shade  of  Nabopharzan,  a king 
of  Babylon,  and  tyrant  of  all  the  East.  Among 
the  ceremonies  and  pomps  of  his  funeral  there 
were  four  slaves  sacrificed,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  country,  in  order  to  attend 
him  among  the  shades.  The  author,  having 
described  this  tyrant  in  the  most  odious  colours 
of  pride,  insolence,  and  cruelty,  tells  us,  that  his 
four  slaves,  instead  of  serving  him  after  death, 
were  perpetually  insulting  him  with  reproaches 
and  affronts  for  his  past  usage  ; that  they  spurn- 
ed him  as  he  lay  upon  the  ground,  and  forced 
him  to  show  his  face,  which  he  would  fain  have 
covered,  as  lying  under  all  the  confusion  of 
guilt  and  infamy  ; and  in  short,  that  they  kept 
him  bound  in  a chain,  in  order  to  drag  him  be- 
fore the  tribunal  of  the  dead. 

Telemachus,  upon  looking  out  of  the  bark, 
sees  all  the  strand  covered  with  an  innumerable 
multitude  of  shades,  who,  upon  his  jumping 
ashore,  immediately  vanished.  He  then  pur- 
sues his  course  to  the  palace  of  Pluto,  who  is 
described  as  seated  on  his  throne  in  terrible 


264 


THE  TATLER. 


majesty,  with  Proserpine  by  his  side.  At  the  foot 
of  his  throne  was  the  pale  hideous  spectre,  who, 
by  the  ghastliness  of  his  visage,  and  the  nature 
of  the  apparitions  that  surround  him,  discovers 
himself  to  be  Death.  His  attendants  are.  Melan- 
choly, Distrust,  Revenge,  Hatred,  Avarice,  Des- 
pair, Ambition,  Envy,  Impiety,  with  frightful 
Dreams,  and  waking  Cares,  which  are  all  drawn 
very  naturally  in  proper  actions  and  postures. 
The  author,  with  great  beauty,  places  near  his 
frightful  dreams  an  assembly  of  phantoms, 
which  are  often  employed  to  terrify  the  living, 
by  appearing  in  the  shape  and  likeness  of  the 
dead. 

The  young  hero,  in  the  next  place,  takes  a 
survey  of  the  different  kinds  of  criminals,  that 
lay  in  torture  among  clouds  of  sulphur,  and 
torrents  of  fire.  The  first  of  these  were  such 
as  had  been  guilty  of  impieties  which  everyone 
hath  a horror  for  : to  which  is  added  a catalogue 
of  such  offenders  that  scarce  appear  to  be  faulty 
in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar.  Among  these,  says 
the  author,  are  malicious  criticsj  that  have  en- 
deavoured to  cast  a blemish  upon  the  perfections 
of  others ; with  whom  he  likewise  places  such 
as  have  often  hurt  the  reputation  of  the  inno- 
cent, by  passing  a rash  judgment  on  their  ac- 
tions, without  knowing  the  occasion  of  them. 
These  crimes,  says  he,  are  more  severely  pun- 
ished after  death,  because  they  generally  meet 
with  impunity  upon  earth. 

Telemachus,  after  having  taken  a survey  of 
several  other  wretches  in  the  same  circumstan- 
ces, arrives  at  that  region  of  torments  in  which 
wicked  kings  are  punished.  There  are  very 
fine  strokes  of  imagination  in  the  description 
which  he  gives  of  this  unhappy  multitude.  He 
tells  us,  that  on  one  side  of  them  there  stood  a 
revengeful  fury,  thundering  in  their  cars  inces- 
sant repetitions  of  all  the  crimes  they  had  com- 
mitted upon  earth,  with  the  aggravations  of  am- 
bition, vanity,  hardness  of  heart,  and  all  those 
secret  affections  of  mind  that  enter  into  the 
composition  of  a tyrant.  At  the  same  time, 
she  holds  up  to  them  a large  mirror,  in  which 
every  one  sees  himself  represented  in  the  natu- 
ral horror  and  deformity  of  his  character.  On 
the  other  side  of  them  stands  another  fury,  that, 
with  an  insulting  derision,  repeats  to  them  all 
the  praises  that  their  flatterers  had  bestowed 
upon  them  while  they  sat  upon  their  respective 
thrones.  She  too,  says  the  author,  presents  a 
mirror  before  their  eyes,  in  which  every  one 
sees  himself  adorned  with  all  those  beauties 
and  perfections,  in  which  they  had  been  drawn 
by  the  vanity  of  their  own  hearts,  and  the  flat- 
tery of  others.  To  punish  them  for  the  wan- 
tonness of  the  cruelty  which  they  formerly  ex- 
ercised, they  are  now  delivered  up  to  be  treated 
according  to  the  fancy  and  caprice  of  several 
slaves,  who  have  here  an  opportunity  of  tyran- 
nizing in  their  turns. 

The  author,  liaving  given  us  a description 
of  these  ghastly  spectres,  who,  says  he,  are 
always  calling  upon  Death,  and  are  placed  un- 
der the  distillation  of  that  burning  vengeance 
which  falls  upon  them  drop  by  drop,  and  is  ne- 
ver to  be  exhausted,  leads  us  into  a pleasing 
scene  of  groves,  filled  with  the  melody  of  birds. 


[No.  156. 

and  the  odours  of  a thousand  different  plants. 
These  groves  are  represented  as  rising  among 
a great  many  flowery  meadows,  and  watered 
with  streams  that  diffuse  a perpetual  freshness, 
in  the  midst  of  an  eternal  day,  and  a never- 
fading  spring.  This,  says  the  author,  was  the 
habitation  of  those  good  princes  who  were 
friends  of  the  gods,  and  parents  of  the  people. 
Among  these,  Telemachus  converses  with  the 
shade  of  one  of  his  ancestors,  who  makes  a most 
agreeable  relation  of  the  joys  of  Elysium,  and 
the  nature  of  its  inhabitants.  The  residence 
of  Sesostris  among  these  happy  shades,  with  his 
character  and  present  employment,  is  drawn  in 
a very  lively  manner,  and  with  a great  elevation 
of  thought. 

The  description  of  that  pure  and  gentle 
light,  which  overflows  these  happy  regions,  and 
clothes  the  spirits  of  these  virtuous  persons,  hath 
something  in  it  of  that  enthusiasm  which  this 
author  was  accused  of  by  his  enemies  in  the 
church  of  Rome  ; but,  however  it  may  look  in 
religion,  it  makes  a very  beautiful  %ure  in 
poetry. 

The  rays  of  the  sun,  says  he,  are  darkness  in 
comparison  with  this  light,  which  rather  de- 
serves the  name  of  glory,  than  that  of  light. 
It  pierces  the  thickest  bodies  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  the  sunbeams  pass  through  crystal.  It 
strengthens  the  sight  instead  of  dazzling  it ; and 
nourishes,  in  the  most  inward  recesses  of  the 
mind,  a perpetual  serenity  that  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed. It  enters  and  incorporates  itself  with 
the  very  substance  of  the  soul : the  spirits  of 
the  blessed  feel  it  in  all  their  senses,  and  in  all 
their  perceptions.  It  produces  a certain  source 
of  peace  and  joy  that  arises  in  them,  for  ever 
running  through  all  the  faculties,  and  refresh- 
ing all  the  desires  of  the  soul.  External  plea- 
sures and  delights,  with  all  their  charms  and 
allurements,  are  regarded  with  the  utmost  in- 
difference and  neglect  by  these  happy  spirits, 
who  have  this  great  principle  of  pleasure  within 
them,  drawing  the  whole  mind  to  itself,  calling 
off  their  attention  from  the  most  delightful 
objects,  and  giving  them  all  the  transports  of 
inebriation,  without  the  confusion  and  the  folly 
of  it. 

I have  here  only  mentioned  some  master- 
touches  of  this  admirable  piece,  because  the 
original  itself  is  understood  by  the  greater  part 
of  my  readers.  I must  confess,  I take  a parti- 
cular delight  in  these  prospects  of  futurity, 
whether  grounded  upon  the  probable  sugges- 
tions of  a fine  imagination,  or  the  more  severe 
conclusions  of  philosophy ; as  a man  loves  to 
hear  all  the  discoveries  or  conjectures  relating 
to  a foreign  country  which  he  is,  at  some  time, 
to  inhabit.  Prospects  of  this  nature  lighten  the 
burden  of  any  present  evil,  and  refresh  us  under 
the  worst  and  lowest  circumstances  of  mor- 
tality. They  extinguish  in  us  both  the  fear  and 
envy  of  human  grandeur.  Insolence  shrinks 
its  head,  power  disappears  ; pain,  poverty,  and 
death  fly  before  them.  In  short,  the  mind  that 
is  habituated  to  the  lively  sense  of  a hereafter, 
can  hope  for  what  is  the  most  terrifying  to  the 
generality  of  mankind,  and  rejoice  in  what  is 
the  most  afflicting. 


THE  TATLER. 


285 


No.  157.] 

No.  157.]  Tuesday^  April  11,  1710. 

Facile  est  inventis  addere. 

It  is  easy  to  improve  an  invention. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  April  10. 

I WAS  last  night  in  an  assembly  of  very  fine 
women.  How  I came  among  them  is  of  no 
great  importance  to  the  reader.  1 shall  only 
let  him  know,  that  I was  betrayed  into  so  good 
company  by  the  device  of  an  old  friend,  who 
had  promised  to  give  some  of  his  female  ac- 
quaintance a sight  of  Mr.  Bickerstaff.  Upon 
hearing  my  name  mentioned,  a lady  who  sat 
by  me,  told  me,  they  had  brought  together  a fe- 
male consort  for  my  entertainment.  ‘ You  must 
know,’  says  she,  ‘ that  we  all  of  us  look  upon 
ourselves  to  be  musical  instruments,  though  we 
do  not  yet  know  of  what  kind  ; which  we  hope 
to  learn  from  you,  if  you  will  give  us  leave  to 
play  before  you.’  This  was  followed  by  a gen- 
eral laugh,  which  I always  look  upon  as  a ne- 
cessary flourish  in  the  opening  of  a female  con. 
sort.  They  then  struck  up  together,  and  played 
a whole  hour  upon  two  grounds  ; viz.  the  Trial^ 
and  the  Opera.  I could  not  but  observe,  that 
several  of  their  notes  were  more  soft,  and  several 
more  sharp,  than  any  that  I ever  heard  in  a 
male  consort ; though  I must  confess,  there  was 
not  any  regard  to  time,  nor  any  of  those  rests 
and  pauses  which  are  frequent  in  the  harmony 
of  the  other  sex : besides  that  the  music  was 
generally  full,  and  no  particular  instrument 
permitted  to  play  long  by  itself. 

I seemed  so  very  well  pleased  with  what 
every  one  said,  and  smiled  with  so  much  com- 
plaisance at  all  their  pretty  fancies,  that  though 
I did  not  put  one  word  into  their  discourse,  I 
have  the  vanity  to  think,  Ihey  looked  upon  me 
as  very  agreeable  company.  I then  told  them, 
‘ that  if  I were  to  draw  the  picture  of  so  many 
charming  musicians,  it  should  be  like  one  I had 
seen  of  the  muses,  with  their  several  instru- 
ments in  their  hands  ;’  upon  which  the  lady 
Kettle-drum  tossed  back  her  head,  and  cried, 

‘ A very  pretty  simile  !’  The  consort  again  re- 
vived ; in  which,  with  nods,  smiles,  and  appro- 
bations, I bore  the  part  rather  of  one  who  beats 
the  time,  than  of  a performer. 

I was  no  sooner  retired  to  my  lodgings,  but  I 
ran  over  in  my  thoughts  the  several  characters 
of  this  fair  assembly  ; which  I shall  give  some 
account  of,  because  they  are  various  in  their 
kind,  and  may  each  of  them  stand  as  a sample 
of  a whole  species. 

The  person  who  pleased  me  most  was  a Flute, 
an  instrument,  that,  without  any  great  compass, 
hath  something  exquisitely  sweet  and  soft  in  its 
sound : it  lulls  and  soothes  the  ear,  and  fills  it 
with  such  a gentle  kind  of  melody,  as  keeps  the 
mind  awake  without  startling  it,  and  raises  a 
most  agreeable  passion  between  transport  and 
indolence.  In  short,  the  music  of  the  Flute  is 
the  conversation  of  a mild  and  amiable  woman, 
that  has  nothing  in  it  very  elevated,  nor,  at  the 
same  time,  any  thing  mean  or  trivial. 


* The  ‘ Trial  of  Dr.  Sacheverell,’  was  a principal  topic 
of  conversation  at  the  time  here  referred  to. 


I must  here  observe,  that  the  Hautboy  is  the 
most  perfect  of  the  Flute-species.,  which,  with 
all  the  sweetness  of  the  sound,  hath  a great 
strength  and  variety  of  notes  ; though  at  the 
same  time  I must  observe,  that  the  Hautboy  in 
one  sex  is  as  scarce  as  the  Harpsichord  in  the 
other. 

By  the  side  of  the  Flute  there  sat  a Flagelet ; 
for  so  I must  call  a certain  young  lady,  who, 
fancying  herself  a wit,  despised  the  music  of 
the  Flute  as  low  and  insipid,  and  would  be  en- 
tertaining the  company  with  tart  ill-natured 
observations,  pert  fancies,  and  little  turns,  which 
she  imagined  to  be  full  of  life  and  spirit.  The 
Flagelet  therefore  doth  not  differ  from  the  Flute 
so  much  in  the  compass  of  its  notes,  as  in  the 
shrillness  and  sharpness  of  the  sound.  We  must 
however  take  notice,  that  the  Flagelets  among 
their  own  sex  are  more  valued  and  esteemed 
than  the  Flutes. 

TJiere  chanced  to  be  a Coquette  in  the  con- 
sort,  that,  with  a great  many  skittish  notes,  af- 
fected squeaks,  and  studied  inconsistencies,  dis- 
tinguished herself  from  the  rest  of  the  company. 
She  did  not  speak  a word  during  the  whole 
Trial  ; but  I thought  she  would  never  have  done 
upon  the  Opera.  One  while  she  would  break 
out  upon,  ‘ That  hideous  king  !’  then  upon  ‘The 
charming  black-moor  !’  then,  ‘ O that  dear  lion !’ 
then  would  hum  over  two  or  three  notes  ; then 
run  to  the  window  to  see  what  coach  was  com- 
ing. The  Coquette,  therefore,  I must  distin- 
guish by  that  musical  instrument  which  is  com- 
monly known  by  the  name  of  a Kit,  that  is 
more  jiggish  than  the  fiddle  itself,  and  never 
sounds  but  to  dance. 

The  fourth  person  who  bore  a part  in  the 
conversation  was  a Prude,  who  stuck  to  the 
Trial,  and  was  silent  upon  the  whole  Opera. 
The  gravity  of  her  censures,  and  composure  of 
her  voice,  which  were  often  attended  with  su- 
percilious casts  of  the  eye,  and  a seeming  con- 
tempt for  the  lightness  of  the  conversation,  put 
me  in  mind  of  that  ancient,  serious,  matron-like 
instrument,  the  Virginal. 

I must  not  pass  over  in  silence  a Lancashire 
Hornpipe,  by  which  I would  signify  a young 
country  lady,  who,  with  a great  deal  of  mirth 
and  innocence,  diverted  the  company  very 
agreeably;  and,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  by  that 
time  the  wildness  of  her  notes  is  a little  soften- 
ed, and  the  redundancy  of  her  music  restrained 
by  conversation  and  good  company,  will  be  im- 
proved into  one  of  the  most  amiable  Flutes 
about  the  town.  Your  Romps  and  boarding- 
school  girls  fall  likewise  under  this  denomina- 
tion. 

On  the  right  hand  of  the  Hornpipe  sat  a 
IFeZs/i-Harp,  an  instrument  which  very  much 
delights  in  the  tunes  of  old  historical  ballads, 
and  in  celebrating  the  renowned  actions  and 
exploits  of  ancient  British  heroes.  By  this  in- 
strument I therefore  would  describe  a certain 
lady,  who  is  one  of  those  female  historians  that 
upon  all  occasions  enters  into  pedigrees  and 
descents,  and  finds  herself  related,  by  some  off- 
shoot or  other,  to  almost  every  great  family  in 
England : for  which  reason,  she  jars  and  is  out 
of  tune  very  often  in  conversation,  for  the  com- 
pany’s want  of  due  attention  and  respect  to  her. 


286 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  158. 


But  the  most  sonorous  part  of  our  consort  was 
a SAe-drum,  or,  as  the  vulgar  call  it,  a Kettle- 
drum, who  accompanied  her  discourse  with  mo- 
tions of  the  body,  tosses  of  the  head,  and  bran, 
dishes  of  the  fan.  Her  music  was  loud,  bold, 
and  masculine.  Every  thump  she  gave  alarmed 
the  company,  and  very  often  set  somebody  or 
other  in  it  a-blushing. 

The  last  I shall  mention  was  a certain  ro- 
mantic instrument  called  a Dulcimer,  who 
talked  of  nothing  but  shady  woods,  flowery  mea- 
dows, purling  streams,  larks  and  nightingales, 
with  all  the  beauties  of  the  spring,  and  the  plea- 
sures of  a country  life.  This  instrument  hath 
a fine  melancholy  sweetness  in  it,  and  goes  very 
well  with  the  Flute. 

I think  most  of  the  conversable  part  of  wo- 
mankind may  be  found  under  one  of  the  fore- 
going divisions  ; but  it  must  be  confessed,  that 
the  generality  of  that  sex,  notwithstanding  they 
have  naturally  a great  genius  for  being  talka- 
tive, are  not  mistresses  of  more  than  one  note  ; 
with  which,  however,  by  frequent  repetition, 
they  make  a greater  sound  than  those  who  are 
possessed  of  the  whole  Gamut ; as  may  be  ob- 
served in  your  Larums  or  Household-scolds,  and 
in  your  Castanets  or  impertinent  Tittle-tattles, 
who  have  no  other  variety  in  their  discourse  but 
that  of  talking  slower  or  faster. 

Upon  communicating  this  scheme  of  music  to 
an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  was  formerly  a man 
of  gallantry,  and  a rover,  he  told  me,  ‘ that  he 
believed  he  had  been  in  love  with  every  instru- 
ment in  my  consort.  The  first  that  smit  him 
was  a Hornpipe,  who  lived  near  his  father’s 
house  in  the  country  ; but  upon  his  failing  to 
meet  her  at  an  assize,  according  to  appointment, 
she  cast  him  off".  His  next  passion  was  for  a 
Kettle-drum,  whom  he  fell  in  love  with  at  a play; 
but  when  he  becatne  acquainted  with  her,  not 
finding  the  softness  of  her  sex  in  her  conversa- 
tion, he  grew  cool  to  her  ; though  at  the  same 
time  he  could  not  deny  but  that  she  behaved 
herself  very  much  like  a gentlewoman.  His 
third  mistress  was  a Dulcimer,  who,  he  found, 
took  great  delight  in  sighing  and  languishing, 
but  would  go  no  farther  than  the  preface  of  ma- 
trimony ; so  that  she  would  never  let  a lover 
have  any  more  of  her  than  her  heart,  wdiich 
after  having  wmn,  he  was  forced  to  leave  her,  as 
despairing  of  any  further  success.  I must  con- 
fess, says  my  friend,  I have  often  considered 
her  with  a great  deal  of  admiration  ; and  I find 
her  pleasure  is  so  much  in  this  first  step  of  an 
amour,  that  her  life  will  pass  away  in  dream, 
solitude,  and  soliloquy,  until  her  decay  of  charms 
makes  her  snatch  at  the  worst  man  that  ever 
pretended  to  her.  In  the  next  place,’  says  my 
friend,  ‘I  fell  in  love  with  a Kit,  who  led  me  such 
a dance  through  all  the  varieties  of  a familiar, 
cold,  fond,  and  indifferent  behaviour,  that  the 
world  began  to  grow  censorious,  though  without 
any  cause  ; for  which  reason,  to  recover  our 
reputations,  we  parted  by  consent.  To  mend 
my  hand,  says  he,  I made  my  next  application 
to  a Virginal,  v/ho  gave  me  great  encourage- 
ment, after  her  cautious  manner,  until  some 
malicious  companion  told  her  of  my  long  passion 
for  the  Kit,  which  made  her  turn  me  off  as  a 
scandalous  fellow.  At  length,  in  despair,’  says 


he,  ‘ I betook  myself  to  a IVeZsA-harp,  who  re- 
jected me  with  contempt,  after  having  found 
that  my  great-grandmother  was  a brewer’s 
daughter.’ 

I found  by  the  sequel  of  my  friend’s  discourse, 
that  he  had  never  aspired  to  a Hautboy  ; that 
he  had  been  exasperated  by  a Flagelct ; and  that, 
to  this  very  day,  he  pines  away  for  a Flute. 

Upon  the  whole,  having  thoroughly  considered 
how  absolutely  necessary  it  is  that  two  instru- 
ments, which  are  to  play  together  for  life,  should 
be  exactly  tuned,  and  go  in  perfect  consort  with 
each  other  ; I would  propose  matches  between 
the  music  of  both  sexes,  according  to  the  follow- 
ing ‘ Table  of  Marriage  :’ 

1.  Drum  and  Kettle-drum, 

2.  Lute  and  Flute. 

3.  Harpsichord  and  Hautboy. 

4.  Violin  and  Flagelet. 

5.  Bass-Viol  and  Kit. 

6.  Trumpet  and  IVeZsA-Harp. 

7.  Hunting-horn  and  Hornpipe. 

8.  Bagpipe  and  Castanet. 

9.  Passing-Bell  and  Virginal. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff,  in  consideration  of  his  an- 
cient friendship  and  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Bet- 
terton, and  great  esteem  for  his  merit,  summons 
all  his  disciples,  whether  dead  or  living,  mad  or 
tame.  Toasts,  Smarts,  Dappers,  Pretty -fellows, 
musicians  or  scrapers,  to  make  their  appear- 
ance at  the  playhouse  in  the  Hay-market  on 
Thursday  next,  when  there  will  be  a play  acted 
for  the  benefit  of  the  said  Betterton.’ 


No.  158.]  Thursday,  Apil  13,  1710. 

Faciunt  nae  intelligendo,  ut  nihil  intelligant.  Ter. 

While  they  pretend  to  know  more  than  others,  they 
know  nothing  in  reality. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  12. 

Tom  Folio  is  a broker  in  learning,  employed 
to  get  together  good  editions,  and  stock  the 
libraries  of  great  men.  There  is  not  a sale  of 
books  begins  until  Tom  Folio  is  seen  at  the 
door.  There  is  not  an  auction  where  his  name 
is  not  heard,  and  that  too  in  the  very  nick  of 
time,  in  the  critical  moment,  before  the  last 
decisive  stroke  of  the  hammer.  There  is  not  a 
subscription  goes  forward  in  which  Tom  is  not 
privy  to  the  first  rough  draught  of  the  proposals ; 
nor  a catalogue  printed,  that  doth  not  come  to 
him  wet  from  the  press.  He  is  a universal 
scholar,  so  far  as  the  title  page  of  all  authors  : 
knows  the  manuscripts  in  which  they  were  dis- 
covered, the  editions  through  which  they  have 
passed,  with  the  praises  or  censures  which  they 
have  received  from  the  several  members  of  the 
learned  world.  He  has  a greater  esteem  for 
Aldus  and  Elzevir,  than  for  Virgil  and  Horace. 
If  you  talk  of  Herodotus,  he  breaks  out  into  a 
panegyric  upon  Harry  Stephens.  He  thinks  he 
gives  you  am  account  of  an  author,  when  he 
tells  you  the  subject  he  treats  of,  the  name  of 
the  editor,  and  the  year  in  which  it  was  printed. 
Or,  if  you  draw  him  into  further  particulars,  he 
cries  up  the  goodness  of  the  paper,  extols  the 
diligence  of  the  corrector,  and  is  transported 


THE  TATLER. 


287 


No.  159.] 

with  the  beauty  of  the  letter.  This  he  looks 
upon  to  be  sound  learning,  and  substantial  cri- 
ticism. As  for  those  who  talk  of  the  fineness 
of  style,  and  the  justness  of  thought,  or  describe 
the  brightness  of  any  particular  passages;  nay, 
though  they  themselves  write  in  the  genius  and 
spirit  of  the  author  they  admire  ; Tom  looks 
upon  them  as  men  of  superficial  learning,  and 
flashy  parts. 

I had  yesterday  morning  a visit  from  this 
learned  idiot,  for  that  is  the  light  in  which  I 
con^3cr"^ery  pedant,  when  I discovered  in  him 
some  little  touches  of  the  coxcomb,  which  I 
had  not  before  observed.  Being  very  full  of 
the  figure  which  he  makes  in  the  republic  of 
letters,  and  wonderfully  satisfied  with  his  great 
stock  of  knowledge,  he  gave  me  broad  intima- 
tions, that  he  did  not  believe  in  all  points  as  his 
forefathers  had  done.  He  then  communicated 
to  me  a thought  of  a certain  author  upon  a 
passage  of  Virgil’s  account  of  the  dead,  which 
I made  the  subject  of  a late  paper.  This 
thought  hath  taken  very  much  among  men  of 
Tom’s  pitch  and  understanding,  though  uni- 
versally exploded  by  all  that  know  how  to  con- 
strue Virgil,  or  have  any  relish  of  antiquity. 
Not  to  trouble  my  reader  with  it,  I found  upon 
the  whole,  that  Tom  did  not  believe  a future 
state  of  rewards  and  punishments,  because 
iEneas,  at  his  leaving  the  empire  of  the  dead, 
passed  through  the  gate  of  ivory,  and  not 
through  that  of  horn.  Knowing  that  Tom  had 
not  sense  enough  to  give  up  an  opinion  which 
he  had  once  received,  that  I might  avoid 
wrangling,  I told  him,  ‘ that  Virgil  possibly 
had  his  oversights  as  well  as  another  author.’ 
‘Ah!  Mr.  Bickerstaff,’  says  he,  ‘you  would 
have  another  opinion  of  him,  if  you  would 
read  him  in  Daniel  Heinsius’s  edition.  I have 
perused  him  myself  several  times  in  that 
edition,’  continued  he  ; ‘ and  after  the  strictest 
and  most  malicious  examination,  could  find 
but  two  faults  in  him ; one  of  them  is  in  the 
iEneids,  where  there  are  two  commas  instead 
of  a parenthesis ; and  another  in  the  third 
Georgic,  where  you  may  find  a semicolon  turned 
upside  down.’  ‘Perhaps,’  said  I,  ‘these  were 
not  Virgil’s  faults,  but  those  of  the  transcriber.’ 
‘ I do  not  design  it,’  says  Tom,  ‘ as  a reflection 
on  Virgil ; on  the  contrary,  I know  that  all  the 
manuscripts  declaim  against  such  a punctua- 
tion. Oh  ! Mr.  Bickerstaff,’  says  he,  ‘ what 
would  a man  give  to  see  one  simile  of  Virgil 
writ  in  his  own  hand?’  I asked  him  which  was 
the  simile  he  meant ; but  was  answered,  any 
simile  in  Virgil.  He  then  told  me  all  the  secret 
history  in  the  commonwealth  of  learning ; of 
modern  pieces  that  had  the  names  of  ancient 
authors  annexed  to  them ; of  all  the  books 
that  were  now  writing  or  printing  in  the  several 
parts  of  Europe  ; of  many  amendments  which 
are  made,  and  not  yet  published  ; and  a thou- 
sand other  particulars,  which  I would  not  have 
my  memory  burdened  with  for  a Vatican. 

At  length  being  fully  persuaded  that  I tho- 
roughly admired  him,  and  looked  upon  him  as 
a prodigy  of  learning,  he  took  his  leave.  I 
know  several  of  Tom’s  class,  who  are  professed 
admirers  of  Tasso,  without  understanding  a 
word  of  Italian  : and  one  in  particular,  that 


carries  a Pastor  Fido  in  his  pocket,  in  which,  I 
am  sure,  he  is  acquainted  with  no  other  beauty 
but  the  clearness  of  the  character. 

There  is  another  kind  of  pedant,  who,  with 
all  Tom  Folio’s  impertinences,  hath  greater 
superstructures  and  embellishments  of  Greek 
and  Latin ; and  is  still  more  insupportable 
than  the  other,  in  the  same  degree  as  he  is  more 
learned.  Of  this  kind  very  often  are  editors, 
commentators,  interpreters,  scholiasts,  and 
critics ; and,  in  short,  all  men  of  deep  learning 
without  common  sense.  These  persons  set  a 
greater  value  on  themselves  for  having  found 
out  the  meaning  of  a passage  in  Greek,  than 
upon  the  author  for  having  written  it ; nay, 
will  allow  the  passage  itself  not  to  have  any 
beauty  in  it,  at  the  same  time  that  they  would 
be  considered  as  the  greatest  men  of  the  age, 
for  having  interpreted  it.  They  will  look  with 
contempt  on  the  most  beautiful  poems  that 
have  been  composed  by  any  of  their  contem- 
poraries ; but  will  lock  themselves  up  in  their 
studies  for  a twelvemonth  together,  to  correct, 
publish,  and  expound  such  trifles  of  antiquity, 
as  a modern  author  would  be  contemned  for. 
Men  of  the  strictest  morals,  severest  lives,  and 
the  gravest  professions,  will  write  volumes  upon 
an  idle  sonnet,  that  is  originally  in  Greek  or 
Latin ; give  editions  of  the  most  immoral 
authors  ; and  spin  out  whole  pages  upon  the 
various  readings  of  a lewd  expression.  All  that 
can  be  said  in  excuse  for  them  is,  that  their 
works  sufficiently  show  they  have  no  taste  of 
their  authors ; and  that  what  they  do  in  this 
kind,  is  out  of  their  great  learning,  and  not 
out  of  any  levity  or  lasciviousness  of  temper. 

A pedant  of  this  nature  is  wonderfully  well 
described  in  six  lines  of  Boileau,  with  which  I 
shall  conclude  his  character  : 

Un  Pedant  enyvre  de  sa  vaine  science. 

Tout  herisse  de  Grec,  tout  bouffi  d’arrogance. 

Et  qui  de  mille  auteurs  retenus  mot  par  mot, 

Danssa  tete  entassez  n’a  souvent  fait  qu’un  sot, 

Croit  qu'un  livre  fait  tout,  et  que  sans  Aristote 
La  raison  ne  voit  goute,  et  le  bon  sens  radote. 

Brim-full  of  learning  see  that  pedant  stride, 

Bristling  with  horrid  Greek,  and  puffed  with  pride! 

A thousand  authors  he  in  vain  has  read. 

And  with  their  maxims  stuffed  his  empty  head  : 

And  thinks  that,  without  Aristotle’s  rule. 

Reason  is  blind,  and  common  sense  a fool.  Wynne. 


No.  159.]  Saturday,  April  15,  1710. 

Nitor  in  adversum ; nec  me,  qui  cfetera  vincit 
Impetus. Odd,  Met.  lib.  ii.  ver.  72. 

I steer  against  their  motions ; nor  am  I 

Borne  back  by  all  the  current. Addison. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  14. 

The  wits  of  this  island,  for  above  fifty  years 
past,  instead  of  correcting  the  vices  of  the  age, 
have  done  all  they  could  to  inflame  them. 
Marriage  has  been  one  of  the  common  topics 
of  ridicule  that  every  stage  scribbler  hath  found 
his  account  in  ; for,  whenever  there  is  an  occa- 
sion for  a clap,  an  impertinent  jest  upon  ma- 
trimony is  sure  to  raise  it.  This  hath  been 


288 


THE  TATLER. 


attended  with  very  pernicious  consequences. 
Many  a country  esquire,  upon  his  setting  up  for 
a man  of  the  town,  has  gone  home  in  the  gayety 
of  his  heart,  and  beat  his  wife.  A kind  husband 
hath  been  looked  upon  as  a clown,  and  a good 
wife  as  a domestic  animal  unfit  for  the  company 
or  conversation  of  the  heau  monde.  In  short, 
separate  beds,  silent  tables,  and  solitary  homes, 
have  been  introduced  by  your  men  of  wit  and 
pleasure  of  the  age. 

As  I shall  always  make  it  my  business  to 
stem  the  torrents  of  prejudice  and  vice,  I shall 
take  particular  care  to  put  an  honest  father  of 
a family  in  countenance ; and  endeavour  to 
remove  all  the  evils  out  of  that  state  of  life, 
which  is  either  the  most  happy  or  most  miser- 
able that  a man  can  be  placed  in.  In  order  to 
this,  let  us,  if  you  please,  consider  the  wits  and 
well-bred  persons  of  former  time.  I have 
shown,  in  another  paper,  that  Pliny,  who  was  a 
man  of  the  greatest  genius,  as  well  as  of  the 
first  quality  of  his  age,  did  not  think  it  below 
him  to  be  a kind  husband,  and  to  treat  his  wife 
as  a friend,  companion,  and  counsellor.  I shall 
give  the  like  instance  of  another,  who  in  all 
respects  was  a much  greater  man  than  Pliny, 
and  hath  writ  a whole  book  of  letters  to  his 
wife.  They  are  not  so  full  of  turns  as  those 
translated  out  of  the  former  author,  who  writes 
very  much  like  a modern  ; but  are  full  of  that 
beautiful  simplicity  which  is  altogether  natural, 
and  is  the  distinguishing  character  of  the  best 
ancient  writers.  The  author  I am  speaking  of, 
is  Cicero ; who,  in  the  following  passages,  which 
I have  taken  out  of  his  letters,  shows,  that  he 
did  not  think  it  inconsistent  with  the  politeness 
of  his  manners,  or  the  greatness  of  his  wisdom, 
to  stand  upon  record  in  his  domestic  character. 

These  letters  %vere  written  in  a time  when 
he  was  banished  from  his  country,  by  a faction 
that  then  prevailed  at  Rome. 

Cicero  to  Terentia. 

I. 

‘ I learn  from  the  letters  of  my  friends,  as 
well  as  from  common  report,  that  you  give 
incredible  proofs  of  virtue  and  fortitude,  and 
that  you  are  indefatigable  in  all  kinds  of  good 
offices.  How  unhappy  a man  am  I,  that  a 
woman  of  your  virtue,  constancy,  honour,  and 
good-nature,  should  fall  into  so  great  distresses 
upon  my  account ! and  that  my  dear  Tulliola 
should  be  so  much  afflicted  for  the  sake  of  a 
father,  with  whom  she  had  once  so  much  rea- 
son  to  be  pleased  ! How  can  I mention  little 
Cicero,  whose  first  knowledge  of  things  began 
with  the  sense  of  his  misery  ? If  all  this  had 
happened  by  the  decrees  of  fate,  as  you  would 
kindly  persuade  me,  I could  have  borne  it : 
But,  alas ! it  is  all  befallen  me  by  my  own  in- 
discretion, who  thought  I was  beloved  by  those 
that  envied  me,  and  did  not  join  with  them 

who  sought  my  friendship. At  present, 

since  my  friends  bid  me  hope,  I shall  take 
care  of  my  health,  that  I may  enjoy  the  benefit 
of  your  affectionate  services.  Plancius  hopes 
we  may  some  time  or  other  come  together 
into  Italy.  If  I ever  live  to  see  that  day ; if 
I ever  return  to  your  dear  embraces ; in  short. 


[No.  159. 

if  I ever  again  recover  you  and  myself,  I shall 
think  our  conjugal  piety  very  well  rewarded. — 
As  to  what  you  write  to  me  about  selling  your 
estate,  consider,  my  dear  Terentia,  consider, 
alas ! what  would  be  the  event  of  it.  If  our 
present  fortune  continues  to  oppress  us,  what 
will  become  of  our  poor  boy!  My  tears  flow 
so  fast,  that  I am  not  able  to  write  any  fur- 
ther ; and  I would  not  willingly  make  you 

weep  with  me Let  us  take  care  not  to 

undo  the  child  that  is  already  undone  : if  we 
can  leave  him  any  thing,  a little  virtue  will 
keep  him  from  want,  and  a little  fortune  raise 
him  in  the  world.  Mind  your  health,  and  let 

me  know  frequently  what  you  are  doing. 

Remember  me  to  Tulliola  and  Cicero.’ 

II. 

‘ Do  not  fancy  that  I write  longer  letters  to 
any  one  than  to  yourself,  unless  when  I chance 
to  receive  a longer  letter  from  another,  which 
I am  indispensably  obliged  to  answer  in  every 
particular.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I have  no  sub- 
ject for  a letter  at  present ; and,  as  my  affairs 
now  stand,  there  is  nothing  more  painful  to 
me  than  writing.  As  for  you,  and  our  dear 
Tulliola,  I cannot  write  to  you  without  abun- 
dance of  tears  ; for  I see  both  of  you  miserable, 
whom  I always  wished  to  be  happy,  and  whom 
I ought  to  have  made  so. 1 must  acknow- 

ledge, you  have  done  every  thing  for  me  with 
the  utmost  fortitude,  and  the  utmost  affection ; 
nor  indeed  is  it  more  than  I expected  from  you; 
though,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  a great  aggra- 
vation of  my  ill  fortune,  that  the  afflictions 
I suffer  can  be  relieved  only  by  those  which 
you  undergo  for  my  sake.  For  honest  Valerius 
has  written  me  a letter,  which  I could  not  read 
without  weeping  very  bitterly ; wherein  he 
gives  me  an  account  of  the  public  procession 
which  you  have  made  for  me  at  Rome.  Alas  ! 
my  dearest  life,  must  then  Terentia,  the  dar- 
ling of  my  soul,  whose  favor  and  recommen- 
dations have  been  so  often  sought  by  others  ; 
must  my  Terentia  droop  under  the  weight  of 
sorrow,  appear  in  the  habit  of  a mourner,  pour 
out  floods  of  tears,  and  all  this  for  my  sake ; 
for  my  sake,  who  have  undone  my  family,  by 

consulting  the  safety  of  others  ? As  for  what 

you  write  about  selling  your  house,  I am  very 
much  afflicted,  that  what  is  laid  out  upon  my 
account  may  any  way  reduce  you  to  misery  and 
want.  If  we  can  bring  about  our  design,  we 
may  indeed  recover  every  thing ; but  if  fortune 
persists  in  persecuting  us,  how  can  I think  of 
your  sacrificing  for  me  the  poor  remainder  of 
your  possessions  ? No,  my  dearest  life,  let  me 
beg  you  to  let  those  bear  my  expenses  who  are 
able,  and  perhaps  willing  to  do  it ; and  if  you 
would  show  your  love  to  me,  do  not  injure 
your  health,  which  is  already  too  much  im- 
paired. You  present  yourself  before  my  eyes 
day  and  night ; I see  you  labour  amidst  innu- 
merable  difficulties  ; I am  afraid  lest  you  should 
sink  under  them ; but  I find  in  you  all  the 
qualifications  that  are  necessary  to  support 
you : be  sure  therefore  to  cherish  your  health, 
that  you  may  compass  the  end  of  your  hopes 
and  your  endeavours. Farewell,  my  Teren- 

tia, my  heart’s  desire,  farewell.’ 


No.  160.] 


THE  TATLER. 


289 


III. 

‘ Aristocritus  hatli  delivered  to  me  three  of 
your  letters,  which  I have  almost  defaced  with 
my  tears.  Oh  ! my  Terentia,  I am  consumed 
with  grief,  and  feel  the  weight  of  your  suffer- 
ings more  than  of  my  own.  I am  more  miser- 
able than  you  are,  notwithstanding  you  are  very 
much  so  ; and  that  for  this  reason,  because, 
though  our  calamity  is  common,  it  is  my  fault 
that  brought  it  upon  us.  I ought  to  have  died 
rather  than  have  been  driven  out  of  the  city  : I 
am  therefore  overwhelmed,  not  only  with  grief, 
but  with  shame.  I am  ashamed  that  I did  not 
do  my  utmost  for  the  best  of  wives,  and  the 
dearest  of  children.  You  are  ever  present  be- 
fore my  eyes,  in  your  mourning,  your  affliction, 
and  your  sickness.  Amidst  all  which,  there 
scarce  appears  to  me  the  least  glimmering  of 
hope. — However,  as  long  as  you  hope,  I will  not 
despair — will  do  what  you  advise  me.  I have 
returned  my  thanks  to  those  friends  whom  you 
mentioned,  and  have  let  them  know,  that  you 
have  acquainted  me  with  their  good  offices.  I 
am  sensible  of  Piso’s  extraordinary  zeal  and  en- 
deavours to  serve  me.  Oh ! would  the  gods 
grant  that  you  and  I might  live  together  in  the 
enjoyment  of  such  a son-in-law,  and  of  our  dear 
children  ! — As  for  what  you  write  of  your  com- 
ing to  me,  if  I desire  it,  I would  rather  you 
should  be  where  you  ai’e,  because  I know  you 
are  my  principal  agent  at  Rome.  If  you  suc- 
ceed, i shall  come  to  you : if  not But  I need 

say  no  more.  Be  careful  of  your  health  ; and 
be  assured,  that  nothing  is,  or  ever  was,  so  dear 
to  me  as  yourself.  Farewell,  my  Terentia!  I 
fancy  that  I see  you,  and  therefore  cannot  com- 
mand my  weakness  so  far  as  to  refrain  from 
tears.’ 

IV. 

‘I  do  not  write  to  you  as  often  as  I might ; 
because,  notwithstanding  I am  afflicted  at  all 
times,  I am  quite  overcome  with  sorrow  whilst 
I am  writing  to  you,  or  reading  any  letters  that 
I receive  from  you. — If  these  evils  are  not  to  be 
removed,  I must  desire  to  see  you,  my  dearest 
life,  as  soon  as  possible,  and  to  die  in  your  em- 
braces ; since  neither  the  gods,  whom  you  al- 
ways religiously  worshipped,  nor  the  men, 
whose  good  I always  promoted,  have  rewarded 
us  according  to  our  deserts. — What  a distress- 
ed wretch  am  I ! Should  I ask  a weak  woman, 
oppressed  with  cares  and  sickness,  to  come  and 
live  with  me ; or,  shall  I not  ask  her  ? Can  I 
live  without  you  ? But  I find  I must.  If  there 
be  any  hopes  of  my  return,  help  it  forward,  and 
promote  it  as  much  as  you  are  able.  But  if  all 
that  is  over,  as  I fear  it  is,  find  out  some  way  or 
other  of  coming  to  me.  This  you  may  be  sure 
of,  that  I shall  not  look  upon  myself  as  quite  un- 
done whilst  you  are  with  me.  But  what  will 
become  of  Tulliola  ? You  must  look  to  that ; I 
must  confess,  I am  entirely  at  a loss  about  her. 
Whatever  happens,  we  must  take  care  of  the 
reputation  and  marriage  of  that  dear  unfortunate 
girl.  As  for  Cicero,  he  shall  live  in  my  bosom, 
and  in  my  arms.  I cannot  write  any  further, 

my  sorrows  will  not  let  me Support  yourself,  | 

my  dear  Terentia,  as  well  as  you  are  able.  We  ; 


have  lived  and  flourished  together  amidst  the 
greatest  honours  ; it  is  not  our  crimes,  but  our 
virtues,  that  have  distressed  us. — Take  more 
than  ordinary  care  of  your  health  ; I am  more 
afflicted  with  your  sorrows  than  my  own. — 
Farewell,  my  Terentia,  thou  dearest,  faithfullest, 
and  best  of  wives.’ 

Methinks  it  is  a pleasure  to  see  this  great 
man  in  his  family,  who  makes  so  different  a 
figure  in  the  Forum,  or  senate  of  Rome.  Every 
one  admires  the  orator  and  the  consul ; but  for 
my  part,  I esteem  the  husband  and  the  father. 
His  private  character,  with  all  the  little  weak- 
nesses of  humanity,  is  as  amiable,  as  the  figure 
he  makes  in  public  is  awful  and  majestic.  But 
at  the  same  time  that  I love  to  surprise  so  great 
an  author  in  his  private  walks,  and  to  survey 
him  in  his  most  familiar  lights,  I think  it  would 
be  barbarous  to  form  to  ourselves  any  idea  of 
mean-spiritedness  from  these  natural  openings 
of  his  heart,  and  disburdening  of  his  thoughts 
to  a wife.  He  has  written  several  other  letters 
to  the  same  person,  but  none  with  so  great  pas- 
sion as  these  of  which  I have  given  the  fore- 
going extracts. 

It  would  be  ill-nature  not  to  acquaint  the 
English  reader,  that  his  wife  was  successful  in 
her  .solicitations  for  this  great  man  ; and  saw 
her  husband  return  to  the  honours  of  which  he 
had  been  deprived,  with  all  the  pomp  and  accla- 
mation that  usually  attended  the  greatest  tri- 
umph. 


No.  160.]  Tuesday,  April  18,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  17. 

A COMMON  civility  to  an  impertinent  fellow 
often  draws  upon  one  a great  many  unforeseen 
troubles  ; and,  if  one  doth  not  take  particular 
care,  will  be  interpreted  by  him  as  an  overture 
of  friendship  and  intimacy.  This  I was  very 
sensible  of  this  morning.  About  two  hours  be- 
fore day,  I heard  a great  rapping  at  my  door, 
which  continued  some  time,  until  my  maid 
could  get  herself  ready  to  go  down  and  see  what 
was  the  occasion  of  it.  She  then  brought  me 
up  word,  that  there  was  a gentleman  who  seem- 
ed very  much  in  haste,  and  said  he  must  needs 
speak  with  me.  By  the  description  she  gave 
me  of  him,  and  by  his  voice,  which  I could  hear 
as  I lay  in  my  bed,  I fancied  him  to  be  my  old 
acquaintance  the  upholsterer,  whom  I met  the 
other  day  in  St.  James’s  park.  For  wfflich  rea- 
son, I bid  her  tell  the  gentleman,  whoever  he 
was,  ‘ that  I was  indisposed  ; that  I could  see 
nobody ; and  that,  if  he  had  any  thing  to  say  to 
me,  I desired  he  would  leave  it  in  writing.’  My 
maid,  after  having  delivered  her  message,  told 
me,  that  the  gentleman  said  he  would  stay  at 
the  next  coffee-house  until  I was  stirring  ; and 
hid  her  be  sure  to  tell  me,  that  the  French  were 
driven  from  the  scarp,  and  that  Douay  was  in- 
vested.’ He  gave  her  the  name  of  another 
town,  which  I found  she  had  dropped  by  the 
way. 

As  much  as  I love  to  be  informed  of  the  suc- 


290 


THE  TATLEK. 


cess  of  my  brave  countrymen,  I do  not  care  for 
hearing  of  a victory  before  day  ; and  was  there- 
fore very  much  out  of  humour  at  this  unseason- 
able visit.  I had  no  sooner  recovered  my 
temper,  and  was  falling  asleep,  but  I was  im- 
mediately startled  by  a second  rap ; and  upon 
my  maid’s  opening  the  door,  heard  the  same 
voice  ask  her,  if  her  master  was  yet  up  ? and 
at  the  same  time  bid  her  tell  me,  that  he  was 
come  on  purpose  to  talk  with  me  about  a piece 
of  home  news,  which  every  body  in  town  will 
be  full  of  two  hours  hence.  I ordered  my  maid, 
as  soon  as  she  came  into  the  room,  without 
hearing  her  message,  to  tell  the  gentleman, 
‘that  whatever  his  news  was,  I would  rather 
hear  it  two  hours  hence  than  now ; and  that  I 
persisted  in  my  resolution  not  to  speak  with  any 
body  that  morning.’  The  wench  delivered  my 
answer  presently,  and  shut  the  door.  It  was 
impossible  for  me  to  compose  myself  to  sleep 
after  two  such  unexpected  alarms;  for  which 
reason,  I put  on  my  clothes  in  a very  peevish 
humour.  I took  several  turns  about  ray  cham- 
ber, reflecting  with  a great  deal  of  anger  and 
contempt  on  these  volunteers  in  politics,  that 
undergo  all  the  pain,  watchfulness,  and  disquiet 
of  a first  minister,  without  turning  it  to  the  ad- 
vantage either  of  themselves  or  their  country ; 
and  yet  it  is  surprising  to  consider  how  numer- 
ous this  species  of  men  is.  There  is  nothing 
more  frequent  than  to  find  a tailor  breaking  his 
rest  on  the  affairs  of  Europe,  and  to  see  a clus- 
ter of  porters  sitting  upon  the  ministry.  Our 
streets  swarm  with  politicians,  and  there  is 
scarce  a shop  which  is  not  held  by  a statesman. 
As  I was  musing  after  this  manner,  I heard 
the  upholsterer  at  the  door  delivering  a letter  to 
my  maid,  and  begging  her,  in  a very  great 
huny,  to  give  it  to  her  master  as  soon  as  ever 
he  was  awake  ; which  I opened,  and  found  as 
follows : — 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I was  to  wait  upon  you 
about  a week  ago,  to  let  you  know  that  the  honest 
gentlemen  whom  you  conversed  with  upon 
the  bench,  at  the  end  of  the  Mall,  having  heard 
that  I had  received  five  shillings  of  you,  to  give 
you  a hundred  pounds  upon  the  great  Turk’s 
being  driven  out  of  Europe,  desired  me  to  ac- 
quaint you,  that  every  one  of  that  company 
would  be  willing  to  receive  five  shillings,  to  pay 
a hundred  pounds  on  the  same  condition.  Our 
last  advices  from  Muscovy  making  this  a fairer 
bet  than  it  was  a week  ago,  I do  not  question 
but  you  will  accept  the  wager. 

‘ But  this  is  not  my  present  business.  If  you 
remember,  I whispered  a word  in  your  ear,  as 
we  were  walking  up  the  Mall ; and  you  see 
what  has  happened  since.  If  I had  seen  you 
this  morning,  I would  have  told  you  in  your  ear 
another  secret.  I hope  you  will  be  recovered 
of  your  indisposition  by  to-morrow  morning, 
when  I will  wait  on  you  at  the  same  hour  as  I 
did  this  ; my  private  circumstances  being  such, 
that  I cannot  v;ell  appear  in  this  quarter  of  the 
town  after  it  is  day. 

‘ I have  been  so  taken  up  with  the  late  good 
news  from  Holland,  and  expectation  of  further 
particulars,  as  well  as  with  other  transactions, 
of  which  I will  tell  you  more  to-morrow  morn- 


[No.  160. 

ing,  that  I have  not  slept  a wink  these  three 
nights. 

‘ I have  reason  to  believe  that  Picardy  will  soon 
follow  the  example  of  Artois,  in  case  the  enemy 
continue  in  their  present  resolution  of  flying 
away  from  us.  I think  I told  you  the  last  time 
we  were  together  my  opinion  about  the  Deulle. 

‘The  honest  gentlemen  upon  the  bench  bid  me 
tell  you,  that  they  would  be  glad  to  see  you  often 
among  them.  We  shall  be  there  all  the  warm 
hours  of  the  day  during  the  present  posture  of 
affairs. 

‘ This  happy  opening  of  the  campaign  will,  I 
hope,  give  us  a very  joyful  summer  ; and  I pro- 
pose to  take  many  a pleasant  walk  with  you,  if 
you  will  sometimes  come  into  the  Park  ; for  that 
is  the  only  place  in  which  I can  be  free  from 
the  malice  of  my  enemies.  Farewell,  until  three 
of  the  clock  to-morrow  morning  ! 

‘ I am  your  most  humble  servant,  <fcc. 

‘ P.  S.  The  king  of  Sweden  is  still  at  Bender.’ 

I should  have  fretted  myself  to  death  at  this 
promise  of  a second  visit,  if  I had  not  found  in 
his  letter  an  intimation  of  the  good  news  which 
I have  since  heard  at  large.  I have,  however, 
ordered  my  maid  to  tie  up  the  knocker  of  my 
door,  in  such  a manner  as  she  -svould  do  if  I was 
really  indisposed.  By  which  means  I hope  to 
escape  breaking  my  morning’s  rest. 

Since  I have  given  this  letter  to  the  public,  I 
shall  communicate  one  or  two  more,  which  I 
have  lately  received  from  others  of  my  corres- 
pondents. The  following  is  from  a coquette,  who 
is  very  angry  at  my  having  disposed  of  her  in 
marriage  to  a Bass-viol. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I thought  you  would 
never  have  descended  from  the  censor  of  Great 
Britain,  to  become  a match-maker.  But  pray, 
why  so  severe  upon  the  Kit  ? Had  I been  a 
Jew’s-harp,  that  is  nothing  but  tongue,  you 
could  not  have  used  me  wmrse.  Of  all  things, 
a Bass-viol  is  my  aversion.  Had  you  married 
me  to  a Bag-pipe  or  a Passing-bell,  I should 
have  been  better  pleased.  Dear  father  Isaac, 
either  choose  me  a better  husband,  or  I will  live 
and  die  a Dulcimer.  In  hopes  of  receiving 
satisfaction  from  you,  I am  yours,  whilst 

‘ ISABELLA  KIT.’ 

The  pertness  which  this  fair  lady  hath  shown 
in  this  letter,  was  one  occasion  of  my  joining 
her  to  the  Bass-viol,  w^hich  is  an  instrument 
that  wants  to  be  quickened  by  these  little  viva- 
cities ; as  the  sprightliness  of  the  Kit  ought  to 
be  checked  and  curbed  by  the  gravity  of  the 
Bass-viol. 

My  next  letter  is  from  Tom  Folio,  who,  it 
seems,  takes  it  amiss  that  I have  published  a 
character  of  him  so  much  to  his  disadvantage. 

‘ Sir, — I suppose  you  mean  Tom  Fool,  when 
you  called  me  Tom  Folio  in  a late  trifling  paper 
of  yours;  for  I find,  it  is  your  design  to  run  down 
all  useful  and  solid  learning.  The  tobacco- 
paper  on  w’hich  your  own  writings  are  usually 
printed,  as  well  as  the  incorrectness  of  the  press, 
and  the  scurvy  letter,  sufficiently  show  the  ex- 
tent of  your  knowledge.  I question  not  but  you 


No.  161.] 


THE  TATLER. 


2f)l 


look  upon  John  Morpliew  to  be  as  great  a man 
as  Elzevir ; and  Aldus  to  have  been  such  an- 
other as  Bernard  Lintot.  If  you  would  give  me 
my  revenge,  I would  only  desire  of  you  to  let 
me  publish  an  account  of  your  library,  which, 
I dare  say,  would  furnish  out  an  extraordinary 
catalogue.  TOM  FOLIO.’ 

It  hath  always  been  my  way  to  baffle  reproach 
with  silence ; though  I cannot  but  observe  the 
disingenuous  proceedings  of  this  gentleman, 
who  is  not  content  to  asperse  my  writings,  but 
hath  wounded,  through  my  sides,  those  eminent 
and  worthy  citizens,  Mr.  John  Morphew,  and 
Mr.  Bernard  Lintot. 


No.  161.]  Thursday,  April  20, 1710. 

Nunquam  libertas  gratior  exstat 

Q.uam  sub  rege  pio. 

Never  does  liberty  appear  more  amiable  than  under 
the  government  of  a pious  and  good  prince. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  19. 

I WAS  walking  two  or  three  days  ago  in  a 
very  pleasant  retirement,  and  amusing  myself 
with  the  reading  of  that  ancient  and  beautiful 
allegory,  called  ‘ The  Table  of  Cebes.’  I was 
at  last  so  tired  with  my  walk,  that  I sat  down 
to  rest  myself  upon  a bench  that  stood  in  the 
midst  of  an  agreeable  shade.  The  music  of  the 
birds,  that  filled  all  the  trees  about  me,  lulled 
me  asleep  before  I was  aware  of  it ; which  was 
followed  by  a dream,  that  I impute  in  some 
measure  to  the  foregoing  author,  who  had  made 
an  impression  upon  my  imagination,  and  put 
me  into  his  own  way  of  thinking. 

I fancied  myself  among  the  Alps,  and,  as  it 
is  natural  in  a dream,  seemed  every  moment  to 
bound  from  one  summit  to  another,  until  at  last, 
after  having  made  this  airy  progress  over  the 
tops  of  several  mountains,  I arrived  at  the  very 
centre  of  those  broken  rocks  and  precipices.  I 
here,  methought,  saw  a prodigious  circuit  of 
hills,  that  reached  above  the  clouds,  and  encom- 
passed a large  space  of  ground,  which  I had  a 
great  curiosity' to  look  into.  I thereupon  con- 
tinued my  former  way  of  travelling  through  a 
great  variety  of  winter  scenes,  until  I had  gained 
the  top  of  these  white  mountains,  which  seemed 
another  Alps  of  snow.  I looked  down  from 
hence  into  a spacious  plain,  which  was  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  this  mound  of  hills,  and 
which  presented  me  with  the  most  agreeable 
prospect  I had  ever  seen.  There  was  a greater 
variety  of  colours  in  the  embroidery  of  the  mea- 
dows, a more  lively  green  in  the  leaves  and 
grass,  a brighter  crystal  in  the  streams,  than 
what  I ever  met  with  in  any  other  region.  The 
light  itself  had  something  more  shining  and  glo- 
rious in  it  than  that  of  which  the  day  is  made 
in  other  places.  I was  wonderfully  astonished 
at  the  'discovery  of  such  a paradise  amidst  the 
wildness  of  those  cold,  hoary  landscapes  which 
lay  about  it ; but  found  at  length,  that  this  hap- 
py region  was  inhabited  by  the  goddess  of  Li- 
berty ; whose  presence  softened  the  rigours  of 
the  climate,  enriched  the  barrenness  of  the  soil. 


and  more  than  supplied  the  absence  of  the  sun. 
The  place  was  covered  with  a wonderful  profu- 
sion of  ilowers,  that,  without  being  disposed  into 
regular  borders  and  parterres,  grew  promiscu- 
ously ; and  had  a greater  beauty  in  their  natu- 
ral luxuriancy  and  disorder,  than  they  could 
have  received  from  the  checks  and  restraints  of 
art.  There  was  a river  that  arose  out  of  the 
south  side  of  the  mountain,  that,  by  an  infinite 
number  of  turnings  and  windings,  seemed  to 
visit  every  plant,  and  cherish  the  several  beau- 
ties of  the  spring,  with  which  the  fields  abound- 
ed. After  having  run  to  and  fro  in  a wonderful 
variety  of  meanders,  as  unwilling  to  leave  so 
charming  a place,  it  at  last  throws  itself  into 
the  hollow  of  a mountain ; from  whence  it  passes 
under  a long  range  of  rocks,  and  at  length  rises 
in  that  part  of  the  Alps  where  the  inhabitants 
think  is  the  first  source  of  the  Rhone.  This 
river,  after  having  made  its  progress  through 
those  free  nations,  stagnates  in  a huge  lake*  at 
the  leaving  of  them  ; and  no  sooner  enters  into 
the  regions  of  slavery,  but  it  runs  through  them 
with  an  incredible  rapidity,  and  takes  its  short- 
est way  to  the  sea. 

I descended  into  the  happy  fields  that  lay  be- 
neath me,  and,  in  the  midst  of  them,  beheld  the 
goddess  sitting  upon  a throne.  She  had  nothing 
to  enclose  her  but  the  bounds  of  her  own  do- 
minions, and  nothing  over  her  head  but  the 
heavens.  Every  glance  of  her  eye  cast  a track 
of  light  where  it  fell,  that  revived  the  spring, 
and  made  all  things  smile  about  her.  My  heart 
grew  cheerful  at  the  sight  of  her;  and,  as  she 
looked  upon  me,  I found  a certain  confidence 
growing  in  me,  and  such  an  inward  resolution 
as  I never  felt  before  that  time. 

On  the  left  hand  of  the  goddess  sat  the  genius 
of  a commonwealth,  with  the  cap  of  Liberty  on 
her  head,  and,  in  her  hand,  a wand  like  that 
with  which  a Roman  citizen  used  to  give  his 
slaves  their  freedom.  There  was  something 
mean  and  vulgar,  but  at  the  same  time  exceed- 
ing bold  and  daring,  in  her  air  ; her  eyes  were 
full  of  fire  ; but  had  in  them  such  casts  of  fierce- 
ness and  cruelty,  as  made  her  appear  to  me  ra- 
ther dreadful  than  amiable.  On  her  shoulders 
she  wore  a mantle,  on  which  there  was  wrought 
a great  confusion  of  figures.  As  it  flew  in  the 
wind,  I could  not  discern  the  particular  design 
of  them,  but  saw  wounds  in  the  bodies  of  some, 
and  agonies  in  the  faces  of  others  ; and  over  one 
part  of  it  could  read  in  letters  of  blood,  ‘ The 
Ides  of  March.’ 

On  the  right  hand  of  the  goddess  was  the 
genius  of  monarchy.  She  was  clothed  in  the 
whitest  ermine,  and  wore  a crown  of  the  purest 
gold  upon  her  head.  In  her  hand,  she  held  a 
sceptre  like  that  which  is  borne  by  the  British 
monarchs.  A couple  of  tame  lions  lay  crouching 
at  her  feet.  Her  countenance  had  in  it  a very 
great  majesty,  without  any  mixture  of  terror. 
Her  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  an  angel,  filled 
with  so  much  sweetness,  accompanied  with 
such  an  air  of  condescension,  as  tempered  the 
awfulness  of  her  appearance,  and  equally  in- 
spired love  and  veneration  into  the  hearts  of  all 
that  beheld  her. 


* The  lake  of  Geneva, 


292 


THE  TATLER. 


In  the  train  of  the  goddess  of  Liberty  were 
the  several  Arts  and  Sciences,  who  all  of  them 
flourished  underneath  her  eye.  One  of  them  in 
particular  made  a greater  figure  than  any  of  the 
rest,  who  held  a thunderbolt  in  her  hand,  which 
had  the  power  of  melting,  piercing,  or  breaking 
every  thing  that  stood  in  its  way.  The  name 
of  this  goddess  was  Eloquence. 

There  were  two  other  dependant  goddesses, 
who  made  a very  conspicuous  figure  in  this 
blissful  region.  The  first  of  them  was  seated 
upon  a hill,  that  had  every  plant  growing  out  of 
it,  which  the  soil  was  in  its  own  nature  capable 
of  producing.  The  other  was  seated  in  a little 
island  that  was  covered  with  groves  of  spices, 
olives,  and  orange-trees ; and,  in  a word,  wuth 
the  products  of  every  foreign  clime.  The  name 
of  the  first  was  Plenty,  of  the  second.  Commerce. 
The  first  leaned  her  right  arm  upon  a plough, 
and  under  her  left  held  a huge  horn,  out  of 
which  she  poured  a whole  autumn  of  fruits. 
The  other  wore  a rostral  crown  upon  her  head,  : 
and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  a compass.  ! 

I was  wonderfully  pleased  in  ranging  through  j 
this  delightful  place,  and  the  more  so,  because  . 
it  was  not  encumbered  with  fences  and  enclo-  | 
sures ; until  at  length,  methought  I sprung  from  ! 
the  ground,  and  pitched  upon  the  top  of  a hill,  i 
that  presented  several  objects  to  my  sight  which 
I had  not  before  taken  notice  of.  The  winds  j 
that  passed  over  this  fiowery  plain,  and  through 
the  tops  of  the  trees,  w'hich  were  full  of  blos- 
soms, blew  upon  me  in  such  a continued  breeze 
of  sweets,  that  I was  wonderfully  charmed  with 
my  situation.  I here  saw  all  the  inner  declivi- 
ties of  that  great  circuit  of  mountains,  whose 
outside  was  covered  with  snow,  overgrown  with 
huge  forests  of  fir-trees,  which  indeed  are  very 
frequently  found  in  other  parts  of  the  Alps. 
These  trees  were  inhabited  by  storks,  that  came 
thither  in  great  flights  from  very  distant  quar- 
ters of  the  world.  Methoughts  I was  pleased  in 
my  dream  to  see  what  became  of  these  birds, 
when,  upon  leaving  the  places  to  which  they 
make  an  annual  visit,  they  rise  in  great  flocks 
so  high  until  they  are  out  of  sight,  and  for  that 
reason  have  been  tliought  by  some  modern  phi- 
losophers  to  take  a flight  to  the  moon.  But  my 
eyes  were  soon  diverted  from  this  prospect, 
when  I observed  two  great  gaps  that  led  through 
this  circuit  of  mountains,  where  guards  and 
watches  were  posted  day  and  night.  Upon  ex- 
amination, I found  that  there  were  two  formi- 
dable enemies  encamped  before  each  of  these 
avenues,  who  kept  the  place  in  a perpetual  alarm, 
and  watched  all  opportunities  of  invading  it. 

Tyranny  was  at  the  head  of  one  of  these  ar- 
mies, dressed  in  an  Eastern  habit,  and  grasping 
in  her  hand  an  iron  sceptre.  Behind  her  was 
Barbarity,  with  the  garb  and  complexion  of  an 
Ethiopian ; Ignorance,  with  a turban  upon  her 
head ; and  Persecution  holding  up  a bloody  flag, 
embroidered  with  flower-de-luces.  These  were 
followed  by  Oppression,  Poverty,  Famine,  Tor- 
ture, and  a dreadful  train  of  appearances  that 
made  me  tremble  to  behold  them.  Among  the 
baggage  of  this  army,  I could  discover  racks, 
wheels,  chains,  and  gibbets,  with  all  the  instru- 
ments art  could  invent  to  make  human  nature 
miserable. 


[No.  162. 

Before  the  other  avenue  I saw  Licentiousness, 
dressed  in  a garment  not  unlike  the  Polish  cas- 
sock, and  leading  up  a whole  army  of  monsters, 
such  as  Clamour,  with  a hoarse  voice  and  a hun- 
dred tongues ; Confusion,  with  a misshapen  body, 
and  a thousand  heads  ; Impudence,  with  a fore- 
head of  brass  ; and  Rapine,  with  hands  of  iron. 
The  tumult,  noise,  and  uproar  in  this  quarter, 
were  so  very  great,  that  they  disturbed  my  ima- 
gination more  than  is  consistent  with  sleep,  and 
by  that  means  awaked  me. 


No.  162.]  Saturday,  April  22,  1710. 

Tertius  e ccelo  cecidit  Cato.  Juv.  Sat.  ii.  40. 

See ! a third  Cato  from  the  clouds  is  dropt. 

R.  Wynne 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  21. 

In  my  younger  years  I used  many  endeavours 
to  get  a place  at  court,  and  indeed  continued  my 
pursuits  until  I arrived  at  my  grand  climacteric. 
But  at  length,  altogether  despairing  of  success, 
whether  it  were  for  want  of  capacity,  friends,  or 
due  application,  I at  last  resolved  to  erect  a new 
office,  and,  for  my  encouragement,  to  place  my- 
self in  it.  For  this  reason  I took  upon  me  the 
title  and  dignity  of  ‘Censor  of  Great  Britain,’ 
reserving  to  myself  all  such  perquisites,  profits, 
and  emoluments,  as  should  arise  out  of  the  dis- 
charge of  the  said  ofiice.  These,  in  truth,  have 
not  been  inconsiderable ; for,  besides  those  weekly 
contributions  which  I receive  from  John  Mor- 
phew,*  and  those  annual  subscriptions  which  I 
propose  to  myself  from  the  most  elegant  part  of 
this  great  island,  I daily  live  in  a very  comfort- 
able affluence  of  wine,  stale  beer,  Hungary  wa- 
ter, beef,  books,  and  marrow-bones,  which  I re- 
ceive from  many  well  disposed  citizens  ; not  to 
mention  the  forfeitures,  which  accrue  to  me  from 
the  several  offenders  that  appear  before  me  on 
court-days. 

Having  now  enjoyed  this  office  for  the  space 
of  a twelvemonth,^  I shall  do  what  all  good  officers 
ought  to  do,  take  a survey  of  my  behaviour,  and 
consider  carefully,  whether  I have  discharged 
my  duty,  and  acted  up  to  the  character  with 
which  I am  invested.  For  my  direction  in  this 
particular,  I have  made  a narrow  search  into  the 
nature  of  the  old  Roman  censors,  whom  I must 
always  regard,  not  only  as  my  predecessors,  but 
as  my  patterns  in  this  great  employment ; and 
have  several  times  asked  my  own  heart  with 
great  impartiality,  whether  Cato  will  not  bear  a 
more  venerable  figure  among  posterity  than 
Bicker  staff? 

I find  the  duty  of  the  Roman  Censor  was  two- 
fold. The  first  part  of  it  consisted  in  making 
frequent  reviews  of  the  people,  in  casting  up  their 
numbers,  ranging  them  under  their  several 
tribes,  disposing  them  into  proper  classes,  and 
subdividing  them  into  their  respective  centuries. 


* John  Morphew,  the  printer,  appears  to  have  super- 
intended the  delivery,  and  received  the  prices  of  these 
papers  on  their  first  periodical  publication,  for  which  it 
seems  he  accounted  to  Steele  weekly,  and  probably  oft- 
ener. 

t The  first  paper  of  tlie  Tatler  is  dated  April  12, 170P. 


No.  163.] 


THE  TATLER 


293 


In  compliance  with  this  part  of  the  office,  I 
have  taken  many  curious  surveys  of  this  great 
city.  I have  collected  into  particular  bodies  the 
Dappers  and  the  Smarts,  the  natural  and  affected 
Rakes,  the  Pretty-fellows,  and  the  very  Pretty- 
fellows.  I have  likewise  drawn  out  in  several 
distinct  parties,  your  Pedants  and  Men  of  Fire, 
your  Gamesters  and  Politicians.  I have  sepa- 
rated Cits  from  Citizens,  Free-thinkers  from 
Philosophers,  Wits  from  Snuff-takers,  and  Duel- 
lists  from  men  of  Honour.  I have  likewise  made 
a calculation  of  Esquires;  not  only  considering 
the  several  distinct  swarms  of  them  that  are 
settled  in  the  different  parts  of  this  town,  but 
also  that  more  rugged  species  that  inhabit  the 
fields  and  woods,  and  are  often  found  in  pot- 
houses, and  upon  hay-cocks. 

I shall  pass  the  soft  sex  over  in  silence,  having 
not  yet  reduced  them  into  any  tolerable  order  ; 
as  likewise  the  softer  tribe  of  Lovers,  which  will 
cost  me  a great  deal  of  time  before  I shall  be 
able  to  cast  them  into  their  several  centuries  and 
subdivisions. 

The  second  part  of  the  Roman  censor’s  office 
was  to  look  into  the  manners  of  the  people  ; and 
to  check  any  growing  luxury,  whether  in  diet, 
dress,  or  building.  This  duty  likewise  I have 
endeavoured  to  discharge,  by  those  wholesome 
precepts  which  I have  given  my  countrymen  in 
regard  to  beef  and  mutton,  and  the  severe  cen- 
sures which  I have  passed  upon  ragouts  and  fri- 
cassees. There  is  not,  as  I am  informed,  a pair 
of  red  heels  to  be  seen  within  ten  miles  of  Lon- 
don ; which  I may  likewise  ascribe,  without  va- 
nity, to  the  becoming  zeal  which  I expressed  in 
that  particular.  I must  own,  my  success  with 
the  petticoat  is  not  so  great ; but,  as  I have  not 
yet  done  with  it,  I hope  I shall  in  a little  time 
put  an  effectual  stop  to  that  growing  evil.  As 
for  the  article  of  building,  I intend  hereafter  to 
enlarge  upon  it ; having  lately  observed  several 
warehouses,  nay,  private  shops,  that  stand  upon 
Corinthian  pillars,  and  whole  rows  of  tin  pots 
showing  themselves,  in  order  to  their  sale, 
through  a sash  window.^ 

I have  likewise  followed  the  example  of  the 
Roman  censors,  in  punishing  offences  according 
to  the  quality  of  the  offender.  It  was  usual  for 
them  to  expel  a senator,  who  had  been  guilty  of 
great  immoralities,  out  of  the  senate-house,  by 
omitting  his  name  when  they  called  over  the  list 
of  his  brethren.  In  the  same  manner,  to  remove 
effectually  several  worthless  men  who  stand  pos- 
sessed of  great  honours,  I have  made  frequent 
draughts  of  dead  men  out  of  the  vicious  part  of 
the  nobility,  and  given  them  up  to  the  new  so- 
ciety of  upholders,  with  the  necessary  orders  for 
their  interment.  As  the  Roman  censors  used  to 
punish  the  knights  or  gentlemen  of  Rome,  by 
taking  away  their  horses  from  them,  I have 
seized  the  canes  of  many  criminals  of  figure, 
whom  I had  just  reason  to  animadvert  upon.  As 
for  the  offenders  among  the  common  people  of 


* These  pillars  and  sash-windows  seem  to  be  men- 
tioned here  as  novelties ; from  which  it  may  be  inferred, 
that  the  shops  in  London  began  to  be  shut  in  and  glazed 
in  1710,  or  a little  sooner.  Several  prints  might  easily 
be  referred  to,  containing  representations  of  the  old  shops 
without  windows.  Some  such,  particularly  among  the 
woollen-drapers,  remain  to  this  day. 


Rome,  they  were  generally  chastised  by  being 
thrown  out  of  a higher  tribe,  and  placed  in  one 
which  was  not  so  honourable.  My  reader  can- 
not but  think  I have  had  an  eye  to  this  punish- 
ment, when  I have  degraded  one  species  of  men 
into  Bombs,  Squibs,  and  Crackers,  and  another 
into  Drums,  Bass-viols,  and  Bag-pipes ; not  to 
mention  whole  packs  of  delinquents  whom  I 
have  shut  up  in  kennels,  and  the  new  hospital 
which  I am  at  present  erecting  for  the  reception 
of  those  my  countrymen,  who  give  me  but  little 
hopes  of  their  amendment,  on  the  borders  of 
Moor-fields.  I shall  only  observe  upon  this 
last  particular,  that,  since  some  late  surveys  I 
have  taken  of  this  island,  I shall  think  it  neces- 
sary to  enlarge  the  plan  of  the  buildings  which 
I design  in  this  quarter. 

When  my  great  predecessor,  Cato  the  elder, 
stood  for  the  censorship  of  Rome,  there  were 
several  other  competitors  who  offered  them- 
selves ; and,  to  get  an  interest  amongst  the  peo- 
ple, gave  them  great  promises  of  the  mild  and 
gentle  treatment  whicla  they  would  use  toward 
them  in  that  office.  Cato,  on  the  contrary,  told 
them,  ‘he  presented  himself  as  a candidate,  be- 
cause he  knew  the  age  was  sunk  in  immorality 
and  corruption  ; and  that,  if  they  would  give  him 
their  votes,  he  would  promise  them  to  make  use 
of  such  a strictness  and  severity  of  discipline,  as 
should  recover  them  out  of  it.’  The  Roman  his- 
torians, upon  this  occasion,  very  much  celebra- 
ted the  public-spiritedness  of  that  people,  who 
chose  Cato  for  their  censor,  notwithstanding  his 
method  of  recommending  himself.  I may  in 
some  measure  extol  my  own  countrymen  upon 
the  same  account ; who,  without  any  respect  to 
party,  or  any  application  from  myself,  have  made 
such  generous  subscriptions^  for  the  Censor  of 
Great  Britain,  as  will  give  a magnificence  to  my 
old  age,  and  which  I esteem  more  than  I would 
any  post  in  Europe  of  a hundred  times  the  value. 
I shall  only  add,  that  upon  looking  into  my 
catalogue  of  subscribers,  which  I intend  to  print 
alphabetically  in  the  front  of  my  lucubrations, 
I find  the  names  of  the  greatest  beauties  and 
wits  in  the  whole  island  of  Great  Britain ; which 
I only  mention  for  the  benefit  of  any  of  them 
who  have  not  yet  subscribed,  it  being  my  design 
to  close  the  subscription  in  a very  short  time. 


No.  163.]  Tuesday,  April  25,  1710. 

Idem  inficeto  est  inficetior  rare, 

Simul  poemata  attigit ; neque  idem  unquam 
iEqiie  est  beatus,  ac  poema  cum  scribit : 

Tam  gaudet  in  se,  tamque  se  ipse  miratur. 

Nimirum  idem  omnes  fallimur  ; neque  est  quisquam 

Q,uem  non  in  aliqua  re  videre  Suffenum 

Possis Catul.  de  Sufleno,  xx.  14. 

Suffenus  has  no  more  wit  than  a mere  clown  when  he 
attempts  to  write  verses  ; and  yet  he  is  never  happier 
than  when  he  is  scribbling : so  much  does  he  admire 
himself  and  his  compositions.  And,  indeed,  this  is  the 
foible  of  every  one  of  us  ; for  there  is  no  man  living  who 
is  not  a Suffenus  in  one  thing  or  other. 


* This  alludes  not  only  to  the  extensive  sale,  and  great 
profits  of  these  papers  on  their  periodical  publication, 
but  also,  and  chiefly,  to  the  very  numerous  and  respect- 
able subscriptions  for  the  re-publication  of  them  in  their 
first  edition  in  octavo,  at  the  very  extraordinary  price 
of  one  guinea  for  each  volume. 


294 


THE  TATLER. 


Will's  Coffee-house^  April  24. 

I YESTERDAY  catne  hither  about  two  hours  be- 
fore  the  company  generally  make  their  appear- 
ance, with  a design  to  read  over  all  the  news- 
papers ; but,  upon  my  sitting  down,  I was  ac- 
costed  by  Ned  Softly,  who  saw  me  from  a corner 
in  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  I found  he 
had  been  writing  something.  ‘ Mr.  Bickerstatf,’ 
says  he,  ‘ I observe  by  a late  paper  of  yours, 
that  you  and  I are  just  of  a humour ; for  you 
must  know,  of  all  impertinences,  there  is  no- 
thing which  I so  much  hate  as  news.  I never 
read  a Gazette  in  my  life  ; and  never  trouble  my 
head  about  our  armies,  whether  they  win  or 
lose,  or  in  v.^hat  part  of  the  world  they  lie  en- 
camped.’ Without  giving  me  time  to  reply,  he 
drew  a paper  of  verses  out  of  his  pocket,  telling 
me,  ‘ that  he  had  something  which  would  en- 
tertain me  more  agreeably  ; and  that  he  would 
desire  my  judgment  upon  every  line,  for  that 
we  had  time  enough  before  us  until  the  com- 
pany came  in.’ 

Ned  Softly  is  a very  pretty  poet,  and  a great 
admirer  of  easy  lines.  Waller  is  his  favourite  : 
and  as  that  admirable  writer  has  tlie  best  and 
worst  verses  of  any  among  our  great  English 
poets,  Ned  Softly  has  got  all  the  bad  ones  with- 
out book : which  he  repeats  upon  occasion,  to 
show  his  reading,  and  garnish  his  conversation. 
Ned  is  indeed  a true  English  reader,  incapable 
of  relishing  the  great  and  masterly  strokes  of 
this  art : but  wonderfully  pleased  with  the  little 
Gothic  ornaments  of  epigrammatical  conceits, 
turns,  points,  and  quibbles  ; which  are  so  fre- 
quent in  the  most  admired  of  our  English  poets, 
and  practised  by  those  who  want  genius  and 
strength  to  represent,  after  the  manner  of  the 
ancients,  simplicity  in  its  natural  beauty  and 
perfection. 

Finding  myself  unavoidably  engaged  in  such 
a conversation,  I was  resolved  to  turn  my  pain 
into  a pleasure,  and  to  divert  myself  as  well  as 
I could  with  so  very  odd  a fellow.  ‘ You  must 
understand,’  says  Ned,  ‘ that  the  sonnet  I am 
going  to  read  to  you  was  written  upon  a lady, 
who  showed  me  some  verses  of  her  own  making, 
and  is,  perhaps,  the  best  poet  of  our  age.  But 
you  shall  hear  it.’ 

Upon  which  he  began  to  read  as  follows : — 
To  Mira^  on  her  incomparable  Poems. 

When  dressed  in  laurel  wreaths  you  shine, 

And  tune  your  soft  melodious  notes, 

You  seem  a sister  of  the  Nine, 

Or  Phoebus’  self  in  petticoats. 

II. 

I fancy,  when  your  song  you  sing, 

(Your  song  you  sing  with  so  much  art) 

Your  pen  was  plucked  from  Cupid’s  wing ; 

For,  ah  ! it  wounds  me  like  his  dart. 

‘ Why,’  says  I,  ‘ this  is  a little  nosegay  of 
conceits,  a very  lump  of  salt,  every  verse  has 
something  in  it  that  piques  ; and  then  the  dart 
in  the  last  line  is  certainly  as  pretty  a sting  in 
the  tail  of  an  epigram,  for  so  1 think  you  critics 
call  it,  as  ever  entered  into  the  thought  of  a 
poet.’  ‘ Dear  Mr.  BickerstafF,’  says  he,  shaking 


[No.  163. 

me  by  the  hand,  ‘every  body  knows  you  to  be 
a judge  of  these  things  ; and  to  tell  you  truly,  I 
read  over  Roscommon’s  translation  of  ‘ Horace’s 
Art  of  Poetry’  three  several  times,  before  I sat 
down  to  write  the  sonnet  which  I have  shown 
you.  But  you  shall  hear  it  again,  and  pray  ob- 
serve every  line  of  it ; for  not  one  of  them  shall 
pass  without  your  approbation. 

When  dressed  in  laurel  wreaths  you  shine, 

‘That  is,’  says  he,  ‘when  you  have  your 
garland  on ; when  you  are  writing  verses.  To 
which  I replied,  ‘ I know  your  meaning ; a 
metaphor?’  ‘ The  same,’  said  he,  and  went  on. 

And  tune  your  soft  melodious  notes, 

‘ Pray  observe  the  gliding  of  that  verse;  there 
is  scarce  a consonant  in  it ; I took  care  to  make 
it  run  upon  liquids.  Give  me  your  opinion  of 
it.’  ‘ Truly,’  said  I,  ‘ I think  it  as  good  as  the 
former.’  ‘ I am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say 
says  he  ; ‘ but  mind  the  next.’ 

You  seem  a sister  of  the  Nine, 

‘ That  is,’  says  he,  ‘ you  seem  a sister  of  the 
muses  ; for,  if  you  look  into  ancient  authors,  you 
will  find  it  was  their  opinion,  that  there  were 
nine  of  them.’  ‘ I remember  it  very  well,’  said 
I ; ‘ but  pray  proceed.’ 

Or  Phoebus’  self  in  petticoats. 

‘ Phcebus,’  says  he,  ‘ was  the  god  of  poetry. 
These  little  instances,  Mr.  BickerstafF,  show  a 
gentleman’s  reading.  Then,  to  take  ofF  from 
the  air  of  learning,  which  Phoebus  and  the 
muses  had  given  to  this  first  stanza,  you  may 
observe,  how  it  falls  all  of  a sudden  into  the 
familiar  ; “ in  petticoats  1”  ’ 

Or  Phoebus’  self  in  petticoats. 

‘ Let  us  now,’  says  I,  ‘ enter  upon  the  second 
stanza ; I find  the  first  line  is  still  a continua- 
tion of  the  metaphor.’ 

I fancy,  when  your  song  you  sing, 

‘ It  is  very  right,’  says  he  ; ‘ but  pray  observe 
the  turn  of  words  in  those  two  lines.  I w^as  a 
whole  hour  in  adjusting  of  them,  and  have  still 
a doubt  upon  me,  whether  in  the  second  line  it 
should  be  “Your  song  you  sing;  or.  You  sing 
your  song  1”  You  shall  hear  them  both.’ 

I fancy,  when  your  song  you  sing, 

(Your  song  you  sing  with  so  much  art) 

OR, 

I fancy,  when  your  song  you  sing, 

(You  sing  your  song  with  so  much  art) 

‘ Truly,’  said  I,  ‘ the  turn  is  so  natural  either 
way,  that  you  have  made  me  almost  giddy  with 
it.’  ‘ Dear,  sir,’  said  he,  grasping  me  by  the 
hand,  ‘you  have  a great  deal  of  patience;  but 
pray  what  do  you  think  of  the  next  verse  ?’ 

Your  pen  was  plucked  from  Cupid’s  wing ; 

‘ Think  1’  says  I ; ‘ I think  you  have  made 
Cupid  look  like  a little  goose.’  ‘ That  was  my 
meaning,’  says  he  : ‘I  think  the  ridicule  is 
well  enough  hit  off.  But  we  come  now  to  the 
last,  which  sums  up  the  whole  matter.’ 

For,  All ! it  wounds  me  like  his  dart. 

‘ Pray  how  do  you  like  that  Ah  I doth  it  not 


THE  TATLER. 


295 


No- 164.] 

make  a pretty  figure  in  that  place  ? Aid — it 
looks  as  if  I felt  the  dart,  and  cried  out  as  being 
pricked  with  it. 

For,  Ah ! it  wounds  me  like  his  dart. 

‘ My  friend  Dick  Easy,’  continued  he,  ‘ as- 
sured me,  he  would  rather  have  written  that 
Ah  1 than  to  have  been  the  author  of  the  iEneid. 
He  indeed  objected,  that  I made  Mira’s  pen 
like  a quill  in  one  of  the  lines,  and  like  a dart 

in  the  other.  But  as  to  that ’ ‘ Oh  ! as  to 

that,’  says  I,  ‘ it  is  but  supposing  Cupid  to  be 
like  a porcupine,  and  his  quills  and  darts  will 
be  the  same  thing.’  He  was  going  to  embrace 
me  for  the  hint ; but  half  a dozen  critics  coming 
into  the  room,  whose  faces  he  did  not  like,  he 
conveyed  the  sonnet  into  his  pocket,  and  whis- 
pered me  in  the  ear,  ‘he  would  show  it  me 
affain  as  soon  as  his  man  had  written  it  over 
fair.’ 


No.  164.]  Thursday,  April  27,  1710. 

Q,ui  promittit  cives,  urbem,  sibi  curae, 

Iinperium  fore,  et  Italiam,  et  delubra  deoriim, 

(iuo  patre  sit  natiis,  nuin  ignota  inatre  inhojiestus? 
Omnes  mortales  curare  et  queerere  cogit. 

Hor.  Sat.  vi.  34. 

Whoever  promises  to  guard  the  state, 

The  gods,  the  temples,  and  imperial  seat, 

Makes  every  mortal  ask  his  father’s  name, 

Or  if  his  mother  was  a slave-born  dame  7— Francis. 


From  my  own  Apartment,  April  26. 


i 


I HAVE  lately  been  looking  over  the  many 
packets  of  letters  which  I have  received  from 
all  quarters  of  Great  Britain,  as  well  as  from 
foreign  countries,  since  my  entering  upon  the 
office  of  Censor  ; and  indeed  am  very  much  sur- 
prised to  sec  so  great  a number  of  them,  and 
pleased  to  tliink  that  I have  so  far  increased 
the  revenue  of  the  post-office.  As  this  collec- 
tion will  grow  daily,  I have  digested  it  into 
several  bundles,  and  made  proper  indorsements 
on  each  particular  letter ; it  being  my  design, 
when  I lay  down  the  work  that  I am  now  en- 
gaged in,  to  erect  a paper-office,  and  give  it  to 
the  public. 

I could  not  but  make  several  observations 
upon  reading  over  the  letters  of  my  correspond- 
ents. As,  first  of  all,  on  the  different  tastes 
that  reign  in  the  different  parts  of  this  city.  I 
find  by  the  approbations  which  are  given  me, 
that  I am  seldom  famous  on  the  same  days  on 
both  sides  of  Temple-bar  ; and  that  when  I am 
in  the  greatest  repute  within  the  liberties,  I 
dwindle  at  the  court-end  of  the  town.  Some- 
times I sink  in  both  these  places  at  the  same 
time ; but,  for  my  comfort,  my  name  hath  then 
been  up  in  the  districts  of  Wapping  and  Ro- 
therhithe.  Some  of  my  correspondents  desire 
me  to  be  always  serious,  and  others  to  be  always 
merry.  Some  of  them  entreat  me  to  go  to  bed 
and  fall  into  a dream,  and  like  me  better  when 
I am  asleep  than  when  I am  awake : others  ad- 
vise me  to  sit  all  night  upon  the  stars,  and  be 
more  frequent  in  my  astrological  observations  ; 
for  that  a vision  is  not  properly  a lucubration. 
Some  of  my  readers  thank  me  for  filling  my 
paper  with  the  flowers  of  antiquity,  others  de- 


sire news  from  Flanders.  Some  approve  my 
criticisms  on  the  dead,  and  others  my  censures 
on  the  living.  For  this  reason,  I onoe  resolved, 
in  the  new  edition  of  my  works,  to  range  my 
several  papers  under  distinct  heads,  according 
as  their  principal  design  was  to  benefit  and  in- 
struct the  different  capacities  of  my  readers ; 
and  to  follow  the  example  of  some  very  great 
authors,  by  writing  at  the  head  of  ^ach  dis- 
course, Ad  Aulam,  Ad  Academiam,  Ad  Popu- 
lum.  Ad  Clerum. 

There  is  no  particular  in  which  my  cor- 
respondents of  all  ages,  conditions,  sexes,  and 
complexions,  universally  agree,  except  only  in 
their  thirst  after  scandal.  It  is  impossible  to 
conceive,  how  many  have  recommended  their 
neighbours  to  me  upon  this  account,  or  how 
unmercifully  I have  been  abused  by  several 
unknown  hands,  for  not  publishing  the  secret 
histories  of  cuckoldom  that  I have  received 
from  almost  every  street  in  town. 

It  would  indeed  be  very  dangerous  for  me  to 
read  over  the  many  praises  and  eulogiums, 
which  come  post  to  me  from  all  the  corners  of 
the  nation,  were  they  not  mixed  with  many 
checks,  reprimands,  scurrilities,  and  reproach- 
es; which  several  of  my  good-natured  country- 
men cannot  forbear  sending  me,  though  it  often 
costs  them  twopence  or  a groat  before  they  can 
convey  them  to  my  hands : so  that  sometimes 
when  I am  put  into  the  best  humour  in  the 
world,  after  having  read  a panegyric  upon  my 
performances,  and  looked  upon  myself  as  a 
benefactor  to  the  British  nation,  the  next  letter, 
perhaps,  I open,  begins  with,  ‘ You  old  doting 

scoundrel ! Are  not  you  a sad  dog  ? 

Sirrah,  you  deserve  to  have  your  nose  slit ;’  and 
the  like  ingenious  conceits.  These  little  mor- 
tifications are  necessary  to  suppress  that  pride 
and  vanity  which  naturally  arise  in  the  mind 
of  a received  author,  and  enable  me  to  bear  the 
reputation  which  my  courteous  readers  bestow 
upon  me,  without  becoming  a coxcomb  by  it. 
It  was  for  the  same  reason,  that  when  a Roman 
general  entered  the  city  in  the  pomp  of  a tri- 
umph, the  commonwealth  allowed  of  several 
little  drawbacks  to  his  reputation,  by  conniving 
at  such  of  the  rabble  as  repeated  libels  and 
lampoons  upon  him  within  his  hearing  ; and  by 
that  means  engaged  his  thoughts  upon  his 
weakness  and  imperfections,  as  well  as  on  the 
merits  that  advanced  him  to  so  great  honours. 
The  conqueror,  however,  was  not  the  less  es- 
teemed for  being  a man  in  some  particulars, 
because  he  appeared  as  a god  in  others. 

There  is  another  circumstance  in  which  my 
countrymen  have  dealt  very  perversely  with 
me  ; and  that  is,  in  searching  not  only  into  my 
life,  but  also  into  the  lives  of  my  ancestors.  If 
there  has  been  a blot  in  my  family  for  these  ten 
generations,  it  hath  been  discovered  by  some 
or  other  of  my  correspondents.  In  short,  I find 
the  ancient  family  of  the  Bickerstaffs  has  suf- 
fered very  much  through  the  malice  and  preju- 
dice of  my  enemies.  Some  of  them  twit  me  in 
the  teeth  with  the  conduct  of  my  aunt  Mar- 
gery. Nay,  there  are  some  who  have  been  so 
disingenuous,  as  to  throw  Maud  the  milk-maid 
into  my  dish,  notwithstanding  I myself  was 
the  first  who  discovered  that  alliance.  I reap 


296 


THE  TATLER. 


however  many  benefits  from  the  malice  of  these 
enemies,  as  they  let  me  see  my  own  faults,  and 
give  me  a view  of  myself  in  the  worst  light ; 
as  they  hinder  me  from  being  blown  up  by  flat- 
tery and  self-conceit ; as  they  make  me  keep  a 
watchful  eye  over  my  own  actions ; and  at  the 
same  time  make  me  cautious  how  I talk  of 
others,  and  particularly  of  my  friends  and  rela- 
tions, or  value  myself  upon  the  antiquity  of  my 
family. 

But  the  most  formidable  part  of  my  cor- 
respondents are  those,  wdiose  letters  are  filled 
with  threats  and  menaces.  I have  been  treated 
so  often  after  this  manner,  that,  not  thinking  it 
sufficient  to  fence  well,  in  which  I am  now  ar- 
rived at  the  utmost  perfection,  and  to  carry  pis- 
tols about  me,  which  I have  always  tucked 
within  my  girdle ; I several  months  since 
made  my  will,  settled  my  estate,  and  took  leave 
of  my  friends,  looking  upon  myself  as  no  bet- 
ter than  a dead  man.  Nay,  I went  so  far  as  to 
write  a long  letter  to  the  most  intimate  acquaint- 
ance I have  in  the  world,  under  the  character 
of  a departed  person,  giving  him  an  account 
of  what  brought  me  to  that  untimely  end,  and 
of  the  fortitude  with  which  I met  it.  This  let- 
ter being  too  long  for  the  present  paper,  I intend 
to  print  it  by  itself  very  suddenly  ; and,  at  the 
same  time,  I must  confess  I took  my  hint  of  it 
from  the  behaviour  of  an  old  soldier  in  the  civil 
wars,  who  was  corporal  of  a company  in  a regi- 
ment of  foot,  about  the  same  time  that  I myself 
was  a cadet  in  the  king’s  army. 

This  gentleman  was  taken  by  the  enemy  ; 
and  the  two  parties  were  upon  such  terms 
at  that  time,  that  we  did  not  treat  each  other 
as  prisoners  of  war,  but  as  traitors  and  rebels. 
The  poor  corporal,  being  condemned  to  die, 
wrote  a letter  to  his  wife  wdien  under  sentence 
of  execution.  He  w^it  on  the  Thursday,  and 
was  to  be  executed  on  the  Friday  : but,  consi- 
dering that  the  letter  would  not  come  to  his 
wife’s  hands  until  Saturday,  the  day  after  execu- 
tion, and  being  at  that  time  more  scrupulous 
than  ordinary  in  speaking  exact  truth,  he  form- 
ed his  letter  rather  according  to  the  posture  of 
his  affairs  w'hen  she  should  read  it,  than  as  they 
stood  when  he  sent  it : though,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, there  is  a certain  perplexity  in  the  style 
of  it,  which  the  reader  will  easily  pardon,  con- 
sidering his  circumstances. 

‘ Dear-wufe, — Hoping  you  are  in  good  health, 
as  I am  at  this  present  w^riting  ; this  is  to  let 
you  know,  that  yesterday,  between  the  hours 
of  eleven  and  twelve,  I was  hancred,  drawn,  and. 
quartered.  I died  very  penitently,  and  every 
body  thought  my  case  very  hard.  Remember 
me  kindly  to  my  poor  fatherless  children. 

‘ Yours,  until  death,  W.  B.’ 

It  so  happened  that  this  honest  fellow  was  re- 
lieved by  a party  of  his  friends,  and  had  the 
satisfaction  to  see  all  the  rebels  hanged  who 
had  been  his  enemies.  I must  not  omit  a cir- 
cumstance which  exposed  him  to  raillery  his 
whole  life  after.  Before  the  arrival  of  the  next 
post,  that  would  have  set  all  things  clear,  his 
wife  w'as  married  to  a second  husband,  who 
lived  in  the  peaceable  possession  of  her  ; and 
the  corporal,  who  w'as  a man  of  plain  under- ! 


[No.  165. 

standing,  did  not  care  to  stir  in  the  matter,  as 
knowing  that  she  had  the  news  of  his  death 
under  his  own  hand,  which  she  might  have  pro- 
duced upon  occasion. 


No.  165.]  Saturday,  April  29,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  April  28. 

It  has  always  been  my  endeavour  to  distin- 
guish between  realities  and  appearances,  and  to 
separate  true  merit  from  the  pretence  to  it.  As 
it  shall  ever  be  my  study  to  make  discoveries 
of  this  nature  in  human  life,  and  to  settle  the 
proper  distinctions  between  the  virtues  and  per- 
fections of  mankind,  and  those  false  colours  and 
resemblances  of  them  that  shine  alike  in  the 
eyes  of  the  vulgar ; so  I shall  be  more  particu- 
larly careful  to  search  into  the  various  merits 
and  pretences  of  the  learned  world.  This  is 
the  more  necessary,  because  there  seems  to  be  a 
general  combination  among  the  pedants  to  extol 
one  another’s  labours,  and  cry  up  one  another’s 
parts  ; while  men  of  sense,  either  through  that 
modesty*  which  is  natural  to  them,  or  the  scorn 
they  have  for  such  trifling  commendations,  en- 
joy their  stock  of  knowledge,  like  a hidden  trea- 
sure, with  satisfaction  and  silence.  Pedantry, 
indeed,  in  learning,  islike  hypocrisy  in  religion, 
a form  of  knowledge  without  the  power  of  it ; 
that  attracts  the  eyes  of  the  common  people ; 
breaks  out  in  noise  and  show  ; and  finds  its  re- 
ward, not  from  any  inward  pleasure  that  attends 
it,  but  from  the  praises  and  approbations  which 
it  receives  from  men. 

Of  this  shallow  species  there  is  not  a more 
importunate,  empty,  and  conceited  animal,  than 
that  which  is  generally  known  by  the  name  of 
a Critic.  This,  in  the  common  acceptation  of 
the  word,  is  one  that,  without  entering  into  the 
sense  and  soul  of  an  author,  has  a few  general 
rules,  which,  like  mechanical  instruments,  he 
applies  to  the  works  of  every  writer  ; and  as 
they  quadrate  with  them,  pronounces  the  author 
perfect  or  defective.  He  is  master  cf  a certain 
set  of  words,  as  Unity,  Style,  Fire,  Phlegm, 
Easy,  Natural,  Turn,  Sentiment,  and  the  like ; 
which  he  varies,  compounds,  divides,  and  throws 
together,  in  every  part  of  his  discourse,  without 
any  thought  or  meaning.  The  marks  you  may 
know  him  by  are,  an  elevated  eye  and  a dog- 
matical brow,  a positive  voice  and  a contempt  for 
every  thing  that  comes  out,  whether  he  has  read 
it  or  not.  He  dwells  altogether  in  generals. 
He  praises  or  dispraises  in  the  lump.  He  shakes 
his  head  very  frequently  at  the  pedantry  of  uni- 
versities, and  bursts  into  laughter  when  you 
mention  an  author  that  is  not  known  at  Will’s. 
He  hath  formed  his  judgment  upon  Homer, 


* Addison  was  undoubtedly  a man  of  sense,  and  of 
celebrated  modesty;  but  when,  on  the  representation  ‘of 
his  Cato,  he  was  to  stand  the  hazard  of  the  theatre,  that 
as  little  might  be  left  to  hazard  as  possible,  on  the  first 
night,  Steele,  as  himself  relates,  undertook  to  pack  an 
audience.  This,  savs  Pope,  on  the  testimony  of  Spence, 
had  been  tried,  for  the  first  time,  in  favour  of  the  ‘ Dis- 
trest  Mother,’  (a  tragedy  of  Mr.  Ambrose  Phillips,  1712.) 
and  was  now  practised  with  more  efficacy  for  Cato.’ 
Dr  Johnson’s  ‘ Lives  of  English  Poets,’  vol.  II.  p.  371, 
! 8vo.  1781. 


No.  166.] 


THE  TATLER. 


297 


Horace,  and  Virgil,  not  from  their  own  works, 
but  from  those  of  Rapin  and  Bossu.  He  knows 
his  own  strength  so  well,  that  he  never  dares 
praise  any  thing  in  which  he  has  not  a French 
author  for  his  voucher. 

With  these  extraordinary  talents  and  accom- 
plishments, sir  Timothy  Tittle*  puts  men  in 
vogue,  or  condemns  them  to  obscurity;  and  sits 
as  judge  of  life  and  death  upon  every  author 
that  appears  in  public.  It  is  impossible  to  re- 
present the  pangs,  agonies,  and  convulsions, 
which  sir  Timothy  expresses  in  every  feature 
of  his  face,  and  muscle  of  his  body,  upon  the 
reading  of  a bad  poet. 

About  a week  ago,  I was  engaged,  at  a friend’s 
house  of  mine,  in  an  agreeable  conversation 
with  his  wife  and  daughters,  when,  in  the 
height  of  our  mirth,  sir  Timothy,  who  makes 
love  to  my  friend’s  eldest  daughter,  came  in 
amongst  us,  puffing  and  blowing  as  if  he  had 
been  very  much  out  of  breath.  He  immediately 
called  for  a chair,  and  desired  leave  to  sit  down 
without  any  further  ceremony.  I asked  him, 
where  he  had  been  ? whether  he  was  out  of 
order  ? He  only  replied,  that  he  was  quite  spent, 
and  fell  a cursing  in  soliloquy.  I could  hear 

him  cry,  ‘ A wicked  rogue An  execrable 

wretch Was  there  ever  such  a monster  !’ 

The  young  ladies  upon  this  began  to  be  affright- 
ed, and  asked,  whether  any  one  had  hurt  him  ? 
He  answered  nothing,  but  still  talked  to  him- 
self. ‘ To  lay  the  first  scene,’  says  he,  ‘ in  St. 
James’s  park  and  the  last  in  Northamptonshire  !’ 

‘ Is  tliat  all  ?’  said  I.  ‘Tlien  I suppose  you  have 
been  at  the  rehearsal  of  a play  this  morning.’ 

‘ Been  I’  says  he ; ‘ I have  been  at  Nortliamp- 
ton,  in  the  Park,  in  a lady’s  bed-chamber, 
in  a dining-room,  every  where  ; the  rogue  has 
led  me  such  a dance — .’  Though  I could  scarce 
forbear  laughing  at  his  discourse,  I told  him  I 
was  glad  it  was  no  worse,  and  that  he  was  only 
metaphorically  weary.  ‘ In  short,  sir,’  says  he, 

‘ the  author  has  not  observed  a single  unity  in 
his  whole  play  ; the  scene  shifts  in  every  dia- 
logue ; the  villain  has  hurried  me  up  and  down 
at  such  a rate,  that  I am  tired  off  my  legs.’  I 
could  not  but  observe  with  some  pleasure,  that 
the  young  lady  whom  he  made  love  to,  conceived 
a very  just  aversion  towards  him,  upon  seeing 
him  so  very  passionate  in  trifles.  And  as  she 
had  that  natural  sense  which  makes  her  a better 
judge  than  a thousand  critics,  she  began  to  rally 
him  upon  this  foolish  humour.  ‘ For  my  part,’ 
says  she,  ‘ I never  knew  a play  take  that  was 
written  up  to  your  rules,  as  you  call  them.’ 

‘ How,  madam  !’  says  he,  ‘ Is  that  your  opinion  ? 

I am  sure  you  have  a better  taste.’  ‘ It  is 
a pretty  kind  of  magic,’  says  she,  ‘ the  poets 
have,  to  transport  an  audience  from  place  to 
place  without  the  help  of  a coach  and  horses  ; 
I could  travel  round  the  world  at  such  a rate. 
It  is  such  an  entertainment  as  an  enchantress 
finds  when  she  fancies  herself  in  a wcod,  or  up- 
on a mountain,  at  a feast,  or  a solemnity  ; though 
at  the  same  time  she  has  never  stirred  out  of 
her  cottage.’  ‘ Your  simile,  madam,’  says  sir 
Timothy,  ‘ is  by  no  means  just.’  ‘ Pray,’  says 


* Henry  Cromwell,  Esq.  is  said  to  have  been  the  ori- 
ginal of  sir  Timothy  Tittle. 

2P 


she,  ‘ let  my  similes  pass  without  a criticism. 
I must  confess,’  continued  she,  (for  I found  she 
was  resolved  to  exasperate  him)  ‘ I laughed 
very  heartily  at  the  last  new  comedy  which  you 
found  so  much  fault  with.’  ‘ But,  madam,’  says 
he,  ‘ you  ought  not  to  have  laughed  ; and  I defy 
any  one  to  show  me  a single  rule  that  you  could 
laugh  by.’  ‘Ought  not  to  laugh!’  says  she; 
‘ pray  who  should  hinder  me  ?’  ‘ Madam,’  says 

he,  ‘ there  are  such  people  in  the  world  as  Rapin, 
Dacier,  and  several  others,  that  ought  to  have 
spoiled  your  mirth.’  ‘ I have  heard,’  says  the 
young  lady,  ‘ that  your  great  critics  are  always 
very  bad  poets  : I fancy  there  is  as  much  differ- 
ence between  the  works  of  the  one  and  the  other, 
as  there  is  betw'een  the  carriage  of  a dancing- 
master  and  a gentleman.  I must  confess,’  con- 
tinued she,  ‘ I would  not  be  troubled  with  so 
fine  a judgment  as  yours  is  ; for  I find  you  feel 
more  vexation  in  a bad  comedy,  than  I do  in 
a deep  tragedy.’  ‘ Madam,’  says  sir  Timo- 
thy, ‘ that  is  not  my  fault ; they  should  learn 
the  art  of  writing.’  ‘ For  my  part,’  says  the 
young  lady,  ‘ I should  think  the  greatest  art  in 
your  writers  of  comedies  is  to  please.’  ‘To 
please  !’  says  sir  Timothy ; and  immediately 
fell  a-laughing.  ‘ Truly,’  says  she,  ‘ that  is  my 
opinion.’  Upon  this  he  composed  his  counte- 
nance, looked  upon  his  watch,  and  took  his 
leave. 

I hear  that  sir  Timothy  has  not  been  at  my 
friend’s  house  since  this  notable  conference,  to 
the  great  satisfaction  of  the  young  lady,  who 
by  this  means  has  got  rid  of  a very  impertinent 
fop. 

I must  confess,  I could  not  but  observe,  with 
a great  deal  of  surprise,  how  this  gentleman,  by 
his  ill-nature,  folly,  and  affectation,  had  made 
himself  capable  of  suffering  so  many  imaginary 
pains,  and  looking  with  such  a senseless  severity 
upon  the  common  diversions  of  life. 


No.  166.]  Tuesday,  May  2,  1710. 

Dicenda,  tacenda  locutus. 

Hor.  Ep.  vii.  72. 

He  said, 

Or  right,  or  wrong,  what  came  into  his  head. 

Francis. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  May  1. 

The  w'orld  is  so  overgrown  with  singularities 
in  behaviour,  and  method  of  living,  that  I have 
no  sooner  laid  before  mankind  the  absurdity  of 
one  species  of  men,  but  there  starts  up  to  my 
view  some  new  sect  of  impertinents  that  had 
before  escaped  notice.  This  afternoon,  as  I was 
talking  with  fine  Mrs.  Sprightly’s  porter,  and 
desiring  admittance  upon  an  extraordinary  oc- 
casion, it  was  my  fate  to  be  spied  by  Tom 
Modely,  riding  by  in  his  chariot.  He  did  me 
the  honour  to  stop,  and  asked,  ‘ what  I did 
there  on  a Monday  ?’  I answered,  ‘ that  I had 
business  of  importance,  which  I wanted  to 
communicate  to  the  lady  of  the  house.’  Tom 
is  one  of  those  fools,  who  look  upon  knowledge 
of  the  fashion  to  be  the  only  liberal  science  ; 
and  was  so  rough  as  to  tell  me,  ‘ that  a well- 
bred  man  would  as  soon  call  upon  a lady,  who 


298 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  166. 


Iceeps  a day^  at  midnight,  as  on  any  day  but  that 
which  she  professes  being  at  home.  There  are 
rules  and  decorums,’  adds  he,  ‘ which  are  never 
to  be  transgressed  by  those  who  understand  the 
world ; and  he  who  offends  in  that  kind,  ought 
not  to  take  it  ill  if  he  is  turned  away,  even  wh^en 
he  sees  the  person  look  out  at  her  window  whom 
he  inquires  for.  Nay,’  said  he,  ‘my  lady  Dim- 
ple is  so  positive  in  this  rule,  that  she  takes  it 
for  a piece  of  good  breeding  and  distinction  to 
deny  herself  with  her  own  mouth.  Mrs.  Comma, 
the  great  scholar,  insists  upon  it,  and  I myself 
have  heard  her  assert.  That  a lord’s  porter,  or  a 
lady’s  woman,  cannot  be  said  to  lie  in  that 
case,  because  they  act  by  instruction  ; and  their 
words  are  no  more  their  own,  than  those  of  a 
puppet.’ 

He  was  going  on  with  his  ribaldry,  when  on 
a sudden  he  looked  on  his  watch,  and  said,  ‘ he 
had  twenty  visits  to  make,’  and  drove  away 
without  further  ceremon3\  I was  then  at  leisure 
to  reflect  upon  the  tasteless  manner  of  life, 
which  a set  of  idle  fellows  lead  in  this  town, 
and  spend  youth  itself  with  less  spirit,  than 
other  men  do  their  old  age.  These  expletives 
inhuman  society,  though  they  are  in  themselves 
wholly  insignificant,  become  of  some  considera- 
tion when  they  are  mixed  with  others.  I am 
very  much  at  a loss  how  to  define,  or  under  I 
what  character,  distinction,  or  denomination,  to 
place  them  ; except  you  give  me  leave  to  call 
them  the  order  of  the  Insipids.  This  order  is 
in  its  extent  like  that  of  the  Jesuits  ; and  you 
see  of  them  in  every  way  of  life,  and  in  every  pro- 
fession. Tom  Modely  has  long  appeared  to  me 
at  the  head  of  this  species.  By  being  habitually 
in  the  best  company,  he  knows  perfectly  well 
when  a coat  is  well  cut,  or  a periwig  well 
mounted.  As  soon  as  you  enter  the  place  where 
he  is,  he  tells  the  next  man  to  him,  who  is  your 
tailor,  and  judges  of  you  more  from  the  choice 
of  your  periwig-maker  than  of  your  friend.  His 
business  in  this  world  is  to  be  well  dressed ; and 
the  greatest  circumstance  that  is  to  be  recorded 
in  his  annals  is,  that  he  wears  twenty  shirts  a 
week.  Thus,  without  ever  speaking  reason 
among  the  men,  or  passion  among  the  women, 
he  is  every  where  well  received  ; and,  without 
any  one  man’s  esteem,  he  has  every  man’s 
indulgence. 

This  order  has  produced  great  numbers  of 
tolerable  copiers  in  painting,  good  rhymers  in 
poetry,  and  harmless  projectors  in  politics.  You 
may  see  them  at  first  sight  grow  acquainted  by 
sympathy ; insomuch,  that  one  who  had  not 
studied  nature,  and  did  not  know  the  true  cause 
of  their  sudden  familiarities,  would  think  that 
they  had  some  secret  intimation  of  each  other, 
like  the  Free-masons.  The  other  day  at  Will’s 
I heard  Modely,  and  a critic  of  the  same  order, 
show  their  equal  talents  with  great  delight. 
The  learned  Insipid  was  commending  Racine’s 
turns ; the  genteel  Insipid,  Devillier’s  curls. 

These  creatures,  when  they  are  not  forced 
into  any  particular  employment,  for  want  of 
ideas  in  their  own  imaginations,  are  the  con- 
stant plague  of  all  they  meet  with,  by  inquiries 
for  news  and  scandal,  which  makes  them  the 
heroes  of  visiting  days ; where  they  help  the 
design  of  the  meeting,  which  is  to  pass  away 


that  odious  thing  called  time,  in  discourses  too 
trivial  to  raise  any  reflections  which  may  put 
well-bred  persons  to  the  trouble  of  thinking 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  1. 

I was  looking  out  of  my  parlour-window  this 
morning,  and  receiving  the  honours  which 
Margery,  the  milk-maid  to  our  lane,  was  doing 
me,  by  dancing  before  my  door  with  the  plate 
of  half  her  customers  on  her  head,  when  Mr. 
Clayton,  the  author  of  Arsinoe,  made  me  a visit, 
and  desired  me  to  insert  the  following  adver- 
tisement in  my  ensuing  paper. 

‘ The  pastoral  masque,  composed  by  Mr. 
Clayton,  author  of  Arsinoe,  will  be  performed 
on  Wednesday,  the  third  instant,  in  the  great 
room  at  York-buildings.  Tickets  to  be  had  at 
White’s  Chocolate-house,  St.  James’s  Coffee- 
house, in  St.  James’s-street,  and  Young  Man’s 
Coffee-house. 

‘ Note. — The  tickets  delivered  out  for  the 
twenty-seventh  of  April,  wull  be  then  taken.’ 

When  I granted  his  request,  I made  one  to 
him,  which  w’-as,  that  the  performers  should  put 
their  instruments  in  tune  before  the  audience 
came  in  ; for  that  I thought  the  resentment  of 
the  eastern  prince,  who,  according  to  the  old 
[ story,  took  tuning  for  playing,  to  be  very  just 
and  natural.  He  was  so  civil,  as  not  only  to 
promise  that  favour  ; but  also  to  assure  me,  that 
he  w’ould  order  the  heels  of  the  performers  to  he 
muffled  in  cotton,  that  the  artists  in  so  polite  an 
age  as  ours,  may  not  intermix  with  their  har- 
mony, a custom,  which  so  nearly  resembles 
the  stamping  dances  of  the  West-Indians  or 
Hottentots. 

ADVERTISEMENTS. 

A Bass-viol  of  Mr.  Bickerstaff’s  acquaintance, 
whose  mind  and  fortune  do  not  very  exactly 
agree,  proposes  to  set  himself  to  sale  by  way  of 
lottery.  Ten  thousand  pounds  is  the  sum  to  be 
raised,  at  threepence  a ticket,  in  consideration 
that  there  are  more  women  who  are  willing  to 
be  married,  than  that  can  spare  a greater  sum. 
He  has  already  made  over  his  person  to  trustees 
for  the  said  money  to  be  forthcoming,  and  ready 
to  take  to  wife  the  fortunate  woman  that  wins 
him. 

N.  B.  Tickets  are  given  out  by  Mr.  Charles 
Lillie,  and  by  Mr.  John  Morphew.  Each  adven- 
turer must  be  a virgin,  and  subscribe  her  name 
to  her  ticket. 

Whereas  the  several  churchwardens  of  most 
of  the  parishes  within  the  bills  of  mortality  have 
in  an  earnest  manner  applied  themselves  by  way 
of  petition,  and  have  also  made  a presentment, 
of  the  vain  and  loose  deportment  during  divine 
service,  of  persons  of  too  great  figure  in  all  their 
said  parishes  for  their  reproof : and  whereas  it 
is  therein  set  forth,  that  by  salutations  given 
each  other,  hints,  shrugs,  ogles,  playing  of  fans, 
fooling  with  canes  at  their  mouths,  and  other 
wanton  gesticulations,  their  whole  congregation 
appears  rather  a theatrical  audience,  than  a 
house  of  devotion  ; it  is  hereby  ordered,  that  all 
canes,  cravats,  hosom-laces,  muffs,  fans,  snuff- 
boxes, and  all  other  instruments  made  use  of  to 


No.  1G7.] 


THE  TA'l’LER. 


2S9 


give  persons  unbecoming  airs,  sliall  be  imme- 
diately forfeited  and  sold  ; and  of  the  sum  arising 
from  tlie  sale  thereof,  a ninth  part  shall  be  paid 
to  the  poor,  and  the  rest  to  the  overseers. 


No.  167.]  Thursday,  May  4,  1710. 

Segnitn  irritant  aniinos  deinissa  per  aures, 

(iuam  qua'  sunt  oculis  subinissa  ticlelibus.  Hor. 

What  vve  hear, 

With  weaker  passion  will  affect  the  lieart, 

Thau  when  the  faithful  eye  beholds  the  part. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  2. 

Having  received  notice,  that  the  famous  actor, 
Mr.  Bettcitop,  was  to  be  interred  this  evening 
in  the  cloisters  near  VVestminster-abbey,  I was 
resolved  to  walk  thither  ; and  see  the  last  office 
done  to  a man  whom  I had  always  very  much 
admired,  and  from  whose  action  I had  received 
more  strong  impressions  of  what  is  great  and 
noble  in  human  nature,  than  from  the  argu- 
ments of  the  most  solid  philosophers,  or  the 
descriptions  of  the  most  charming  poets  I had 
read.  As  the  rude  and  untaught  multitude  are 
no  way  wrought  upon  more  effectually,  than  by 
seeing  public  punishments  and  executions  ; so 
men  ofletters  and  education  feel  their  humani- 
ty most  forcibly  exercised,  when  they  attend 
the  obsequies  of  men  who  had  arrived  at  any 
perfection  in  liberal  accomplishments.  Theatri- 
cal action  is  to  be  esteemed  as  such,  except  it  be 
objected  that  we  cannot  call  that  an  art  which 
cannot  be  attained  by  art.  Voice,  stature,  mo- 
tion, and  other  gifts,  must  be  very  bountifully 
bestowed  by  nature,  or  labour  and  industry  will 
but  push  the  unhappy  endeavourer  in  that  way 
the  further  off  his  wishes. 

Such  an  actor  as  Mr.  Betterton  ought  to  be 
recorded  with  the  same  respect  as  Roscius 
among  the  Roujans.  The  greatest  orator  has 
thought  fit  to  quote  his  judgment,  and  celebrate 
his  life.  Roscius  was  the  example  to  all  that 
would  form  themselves  into  proper  and  winning 
behaviour.  His  action  was  so  well  adapted  to 
the  sentiments  he  expressed,  that  the  youth  of 
Rome  thought  they  wanted  only  to  be  virtuous, 
to  be  as  graceful  in  their  appearance  as  Roscius. 
The  imagination  took  a lively  impression  of 
what  was  great  and  good  ; and  they,  who  never 
thought  of  setting  up  for  the  art  of  imitation, 
became  themselves  inimitable  characters. 

There  is  no  human  invention  so  aptly  jc.alcu- 
lated  for  tHe~tbrmhig^  a iVee-Rorn  people  as 
that  of  a theatre.  Tully  reports,'  that  fKe~ceIe- 
brated  player  of  whom  I am  speaking,  used  fre- 
quently to  say,  ‘ The  perfection  of  an  actor  is 
only  to  become  what  he  is  doing.’  Young  men, 
who  are  too  unattentive  to  receive  lectures,  are 
irresistibly  taken  with  performances.  Hence  it 
is,  that  I extremely  lament  the  little  relish  the 
gentry  of  this  nation  have,  at  present,  for  the 
just  and  noble  representations  in  some  of  our 
tragedies.  The  operas,  which  are  of  late  intro- 
duced, can  leave  no  trace  behind  them  that  can 
be  of  service  beyond  the  present  moment.  To 
sing  and  to  dance,  are  accomplishments  very  few 
Jiave  any  thoughts  of  practising ; but  to  speak 


justly,  and  move  gracefully,  is  what  every  man 
thinks  he  does  perform,  or  wishes  he  did. 

I have  hardly  a notion,  that  any  performer  of 
antiquity  could  surpass  the  action  of  Mr.  Better- 
ton  in  any  of  the  occasions  in  which  he  has  ap- 
peared on  our  stage.  7'he  wonderful  agony 
whicii  he  appeared  in,  when  he  examined  the 
circumstance  of  the  handkerchief  in  Othello ; the 
mixture  of  love  that  intruded  upon  his  mind, 
upon  the  innocent  answers  Desdemona  makes, 
betrayed  in  his  gesture  such  a variety  and  vicis- 
situde of  passions,  as  would  admonish  a man  to 
be  afraid  of  his  own  heart;  and  perfectly  con- 
vince him,  that  it  is  to  slab  it,  to  admit  that  worst 
of  daggers,  jealousy.  "iVlioever  reads  in  his  clo- 
set this  admirable  scene,  will  find  that  he  cannot, 
except  he  has  as  warm  an  imagination  as  Shak- 
speare  himself,  find  any  but  dry,  incoherent,  and 
broken  sentences  : but  a reader  that  has  seen 
Betterton  act  it,  observes,  there  could  not  be  a 
word  added  ; that  longer  speeches  had  been  un- 
natural, nay,  impossible,  in  Othello’s  circum- 
stances. T'he  charming  passage  in  the  same 
tragedy,  where  he  tells  the  manner  of  winning 
the  affection  of  liis  mistress,  was  urged  with  so 
moving  and  graceful  an  energy,  that,  while  I 
walked  in  the  cloisters,  I thought  of  him  with 
the  same  concern  as  if  I waited  for  the  remains 
of  a person  who  had  in  real  life  done  all  that  I 
had  seen  him  represent.  The  gloom  of  the 
pl.ace,  and  faint  lights  before  the  ceremony  ap- 
peared, contributed  to  the  melancholy  disposition 
I was  in  ; and  I began  to  be  extremely  afflicted, 
that  Brutus  and  Cassius  had  any  difference  ; 
that  Hotspur’s  gallantry  was  so  unfortunate  ; 
and  that  the  mirth  and  good  humiour  of  Falstaff 
could  not  exe.mpt  him  from  the  grave.  Nay, 
this  occasion,  in  me  who  look  upon  the  distinc- 
tions amongst  men  to  be  merely  sccnical,  raised 
reflections  upon  the  emptiness  of  all  human  per- 
fection and  greatness  in  general ; and  I could 
not  but  regret,  that  the  sacred  heads  which  lie 
buried  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this  little  portion 
of  earth,  in  \vhich  my  poor  old  friend  is  de- 
posited, are  returned  to  dust  as  well  as  he,  and 
that  there  is  no  difference  in  the  grave  between 
the  imaginary  and  the  real  monarch.  This 
made  me  say  of  human  life  itself,  with  Macbeth, 

To-morrow,  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 

Creeps  in  a stealing  pace  from  day  to  day 
To  the  last  moment  of  recorded  time ! 

And  all  onr  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
To  their  eternal  night ! Out,  out,  short  candle  ; 

Life’s  but  a walking  shadow,  a poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 

And  then  is  heard  no  more. 

The  mention  I have  here  made  of  Mr.  Better, 
ton,  for  whom  I had,  as  long  as  I have  known 
any  thing,  a very  great  esteem  and  gratitude 
for  the  pleasure  he  gave  me,  can  do  him  no  good; 
but  it  may  possibly  be  of  service  to  the  unhappy 
woman  he  has  left  behind  him,  to  have  it  known, 
that  this  great  tragedian  was  never  in  a scene 
half  so  moving,  as  the  circumstances  of  his  af- 
fairs created  at  his  departure.  His  wife,  after  a 
cohabitation  of  forty  years  in  the  strictest  amity, 
has  long  pined  away  with  a sense  of  his  decay, 
as  well  in  his  person  as  his  little  fortune ; and, 
in  proportion  to  that,  she  has  herself  decayed 
both  in  her  health  and  reason.  Her  husband’s 
death,  added  to  her  age  and  infirmities,  would 


300 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  163. 


certainly  have  determined  her  life,  but  that  the 
greatness  of  her  distress  has  been  her  relief,  by 
a present  deprivation  of  her  senses.  This  ab- 
sence of  reason  is  her  best  defence  against  age, 
sorrow,  poverty,  and  sickness.  I dwell  upon  this 
account  so  distinctly,  in  obedience  to  a certain 
great  spirit,  who  hides  her  name,  and  has  by 
letter  applied  to  me  to  recommend  to  her  some 
object  of  compassion,  from  whom  she  may  be 
concealed. 

This,  I think,  is  a proper  occasion  for  exerting 
such  heroic  generosity  ; and  as  there  is  an  in- 
genuous shame  in  those  who  have  known  better 
fortune,  to  be  reduced  to  receive  obligations,  as 
well  as  a becoming  pain  in  the  truly  generous 
to  receive  thanks ; in  this  case  both  those  delica- 
cies are  preserved  ; for  the  person  obliged  is  as 
incapable  of  knowing  her  benefactress,  as  her 
benefactress  is  unwilling  to  be  known  by  her. 

ADVERTISE.MEXT. 

Whereas  it  hath  been  signified  to  the  Censor, 
that  under  the  pretence  that  he  has  encouraged 
the  Moving  Picture,  and  particularly  admired 
the  Walking  Statue,  some  persons  within  the 
liberties  of  Westminster  have  vended  walking 
Pictures,  insomuch  that  the  said  pictures  have, 
within  few  days  after  sales  by  auction,  returned 
to  the  habitations  of  their  first  proprietors  ; that 
matter  has  been  narrowly  looked  into,  and  or- 
ders are  given  to  Pacclet,  to  take  notice  of  all ! 
W'ho  are  concerned  in  such  frauds,  with  directions  j 
to  draw  their  pictures,  that  they  may  be  hanged 
in  effigy,  in  terrorcm  to  all  auctions  for  the  fu- 
ture. 


No.  168.]  Saturday,  May  6,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  5. 

Never  was  man  so  much  teazed,  or  suffered 
half  so  much  uneasiness,  as  I have  done  this 
evening  between  a couple  of  fellows,  with  whom 
I was  unfortunately  engaged  to  sup,  where  there 
were  also  several  others  in  company.  One  of 
them  is  the  most  invincibly  impudent,  and  the 
other  as  incorrigibly  absurd.  Upon  hearing  my 
name,  the  man  of  audacity,  as  he  calls  himself, 
began  to  assume  an  awkward  way  of  reserve  by 
way  of  ridicule  upon  me  as  a Censor,  and  said, 

‘ he  must  have  a care  of  his  behaviour,  for  there 
would  notes  be  writ  upon  all  that  should  pass.’ 
The  man  of  freedom  and  ease,  for  such  the  other 
thinks  himself,  asked  me,  ‘ whether  my  sister  i 
Jenny  was  breeding  or  not?’  After  they  had 
done  with  me,  they  were  impertinent  to  a very 
smart  but  well-bred  man ; who  stood  his  ground 
very  well,  and  let  the  company  see  they  ought, 
but  could  not,  be  out  of  countenance.  I look 
upon  such  a defence  as  a real  good  action ; for 
for  while  he  received  their  fire,  there  was  a ! 
modest  and  worthy  young  gentleman  sat  secure  | 
by  him,  and  a lady  of  the  family  at  the  same  i 
time  guarded  against  the  nauseous  familiarity  , 
of  the  one,  and  the  more  painful  mirth  of  the  | 
other.  This  conversation,  where  there  were  a i 
thousand  things  said  not  worth  repeating,  made  | 
me  consider  with  myself,  how  it  is  that  men  of  j 
tJiese  disagreeable  characters  often  go  great  I 


I lengths  in  the  world,  and  seldom  fail  of  out- 
stripping men  of  merit ; nay,  succeed  so  well, 
that,  with  a load  of  imperfections  on  their  heads, 
they  go  on  in  opposition  to  general  disesteem  ; 
while  they  who  are  every  way  their  superiors, 
languish  away  their  days,  though  possessed  of 
the  approbation  and  good  will  of  all  who  know 
them. 

If  we  would  examine  into  the  secret  springs 
of  action  in  the  impudent  and  the  absurd,  we 
shall  find,  though  they  bear  a great  resemblance 
I in  their  behaviour,  that  they  move  upon  very 
different  principles.  The  i///pudeni  are  pressing, 
though  they  know  they  are  disagreeable  ; the 
absurd  are  importunate,  because  they  think  they 
are  acceptable.  Impudence  is  a vice  and  absur- 
dity a folly.  Sir  Francis  Bacon  talks  very 
agreeably  upon  the  subject  of /mpude nee.  He 
takes  notice,  that  the  orator  being  asked,  what 
was  the  first,  second,  and  third  requisite  to  make 
a fine  speaker  ? still  answered,  action. 

This,  said  he,  is  the  very  outward  form  of 
speaking ; and  yet  it  is  what  with  the  generality 
has  more  force  than  the  most  consummate  abili- 
ties. Impudence  is  to  the  rest  of  mankind  of 
the  same  use  which  action  is  to  orators. 

The  truth  is,  the  gross  of  men  are  governed 
more  by  appearances  than  realities  ; and  the 
impudent  man  in  his  air  and  behaviour  under- 
takes for  himself  that  he  has  ability  and  merit, 
while  the  modest  or  diffident  gives  himself  up 
as  one  who  is  possessed  of  neither.  For  this 
reason,  men  of  front  carry  things  before  them 
with  little  opposition  ; and  make  so  skilful  a use 
of  their  talent,  that  they  can  grow  out  of  humour 
like  men  of  consequence,  and  be  sour,  and  make 
their  dissatisfaction  do  them  the  same  service  as 
desert.  This  way  of  thinking  has  often  fur- 
nished  me  with  an  apology  for  great  men  who 
confer  favours  on  the  impudent.  In  carrying 
on  the  government  of  mankind,  they  are  not  to 
consider  what  men  they  themselves  approve  in 
their  closets  and  private  conversations ; but  what 
I men  will  extend  themselves  furthest,  and  more 
generally  pass  upon  the  world  for  such  as  their 
patrons  want  in  such  and  such  stations,  and 
consequently  take  so  much  work  off  the  hands 
of  those  who  employ  them. 

Far  be  it,  that  I should  attempt  to  lessen  the 
acceptance  which  men  of  this  character  meet 
with  in  the  world  ; but  I humbly  propose  only, 
that  they  who  have  merit  of  a different  kind 
would  accomplish  themselves  in  some  degree 
with  this  quality  of  which  I am  now  treating. 
Nay,  I allow  these  gentlemen  to  press  as  for- 
ward as  they  please  in  the  advancements  of 
their  interests  and  fortunes,  but  not  to  intrude 
upon  others  in  conversation  also.  Let  them  do 
what  they  can  with  the  rich  and  the  great,  as 
far  as  they  are  suffered  ; but  let  them  not  in- 
terrupt  the  easy  and  agreeable.  They  may  be 
useful  as  servants  in  ambition,  but  never  as  a.s- 
sociates  in  pleasure.  However,  as  I would  still 
drive  at  something  instructive  in  every  lucu- 
bration, I must  recommend  it  to  all  men  who 
feel  in  themselves  an  impulse  towards  attempt- 
ing laudable  actions,  to  acquire  such  a degree 
of  assurance,  as  never  to  lose  the  possession  of 
themselves  in  public  or  private,  so  far  as  to  be 
incapable  of  acting  with  a due  decorum  on  any 


No.  169.] 


THE  TATLER 


301 


occasion  they  are  called  to.  It  is  a mean  want 
of  fortitude  in  a good  man,  not  to  be  able  to  do 
a virtuous  action  with  as  much  confidence  as  an 
impudent  fellow  does  an  ill  one.  There  is  no 
way  of  mending  such  false  modesty,  but  by 
laying  it  down  for  a rule,  that  there  is  nothing 
shameful  but  what  is  criminal. 

The  Jesuits,  an  order  whose  institution  is  per- 
fectly calculated  for  making  a progress  in  the 
world,  take  care  to  accomplish  their  disciples 
for  it,  by  breaking  them  of  all  impertinent  bash- 
fulness, and  accustoming  them  to  a ready  per- 
formance of  all  indifferent  things.  I remember 
in  my  travels,  when  I was  once  at  a public  ex- 
ercise in  one  of  their  schools,  a young  man 
made  a most  admirable  speech,  with  all  the 
beauty  of  action,  cadence  of  voice,  and  force  of 
argument  imaginable,  in  defence  of  the  love  of 
glory.  We  were  all  enamoured  with  the  grace 
of  the  youth,  as  he  came  down  from  the  desk 
where  he  spoke,  to  present  a copy  of  his  speech 
to  the  head  of  the  society.  The  principal  re- 
ceived  it  in  a very  obliging  manner,  and  bid 
him  go  to  the  market-place  and  fetch  a joint  of 
meat,  for  he  should  dine  with  him.  He  bowed, 
and  in  a trice  the  orator  returned,  full  of  the 
sense  of  glory  in  this  obedience,  and  with  the 
best  shoulder  of  mutton  in  the  market. 

This  treatment  capacitates  them  for  every 
scene  of  life.  I therefore  recommend  it  to  the 
consideration  of  all  who  have  the  instruction  of 
youth,  which  of  the  two  is  the  more  inexcusa- 
ble, he  who  does  every  thing  by  the  mere  force 
of  his  impudence,  or  he  who  performs  nothing 
through  the  oppression  of  his  modesty  ? In  a 
word,  it  is  a weakness  not  to  be  able  to  attempt 
what  a man  thinks  he  ought,  and  there  is  no 
modesty,  but  in  self-denial. 


‘ The  humble  petition  of  Sarah  Lately,  show- 
eth, — 

‘ That  your  petitioner  has  been  one  of  those 
ladies  who  has  had  fine  things  constantly  spoken 
to  her  in  general  terms,  and  lived,  during  her 
most  blooming  years,  in  daily  expectation  of 
declarations  of  marriage,  but  never  had  one 
made  to  her. 

‘ That  she  is  now  in  her  grand  climacteric  ; 
W'hich  being  above  the  space  of  four  virginities, 
accounting  at  fifteen  years  each  ; 

‘Your  petitioner  most  humbly  prays,  that  in 
the  lottery  for  the  Bass-viol  she  may  have  four 
tickets,  in  consideration  that  iier  single  life  has 
been  occasioned  by  the  inconstancy  of  her  lovers, 
and  not  through  the  cruelty  or  forwardness  of 
your  petitioner. 

‘ And  your  petitioner  shall,  &c.’ 


and  I wish  you  may  be  the  fortunate  man  that 
wins. — Your  very  humble  servant  until  then, 

‘ ISABELLA  KIT.’ 

I must  own  the  request  of  the  aged  petitioner 
to  be  founded  upon  a very  undeserved  distress  ; 
and  since  she  might,  had  she  had  justice  done 
her,  been  mother  of  many  pretenders  to  this 
prize,  instead  of  being  one  herself,  I do  readily 
grant  her  demand ; but  as  for  the  proposal  of 
Mrs.  Isabella  Kit,  I cannot  project  a lottery  for 
her,  until  I have  security  she  will  surrender 
herself  to  the  winner. 


veral  of  our  family  have  invited  me  to  pass 
away  a month  or  two  in  the  country  ; and  in- 
deed nothing  could  be  more  agreeable  to  me 
than  such  a recess,  did  I not  consider  that  I am 
hy  two  quarts  a worse  companion  than  when  I 
was  last  among  my  relations  ; and  I am  ad- 
monished by  some  of  our  club,  who  lately  visited 
Stafibrd shire,  that  they  drink  at  a greater  rate 
than  they  did  at  that  time.  As  every  soil  does 
not  produce  every  fruit  or  tree,  so  every  vice 
is  not  the  growth  of  every  kind  of  life  ; and  I 
have,  ever  since  I could  think,  been  astonished, 
that  drinking  should  be  the  vice  of  the  country. 
If  it  were  possible  to  add  to  all  our  senses,  as 
we  do  to  that  of  sight  by  perspectives,  we 
should,  methinks,  more  particularly  labour  to 
improve  them  in  the  midst  of  the  variety  of 
beauteous  objects,  which  nature  has  produced 
to  entertain  us  in  the  country  ; and  do  we  in 
that  place  destroy  the  use  of  what  organs  we 
have  ? As  for  my  part,  I cannot  but  lament 
the  destruction  that  has  been  made  of  the  wild 
beasts  of  the  field,  when  I see  large  tracks  of 
earth  possessed  by  men  who  take  no  advantage 
of  their  being  rational,  but  lead  mere  animal 
lives  ; making  it  their  wliole  endeavour  to  kill 
in  themselves  all  they  have  above  beasts,  to  wit, 
the  use  of  reason,  and  taste  of  society.  It  is 
frequently  boasted  in  the  writings  of  orators 
and  poets,  that  it  is  to  eloquence  and  poesy  we 
owe  that  we  are  drawn  out  of  woods  and  soli- 
tudes into  towns  and  cities,  and  from  a wild 
and  savage  being,  become  acquainted  with  the 
law^s  of  humanity  and  civility.  If  we  are  obliged 
to  these  arts  for  so  great  service,  I could  wish 
they  w'ere  employed  to  give  us  a second  turn  ; 
that  as  they  have  brouglit  us  to  dwell  in  society, 
a blessing  which  no  other  creatures  know,  so 
they  would  persuade  us,  now  they  have  settled 
us,  to  lay  out  all  our  thoughts  in  surpassing 
each  other  in  those  faculties  in  which  onl}'^  we 
excel  other  creatures.  But  it  is  at  present  so 
26 


May  3,  1710. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — According  to  my  fancy, 
you  took  a much  better  way  to  dispose  of  a 
Bass-viol  in  yesterday’s  paper,  than  you  did  in 
your  Table  of  Marriage.  I desire  the  benefit 

of  a lottery  for  myself  too The  manner  of  it 

I leave  to  your  own  discretion : only  if  you  can 

allow  the  tickets  at  above  five  farthings  a 

piece.  Pray  accept  of  one  ticket  for  your  trouble  ; 


P.  S.  Upon  my  coming  home,  I received  the 
following  petition  and  letter. 


No.  169.]  Tuesday,  May  9,  1710. 

O rus ! quando  ego  te  aspiciam  ? quandoque  licebit 
Nunc  veteram  libris,  nunc  somno,  et  inertibus  horis, 
Ducere  solicitoe  jucunda  oblivia  vit£B? 

Hor.  2.  Sat.  vi.  60. 

Oh  when  again 
Shall  I behold  the  rural  plain? 

And  w hen  with  books  of  sages  deep 
Sequestered  ease,  and  gentle  sleep, 

In  sweet  oblivion,  blissful  balm, 

The  busy  cares  of  life  becalm.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  8. 

The  summer  season  now  approaching,  se- 


302 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  170. 


far  otherwise,  that  the  contention  seems  to  be, 
who  shall  be  most  eminent  in  performances 
wherein  beasts  enjoy  greater  abilities  than  we 
have.  I will  undertake,  were  the  butler  and 
swineherd,  at  any  true  esquire’s  in  Great  Britain, 
to  keep  and  compare  accounts  of  what  wash  is 
drunk  up  in  so  many  hours  in  the  parlour  and 
the  pig-stye,  it  would  appear,  the  gentleman  of 
the  house  gives  much  more  to  his  friends  than 
his  hogs. 

This,  with  many  other  evils,  arises  from  an 
error  in  men’s  judgments,  and  not  making  true 
distinctions  between  persons  and  things.  It  is 
usually  thought,  that  a few  sheets  of  parchment, 
made  before  a male  and  a female  of  wealthy 
houses  come  together,  give  the  heirs  and  de- 
scendants of  that  marriage,  possession  of  lands 
and  tenements ; but  the  truth  is,  there  is  no  man 
who  can  be  said  to  be  proprietor  of  an  estate, 
but  he  who  knows  how  to  enjoy  it.  Nay,  it 
shall  never  be  allowed,  that  the  land  is  not  a 
waste,  when  the  master  is  uncultivated.  There- 
fore, to  avoid  confusion,  it  is  to  be  noted,  that  a 
peasant  with  a great  estate  is  but  an  incumbent, 
and  that  he  must  be  a gentleman  to  be  a land- 
lord. A landlord  enjoys  what  he  has  with  his 
heart,  an  incumbent  with  his  stomach.  Glut- 
tony, drunkenness,  and  riot,  are  the  entertain- 
ments of  an  incumbent ; benevolence,  civility, 
social  and  human  virtues,  the  accomplishments 
of  a landlord.  Who,  that  has  any  passion  for 
his  native  country,  does  not  think  it  worse  than 
conquered,  when  so  large  dimensions  of  it  are 
in  the  hands  of  savages,  that  know  no  use  of 
property,  but  to  be  tyrants ; or  liberty,  but  to 
be  unmannerly?  A gentleman  in  a country- 
life  enjoys  paradise  with  a temper  fit  for  it;  a 
clown  is  cursed  in  it  with  all  the  cutting  and 
unruly  passions  man  could  be  tormented  with 
when  he  was  expelled  from  it. 

There  is  no  character  more  deservedly  esteem- 
ed than  that  of  a country  gentleman,  who  under- 
stands the  station  in  which  heaven  and  nature 
have  placed  him.  He  is  father  to  his  tenants,  and 
patron  to  his  neighbours,  and  is  more  superior 
to  those  of  lower  fortune  by  his  benevolence 
than  his  possessions.  He  justly  divides  his  time 
between  solitude  and  company,  so  as  to  use  the 
one  for  the  other.  His  life  is  spent  in  the  good 
offices  of  an  advocate,  a referee,  a companion, 
a mediator,  and  a friend.  His  counsel  and 
knowledge  are  a guard  to  the  simplicity  and  in- 
nocence of  those  of  lower  talents,  and  the  en- 
tertainment and  happiness  of  those  of  equal. 
When  a man  in  a country-life  has  this  turn,  as 
it  is  hoped  thousands  have,  he  lives  in  a more 
happy  condition  than  any  that  is  described  in 
the  pastoral  descriptions  of  poets,  or  the  vain- 
glorious solitudes  recorded  by  philosophers. 

To  a thinking  man  it  would  seem  prodigious, 
that  the  very  situation  in  a country  life  does 
not  incline  men  to  a scorn  of  the  mean  grati- 
fications some  take  in  it.  To  stand  by  a stream, 
naturally  lulls  the  mind  into  composure  and 
reverence  ; to  walk  in  shades,  diversifies  that 
pleasure  ; and  a bright  sunshine  makes  a 
man  consider  all  nature  in  gladness,  and  him- 
self the  happiest  being  in  it,  as  the  most  con- 
scious of  her  gifts  and  enjoyments.  It  would 
be  the  most  impertinent  piece  of  pedantry  ima- 


ginable to  form  our  pleasures  by  imitation  of 
others.  I will  not  therefore  mention  Scipio  and 
Leelius,  who  are  generally  produced  on  this  sub- 
ject as  authorities  for  the  charms  of  a rural  life. 
He  that  does  not  feel  the  force  of  agreeable 
views  and  situations  in  his  own  mind,  will 
hardly  arrive  at  the  satisfactions  they  bring 
from  the  reflections  of  others.  However,  they 
who  have  a taste  that  way,  are  more  particularly 
inflamed  with  desire,  when  they  see  others  in 
the  enjoyment  of  it,  especially  when  men  carry 
into  the  country  a knowledge  of  the  world  as 
well  as  of  nature.  The  leisure  of  such  persons 
is  endeared  and  refined  by  reflection  upon  cares 
and  inquietudes.  The  absence  of  past  labours 
doubles  present  pleasures,  which  is  still  aug- 
mented,  if  the  person  in  solitude  has  the  happi- 
ness of  being  addicted  to  letters.  My  cousin 
Frank  Bickerstaff  gives  me  a very  good  notion 
of  this  sort  of  felicity  in  the  following  letter : 

‘ Sir, — I write  this  to  communicate  to  you 
the  happiness  I have  in  the  neighbourhood  and 
conversation  of  the  noble  lord,  whose  health  you 
inquired  after  in  your  last.  I have  bought  that 
little  hovel  which  borders  upon  his  royalty  ; but 
am  so  far  from  being  oppressed  by  his  greatness, 
that  I,  who  know  no  envy,  and  he,  who  is  above 
pride,  mutually  recommend  ourselves  to  each 
other  by  the  difference  of  our  fortunes.  He 
esteems  me  for  being  so  well  pleased  with  a 
little,  and  I admire  him  for  enjoying  so  hand- 
somely a great  deal.  He  has  not  the  little  taste 
of  observing  the  colour  of  a tulip,  or  the  edging 
of  a leaf  of  box  ; but  rejoices  in  open  views, 
the  regularity  of  this  plantation,  and  the  wild- 
ness of  another,  as  well  as  the  fall  of  a river, 
the  rising  of  a promontory,  and  all  other  ob- 
jects fit  to  entertain  a mind  like  his,  that  has 
been  long  versed  in  great  and  public  amuse- 
ments. The  make  of  the  soul  is  as  much  seen 
in  leisure  as  in  business.  He  has  long  lived  in 
courts,  and  been  admired  in  assemblies ; so  that 
he  has  added  to  experience  a most  charming 
eloquence,  by  which  he  communicates  to  me 
the  ideas  of  my  own  mind  upon  the  objects  we 
meet  with  so  agreeably,  that  with  his  company 
in  the  fields,  I at  once  enjoy  the  country,  and  a 
landscape  of  it.  He  is  now  altering  the  course 
of  canals  and  rivulets,  in  which  he  has  an  eye 
to  his  neighbour’s  satisfaction,  as  well  as  his 
own.  He  often  makes  me  presents  by  turning 
the  water  into  my  grounds,  and  sends  me  fish 
by  their  own  streams.  To  avoid  my  thanks, 
he  makes  nature  the  instrument  of  his  bounty, 
and  does  all  good  offices  so  much  with  the  air 
of  a companion,  that  his  frankness  hides  his 
own  condescension,  as  well  as  my  gratitude. 
Leave  the  world  to  itself,  and  come  see  us. — 
Your  affectionate  cousin, 

‘ FRANCIS  BICKERSTAFF.’ 


No.  170.] 


Thursday,  May  11,  1710. 


Fortuna  saevo  laeta  negotio,  et 
Ludara  insolentem  ludere  pertinax 
Transmutat  incertos  honores, 

Nunc  mihi,  nunc  alio  benigna. 

Hor.  3.  Od.  xxix.  49. 


But  Fortune,  ever-changing  dame, 
Indulges  her  malicious  joy, 


THE  TATLER, 


303 


No.  170.] 

And  constant  plays  her  haughty  game  ; 

Proud  of  her  office  to  destroy  ; 

To-day  to  me  her  bounty  flows, 

And  now  to  others  she  the  bliss  bestows. 

Francis. 

From  my  oxen  Apartment,  May  10. 

Having  this  morning  spent  some  time  in 
reading  on  the  subject  of  the  vicissitudes  of  hu- 
man life,  I laid  aside  ray  book,  and  began  to 
ruminate  on  the  discourse  which  raised  in 
me  those  reflections.  I believed  it  a very 
good  office  to  the  world,  to  sit  down  and  show 
others  the  road,  in  which  I am  experienced  by 
my  wanderings  and  errors.  This  is  Seneca’s 
way  of  thinking,  and  he  had  half  convinced  me, 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  our  true  happiness  and 
tranquillity,  to  fix  our  minds  upon  any  thing 
which  is  in  the  power  of  fortune.  It  is  ex- 
cusable only  in  animals  who  have  not  the  use 
of  reason,  to  be  catched  by  hooks  and  baits. 
Wealth,  glory,  and  power,  which  the  ordinary 
people  look  up  at  with  admiration,  the  learned 
and  wise  know  to  be  only  so  many  snares  laid 
to  enslave  them.  There  is  nothing  farther  to 
be  sought  for  with  earnestness,  than  what  will 
clothe  and  feed  us.  If  we  pamper  ourselves  in 
our  diet,  or  give  our  imaginations  a loose  in  our 
desires,  the  body  will  no  longer  obey  the  mind. 
Let  us  think  no  further  than  to  defend  ourselves 
against  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold.  We  are  tore- 
member  that  every  thing  else  is  despicable,  and 
not  worth  our  care.  To  want  little  is  true 
grandeur,  and  very  few  things  are  great,  to  a 
great  mind.  Those  who  form  their  thoughts  in 
this  manner,  and  abstract  themselves  from  the 
world,  are  out  of  the  way  of  fortune,  and  can 
look  with  contempt  both  on  her  favours  and  her 
frowns.  At  the  same  time,  they  who  separate 
themselves  from  the  immediate  commerce  with 
the  busy  part  of  mankind,  are  still  beneficial  to 
them,  while,  by  their  studies  and  writings,  they 
recommend  to  them  the  small  value  which  ought 
to  be  put  upon  what  they  pursue  with  so  much 
labour  and  disquiet.  Whilst  such  men  are 
thouglit  the  most  idle,  they  are  the  most  use- 
fully employed.  They  have  all  things,  both 
human  and  divine,  under  consideration.  To  be 
perfectly  free  from  the  insults  of  fortune,  we 
should  arm  ourselves  with  their  reflections.  We 
should  learn,  that  none  but  intellectual  posses- 
sions are  what  we  can  properly  call  our  own. 
All  things  from  without  are  but  borrowed. 
What  fortune  gives  us,  is  not  ours  ; and  what- 
ever she  gives,  she  can  take  away. 

It  is  a common  imputation  to  Seneca,  that 
though  he  declaimed  with  so  much  strength  of 
reason,  and  a stoical  contempt  of  riches  and 
power,  he  was  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  rich- 
est and  most  powerful  men  in  Rome.  I know  no 
instance  of  his  , being  insolent  in  that  fortune, 
and  can  therefore  read  his  thoughts  on  those 
subjects  with  the  more  deference.  I will  not 
give  philosophy  so  poor  a look  as  to  say  it  can- 
not  live  in  courts ; but  I am  of  opinion,  that  it  is 
there  in  the  greatest  eminence,  when,  amidst 
the  affluence  of  all  the  world  can  bestow,  and 
the  addresses  of  a crowd  who  follow  him  for 
that  reason,  a man  can  think  both  of  himself 
and  those  about  him,  abstracted  from  these  cir- 
cumstances. Such  a philosopher  is  as  much 


above  an  anchorite,  as  a wise  matron  who 
passes  through  the  world  with  innocence,  is 
preferable  to  the  nun  who  locks  herself  up 
from  it. 

Full  of  these  thoughts,  I left  my  lodging,  and 
took  a walk  to  the  court  end  of  the  town  ; and 
the  hurry  and  busy  faces  I met  with  about 
Whitehall,  made  me  form  to  myself  ideas  of  the 
different  prospects  of  all  I saw,  from  the  turn 
and  cast  of  their  countenances.  All,  methought, 
had  the  same  thing  in  view  ; but  prosecuted 
their  hopes  with  a different  air.  Some  showed 
an  unbecoming  eagerness,  some  a surly  impa- 
tience,  some  a winning  deference  ; but  the  gen- 
erality a servile  complaisance. 

I could  not  but  observe,  as  I roved  about  the 
offices,  that  all  who  were  still  but  in  expectation, 
murmured  at  Fortune  ; and  all  who  had  obtain- 
ed their  wishes,  immediately  began  to  say, 
there  was  no  such  being.  Each  believed  it  an 
act  of  blind  chance  that  any  other  man  was  pre- 
ferred, but  oxjoed  only  to  service  and  merit  what 
he  had  obtained  himself.  It  is  the  fault  of  stu- 
dious men  to  appear  in  public  with  too  contem- 
plative a carriage  : and  I began  to  observe,  that 
my  figure,  age,  and  dress,  made  me  particular  ; 
for  which  reason,  I thought  it  better  to  remove 
a studious  countenance  from  among  busy  ones, 
and  take  a turn  with  a friend  in  the  Privy- 
garden. 

When  my  friend  was  alone  with  me  there, 
‘ Isaac,’  said  he,  ‘ I know  you  come  abroad  only 
to  moralize  and  make  observations  : and  I will 
carry  you  hard  by,  where  you  shall  see  all  that 
you  have  yourself  considered  or  read  in  authors, 
or  collected  from  experience,  concerning  blind 
Fortune  and  irresistible  Destiny,  illustrated  in 
real  persons,  and  proper  mechanisms.  The 
graces,  the  muses,  the  fates,  all  the  beings 
which  have  a good  or  ill  influence  upon  human 
life,  are,  you  will  say,  very  justly  figured  in 
the  persons  of  women  ; and  where  I am  carry- 
ing you,  you  will  see  enough  of  that  sex  to- 
gether, in  an  employment  which  will  have  so 
important  an  effect  upon  those  who  are  to  re- 
ceive their  manufacture,  as  will  make  them  be 
respectively  called  deities  or  furies,  as  their  la- 
bour shall  prove  disadvantageous  or  successful  to 
their  votaries.’ 

Without  waiting  for  my  answer,  he  car- 
ried me  to  an  apartment  contiguous  to  the 
Banqueting-house,  where  there  were  placed 
at  two  long  tables  a large  company  of  young 
women,  in  decent  and  agreeable  habits,  making 
up  tickets  for  the  lottery  appointed  by  the  go- 
vernment. There  walked  between  the  tables  a 
person  who  presided  over  the  work.  This  gen- 
tlewoman seemed  an  emblem  of  fortune ; she 
commanded,  as  if  unconcerned  in  their  busi- 
ness ; and  though  every  thing  was  performed 
by  her  direction,  she  did  not  visibly  inter- 
pose in  particulars.  She  seemed  in  pain  at 
our  near  approach  to  her,  and  most  to  ap- 
prove us  when  we  made  her  no  advances.  Her 
height,  her  mien,  her  gesture,  her  shape,  and 
her  countenance,  had  something  that  spoke  fa- 
miliarity and  dignity.  She  therefore  appeared 
to  be  not  only  a picture  of  fortune,  but  of  for- 
tune as  I liked  her  ; which  made  me  break  out 
in  the  following  vmrds  : 


304 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  171. 


‘ Madam, — I am  very  glad  to  see  the  fate  of 
the  many,  who  now  languish  in  expectation  of 
what  will  be  the  event  of  your  labours,  in  the 
hands  of  one  who  can  act  with  so  impartial  an 
indifference.  Pardon  me,  that  have  often  seen 
you  before,  and  have  lost  you  for  want  of  the 
respect  due  to  you.  Let  me  beg  of  you,  who 
have  both  the  furnishing  and  turning  of  that 
wheel  of  lots,  to  be  unlike  the  rest  of  your  sex  ; 
repulse  the  forward  and  the  bold,  and  favour  the 
modest  and  the  humble.  I know  you  fly  the 
importunate  ; but  smile  no  more  on  the  careless. 
Add  not  to  the  coffers  of  the  usurer  ; but  give 
the  power  of  bestowing  to  the  generous.  Con- 
tinue his  w’ants,  who  cannot  enjoy  or  communi- 
cate plenty ; but  turn  away  his  poverty,  who 
can  bear  it  with  more  ease  than  he  can  see  it  in 
another.’ 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas  Philander  signified  to  Clarinda,  by 
letter  bearing  date  Thursday  twelve  o’clock,  that 
he  had  lost  his  heart  by  a shot  from  her  eyes, 
and  desired  she  would  condescend  to  meet  him 
the  same  day  at  eight  in  the  evening  at  Rosa- 
mond’s-pond  ; faithtully  protesting,  that  in  case 
she  would  not  do  him  that  honour,  she  might 
see  the  body  of  the  said  Philander  the  next  day 
floating  on  the  said  lake  of  love,  and  that  he 
desired  only  three  sighs  upon  view  of  his  said 
body  : It  is  desired,  if  he  has  not  made  away 
with  himself  accordingly,  that  he  would  forth- 
with show  himself  to  the  coroner  of  the  city  of 
Westminster;  or  Clarinda,  being  an  old  offend- 
er, will  be  found  guilty  of  wilful  murder. 


No.  171.]  Saturday,  May  13,  1710. 

Alter  rixatur  de  lana  saepe  caprina, 

Propugiiat  nugis  armatus 

Hor.  1.  Ep.  xviii.  15. 

He  strives  for  trifles,  and  for  toys  contends. 

And  then  in  earnest,  what  he  says,  defends. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  May  12. 

It  hath  happened  to  be  for  some  days  the  de- 
liberation at  the  learnedest  board  in  this  house, 
whence  honour  and  title  had  its  first  original. 
Timoleon,  who  is  very  particular  in  his  opinion, 
but  is  thought  particular  for  no  other  cause  but 
that  he  acts  against  depraved  custom  by  the 
rules  of  nature  and  reason,  in  a very  hand- 
some discourse  gave  the  company  to  under- 
stand, that  in  those  ages  which  first  degene- 
rated from  the  simplicity  of  life  and  natural 
justice,  the  wise  among  them  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  inspire  men  with  the  love  of  virtue,  by 
giving  those  who  adhered  to  the  interests  of  in- 
nocence and  truth  some  distinguishing  name  to 
raise  them  above  the  common  level  of  mankind. 
This  way  of  fixing  appellations  of  credit  upon 
eminent  merit,  was  what  gave  being  to  titles 
and  terms  of  honour.  ‘Such  a name,’  continued 
he,  ‘ without  the  qualities  which  should  give  a 
man  pretence  to  be  exalted  above  others,  does 
but  turn  him  to  jest  and  ridicule.  Should  one 
see  another  cudgelled,  or  scurvily  treated,  do 
you  think  a man  so  used  would  take  it  kindly  to 


be  called  Hector  or  Alexander  ? Every  thing 
must  bear  a proportion  with  the  outward  value 
that  is  set  upon  it;  or,  instead  of  being  long 
had  in  veneration,  that  very  term  of  esteem 
will  become  a w’ord  of  reproach.’  When  Timo- 
leon had  done  speaking,  Urbanus  pursued  the 
same  purpose,  by  giving  an  account  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  Indian  kings,*  who  were 
lately  in  Great  Britain,  did  honour  to  the  person 
where  they  lodged.  ‘ They  w'ere  placed,’  said 
he,  ‘ in  a handsome  apartment  at  an  upholster’s 
in  King-street,  Covent-garden.  The  man  of 
the  house,  it  seems,  had  been  very  observant  of 
them,  and  ready  in  their  service.  These  just 
and  generous  princes,  w'ho  act  according  to  the 
dictates  of  natural  justice,  thought  it  proper  to 
confer  some  dignity  upon  their  landlord  before 
they  left  his  house.  One  of  them  had  been 
sick  during  his  residence  there,  and  having 
never  before  been  in  a bed,  had  a very  great 
veneration  for  him  who  made  that  engine  of  re- 
pose, so  useful  and  so  necessary  in  his  distress. 
It  was  consulted  among  the  four  princes,  by 
what  name  to  dignify  his  great  merit  and  ser- 
vices. The  emperor  of  the  Mohocks  and  the 
other  three  kings  stood  up,  and  in  that  posture 
recounted  the  civilities  they  had  received  ; and 
particularly  repeated  the  care  which  was  taken 
of  their  sick  1 rother.  This,  in  their  ima- 
gination, W'ho  are  used  to  know  the  injuries  of 
weather,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  cold  and  heat, 
gave  them  very  great  impressions  of  a skilful 
upholsterer,  whose  furniture  was  so  well  con- 
trived for  their  protection  on  such  occasions.  It 
is  with  these  less  instructed,  I w'ill  not  say  less 
knowing  people,  the  manner  of  doing  honour, 
to  impose  some  name  significant  of  the  quali- 
ties of  the  person  they  distinguish,  and  the 
good  offices  received  from  him.  It  was  there- 
fore resolved  to  call  their  landlord  Cadaroque, 
which  is  the  name  of  the  strongest  fort  in  their 
part  of  the  world.  When  they  had  agreed  up- 
on the  name,  they  sent  for  their  landlord ; and 
as  he  entered  into  their  presence,  the  emperor  of 
the  Mohocks,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  called 
him  Cadaroque.  After  which  the  other  three 
princes  repeated  the  same  word  and  ceremony.’ 
Timoleon  appeared  much  satisfied  with  this 
account ; and,  having  a philosophic  turn,  began 
to  argue  against  the  modes  and  manners  of 
those  nations  which  w'e  esteem  polite,  and  to  ex- 
press himself  with  disdain  at  our  usual  method 
of  calling  such  as  are  strangers  to  our  innova- 
tions barbarous.  ‘ I have,’  says  he,  ‘ so  great  a 
deference  for  the  distinction  given  by  these 
princes,  that  Cadaroque  shall  be  my  upholsterer 
.’  He  was  going  on  ; but  the  intended  dis- 
course w'as  interrupted  by  Minucio,  who  sat 
near  him,  a small  philosopher,  who  is  also  some- 
what  of  a politician  ; one  of  those  who  sets  up 
for  knowledge  by  doubting,  and  has  no  other 
way  of  making  himself  considerable,  but  by 
contradicting  all  he  hears  said.  He  has,  be- 
sides much  doubt  and  spirit  of  contradiction,  a 

* About  a month  before  the  date  of  this  paper,  the 
four  Indian  kings  here  spoken  of,  came  into  England 
w’iththe  West-India  fleet,  in  behalf  of  the  six  Indian 
nations,  who  at  that  time  inhabited  the  back-country 
of  North-America,  between  New'- England  and  the 
French  settlements  in  Canada, 


No.  172.] 


THE  TATLER. 


305 


constant  suspicion  as  to  state  affairs.  This  ac- 
complished gentleman,  with  a very  awful  brow, 
and  a countenance  full  of  weight,  told  Timo- 
leon,  ‘ that  it  was  a great  misfortune  men  of, 
letters  seldom  looked  into  the  bottom  of  things. 
Will  any  man,’  continued  he,  ‘ persuade  me,  that 
this  was  not,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  a 
concerted  affair  ? Who  can  convince  the  world, 
that  four  kings  shall  come  over  here,  and  lie  at 
the  two  Crowns  and  Cushion,  and  one  of  them 
fall  sick,  and  the  place  he  called  King-s^ree^,  and 
all  this  by  mere  accident  1 No,  no.  To  a man 
of  very  small  penetration  it  appears,  that  Tee 
Yee  Neen  Ho  Ga  Row,  emperor  of  the  Mohocks, 
was  prepared  for  this  adventure  beforehand.  I 
do  not  care  to  contradict  any  gentleman  in  his 
discourse ; but  I must  say,  however  Sa  Ga 
Yeath  Rua  Geth  Ton  and  E Tow  Oh  Koam 
might  be  surprised  in  this  matter  ; nevertheless. 
Ho  Nec  Yeth  Taw  No  Row  knew  it  before  he 
set  foot  on  the  English  shore.’ 

Timoleon  looked  steadfastly  at  him  for  some 
time  ; then  sliaked  his  head,  paid  for  his  tea, 
and  marched  off.  Several  others,  who  sat  round 
him,  were  in  their  turns  attacked  by  this  ready 
disputant.  A gentleman,  who  was  at  some  dis- 
tance, happened  in  discourse  to  say  it  was  four 
miles  to  Hammersmith.  ‘ I must  beg  your  par- 
don,’ says  Minucio  ; ‘ when  we  say  a place  is  so 
far  off,  we  do  not  mean  exactly  from  the  very 
spot  of  earth  we  are  in,  but  from  tlie  town  where 
we  are;  so  that  you  must  begin  your  account 
from  the  end  of  Piccadilly ; and  if'  you  do  so,  I 
will  lay  any  man  teix  to  one,  it  is  not  above  three 
good  miles  off.’  Another,  about  Minucio’s  level 
of  understanding,  began  to  take  him  up  in  this 
important  argument;  and  maintained,  that,  con- 
sidering the  way  from  Pimlico  at  the  end  of  .St. 
James’s-park,  and  the  crossing  from  Chelsea  by 
Earl’s  court,  he  would  stand  to  it,  that  it  was 
full  four  miles.  But  Minucio  replied  with  great 
vehemence,  and  seemed  so  ranch  to  have  the 
better  of  the  dispute,  that  his  adversary  quitted 
the  field,  as  well  as  the  other.  I sat  until  I saw 
the  table  almost  all  vanished  ; when,  for  want 
of  discourse,  Minucio  asked  me,  ‘ How  I did  ?’ 
to  which  I answered,  ‘Very  well.’  ‘That  is 
very  much,’  said  he ; ‘I  assure  you,  you  look 
paler  than  ordinary.’  Nay,  thought  I,  if  he  will 
not  allow  me  to  know  whether  I am  well  or  not, 
there  is  no  staying  for  me  neither.  Upon  which 
I took  my  leave,  pondering,  as  I went  home, 
at  this  strange  poverty  of  imagination,  which 
makes  men  run  into  the  fault  of  giving  contra- 
diction. They  want  in  their  minds  entertain- 
ment for  themselves  or  their  company,  and 
therefore  build  all  they  speak  upon  what  is 
started  by  others ; and  since  they  cannot  im- 
prove that  foundation,  they  strive  to  destroy  it. 
The  only  way  of  dealing  with  these  people  is  to 
answer  in  monosyllables,  or  by  way  of  question. 
When  one  of  them  tells  you  a thing  that  he 
thinks  extraordinary, I go  no  farther  than,  ‘Say 
you  so.  Sir  ? Indeed  ! Heyday  !’  or,  ‘ Is  it  come 
to  that?’  These  little  rules,  which  appear  but 
silly  in  the  repetition,  have  brought  me  with 
great  tranquillity  to  this  age.  And  I have  made 
it  an  observation,  that  .as  assent  is  more  agree- 
able than  tlattei-y,  so  contradiction  is  more 
odious  than  calumny. 

2a 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mr.  Bickerstaff ’s  aerial  messenger  has  brought 
him  a report  of  what  passed  at  the  auction  of 
pictures,  which  was  in  Somerset-house  yard  on 
Monday  last ; and  finds  there  were  no  screens 
present,  but  all  transacted  with  great  justice. 

N.  B.  All  false  buyers  at  auctions  being  em- 
ployed only  to  hide  others,  are  from  this  day 
forward  to  be  known  in  Mr.  Bickerstaff ’s  wri- 
tings by  the  word  Screens. 


No.  172.]  Tuesday,  May  16,  1710. 

Q.uod  quisque  vitet,  nunquam  homini  satis 
Cautum  est  in  Ixoras. Hor.  2.  Od.  xiii.  13. 

No  man  can  tell  the  dangers  of  eacli  hour, 

Nor  is  prepared  to  meet  them. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  15. 

When  a man  is  in  a serious  ‘mood,  and  pon- 
ders upon  his  own  make,  with  a retrospect  to  the 
actions  of  his  life,  and  the  many  fatal  miscar- 
riages in  it,  which  he  owes  to  ungoverned  pas- 
sions, he  is  then  apt  to  say  to  himself,  that  ex- 
perience has  guarded  him  against  such  errors 
for  the  future  : but  nature  often  recurs  in  spite 
of  his  best  resolutions  ; and  it  is  to  the  very  end 
of  our  days  a struggle  between  our  reason  and 
our  temper,  which  shall  have  the  empire  over 
us.  However,  this  is  very  much  to  be  helped 
by  circumspection,  and  a constant  alarm  against 
the  first  onsets  of  passion.  As  this  is,  in  gene- 
ral, a necessary  care  to  make  a man’s  life  easy 
and  agreeable  to  himself;  so  it  is  more  particu- 
larly the  duty  of  such  as  are  engaged  in  friend- 
ship, and  nearer  commerce  with  others.  Those 
who  have  their  joys,  have  also  their  griefs  in 
proportion  ; and  none  can  extremely  exalt  or 
depress  friends,  but  friends.  The  har-sh  things 
which  come  from  the  rest  of  the  world  are  re- 
ceived and  repulsed  with  that  spirit,  which  every 
lionest  man  bears  for  his  own  vindication ; but 
unkindness,  in  words  or  actions,  among  friends, 
affects  U.S  at  the  first  instant  in  the  inmost  re- 
cesses of  our  souls.  Indifferent  people,  if  I may 
so  say,  can  wound  us  only  in  heterogeneous 
parts,  maim  us  in  our  legs  or  arms  ; but  the 
friend  can  make  no  pass  but  at  the  heart  itself. 
On  the  other  side,  the  most  impotent  assistance, 
the  mere  well-wishes  of  a friend,  gives  a man  con- 
stancy and  courage  against  the  most  prevailing 
force  of  his  enemies.  It  is  here  only  a man  en- 
joys  and  suffers  to  the  quick.  For  this  reason, 
the  most  gentle  behaviour  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  maintain  friendship  in  any  degree  above 
the  common  level  of  acquaintance.  But  there 
is  a relation  of  life  much  more  near  than  the 
most  strict  and  sacred  friendship,  that  is  to  say, 
marriage.  This  union  is  of  too  close  and  deli- 
cate a nature  to  be  easily  conceived  by  those 
who  do  not  know  that  condition  by  experience. 
Here  a man  should,  if  possible,  soften  his  pas- 
sions ; if  not  for  his  own  ease,  in  compliance  to 
a creature  formed  with  a mind  of  a quite  differ- 
ent make  from  his  own.  I am  sure,  I do  not 
mean  it  an  injury  to  women,  when  I say  there 
is  a sort  of  sex  in  souls.  I am  tender  of  oflend- 
26* 


306 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  172. 


ing  them,  and  know  it  is  hard  not  to  do  it  on 
this  subject ; but  I must  go  on  to  say,  that  the 
soul  of  a man,  and  that  of  a woman,  are  made 
very  unlike,  according  to  the  employments  for 
which  they  are  designed.  The  ladies  will  please 
to  observe,  I say,  our  minds  have  different,  not 
superior,  qualities  to  theirs.  The  virtues  have 
respectively  a masculine  and  a feminine  cast. 
What  we  call  in  men  wisdom,  is  in  women 
dence.  It  is  a partiality  to  call  one  greater  than 
the  other.  A prudent  woman  is  in  the  same 
class  of  honour  as  a wise  man,  and  the  scandals 
in  the  way  of  both  are  equally  dangerous.  But 
to  make  this  state  any  thing  but  a burden,  and 
not  hang  a weight  upon  our  very  beings,  it  is 
proper  each  of  the  couple  should  frequently  re- 
member, that  there  are  many  things  which  grow 
out  of  their  very  natures  that  are  pardonable, 
nay,  becoming,  when  considered  as  such,  but, 
without  that  reflection,  must  give  the  quickest 
pain  and  vexation.  To  manage  well  a great 
family,  is  as  worthy  an  instance  of  capacity,  as 
to  execute  a great  employment : and  for  the  ge- 
nerality, as  women  perform  the  considerable  ! 
part  of  their  duties  as  well  as  men  do  theirs ; 
so  in  their  common  behaviour,  females  of  ordi- 
nary genius  are  not  more  trivial  than  the  com- 
mon rate  of  men;  and,  in  my  opinion,  the  playing  ' 
of  a fan  is  every  whit  as  good  an  entertainment  I 
as  the  beating  of  a snuff-box.  1 

But,  however  I have  rambled  in  this  libertine  I 
manner  of  writing  by  way  of  Essay,  I now  sat  | 
down  with  an  intention  to  represent  to  my  read-  | 
ers  how  pernicious,  how  sudden,  and  how  fatal 
surprises  of  passion  are  to  the  mind  of  man  ; 
and  that  in  the  more  intimate  commerces  of  life 
they  are  more  liable  to  arise,  even  in  onr  most 
sedate  and  indolent  hours.  Occurrences  of  this  . 
kind  have  had  very  terrible  effects  ; and  when 
one  reflects  upon  them,  we  cannot  but  tremble 
to  consider,  what  we  are  capable  of  being 
wrought  up  to,  against  all  the  ties  of  nature, 
love,  honour,  reason,  and  religion,  tlmugh  the 
man  who  breaks  throusrh  them  all,  had,  an  hour 
before  he  did  so,  a lively  and  virtuous  sense  of 
their  dictates.  When  unhappy  catastrophes 
make  up  part  of  the  history  of  princes  and  per- 
sons who  act  in  high  spheres,  or  are  represented 
in  the  moving  language  and  welI-wrou2’ht  scenes 
of  tragedians,  they  do  not  fail  of  striking  us 
with  terror  ; but  then  they  affect  us  only  in  a 
transient  manner,  and  pass  through  our  ima- 
ginations as  incidents  in  which  our  fortunes  are 
too  humble  to  be  concerned,  or  which  writers 
form  for  the  ostentation  of  their  own  force  ; or,  ! 
at  most,  as  things  fit  rather  to  exercise  the  j 
powers  of  our  minds,  than  to  create  new  habits 
in  them.  Instead  of  such  high  passages,  I was 
thinking  it  would  be  of  great  use,  if  any  body 
could  hit  it,  to  lay  before  the  world  such  adven- 
tures as  befall  persons  not  exalted  above  the  j 
common  level.  This,  methought,  would  better 
prevail  upon  the  ordinary  race  of  men  ; who  are 
so  prepossessed  with  outward  appearances,  that  | 
they  mistake  fortune  for  nature,  and  believe  no- 
thing can  relate  to  them,  that  does  not  happen 
to  such  as  live  and  look  like  themselves. 

The  unhappy  end  of  a gentleman,  whose  story 
an  acquaintance  of  mine  was  just  now  telling 
me,  would  be  very  proper  for  this  end,  if  it  could  i 


be  related  with  all  the  circumstances  as  I heard 
it  this  evening  ; for  it  touched  me  so  much,  that 
I cannot  forbear  entering  upon  it. 

‘ Hr.  Eustace,  a young  gentleman  of  a good 
estate  near  Dublin  in  Ireland*  married  a lady 
of  youth,  beauty,  and  modesty,  and  lived  with 
her,  in  general,  with  much  ease  and  tranquillity  ; 
but  was  in  his  secret  temper  impatient  of  re- 
buke. She  was  apt  to  fall  into  little  sallies  of 
passion ; yet  as  suddenly  recalled  by  her  own 
reflection  on  her  fault,  and  the  consideration  of 
her  husband’s  temper.  It  happened,  as  he,  his 
wife,  and  her  sister,  were  at  supper  together 
about  two  months  ago,  that,  in  the  midst  of  a 
careless  and  familiar  conversation,  the  sisters 
fell  into  a little  warmth  and  contradiction.  He, 
who  was  one  of  that  sort  of  men  who  are  never 
unconcerned  at  what  passes  before  them,  fell 
into  an  outrageous  passion  on  the  side  of  the 
sister.  The  person  about  whom  they  disputed 
was  so  near,  that  they  were  under  no  restraint 
from  running  into  vain  repetitions  of  past  heats  : 
on  which  occasion  all  the  aggravations  of  anger 
and  distaste  boiled  up,  and  were  repeated  with 
the  bitterness  of  exasperated  lovers.  The  wife, 
observing  her  husband  extremely  moved,  began 
to  turn  it  off,  and  rally  him  for  interposing  be- 
tween two  people,  who  from  their  infancy  had 
been  angry  and  pleased  with  each  other  every 
half  hour.  But  it  descended  deeper  into  his 
thoughts,  and  they  broke  up  with  a sullen  si- 
lence. The  wife  immediately  retired  to  her 
chamber,  whither  her  husband  soon  after  fol- 
lowed. When  they  were  in  bed,  he  soon  dis- 
sembled a sleep  ; and  she,  pleased  that  his 
thoughts  were  composed,  fell  into  a real  one. 
Their  apartment  was  very  distant  from  the  rest 
of  their  family,  in  a lonely  country-house.  He 
now  saw  his  opportunity,  and,  with  a dagger  he 
had  brought  to  bed  with  him,  stabbed  his  wife 
in  the  side.  She  awaked  in  the  highest  terror; 
but  immediately  imagining  it  was  a blow  de- 
signed for  her  husband  by  ruffians,  began  to 
grasp  him,  and  strove  to  awake  and  rouse  him 
to  defend  liimself.  He  still  pretended  himself 
sleeping,  and  gave  her  a second  wound. 

‘ She  now  drew  open  the  curtain,  and,  by  the 
help  of  moon-light,  saw  his  hand  lifted  up  to 
stab  her.  The  horror  disarmed  her  from  further 
struggling  ; and  he,  enraged  anew  at  being  dis- 
covered, fixed  his  poniard  in  her  bosom.  As 
soon  as  he  believed  be  had  despatched  her,  he 
attempted  to  escape  out  of  the  window  : but  she, 
still  alive,  called  to  him  not  to  hurt  himself;  for 
she  might  live.  He  was  so  stung  with  the  in- 
supportable reflection  upon  her  goodness,  and 
his  own  villany,  that  he  jumped  to  the  bed,  and 
wounded  her  all  over  with  as  much  rage  as  it 
everv  blow  was  provoked  by  new  aggravations. 
In  this  fury  of  mind  he  fleJ  away.  His  wflfe 
had  still  strength  enough  to  go  to  her  sister’s 
apartment,  and  give  an  account  of  this  wonder- 
ful tragedy ; but  died  the  next  day.  Some  w’eeks 
after,  an  officer  of  justice,  in  attempting  to  seize 
the  criminal,  fired  upon  him,  as  did  the  criminal 
upon  the  oflicer.  Both  their  balls  took  place, 
and  both  immediately  expired.’ 


* An  expression  particularly  reprobated  by  Dea» 
Swift. 


THE  TATLER. 


307 


No.  173.] 


No.  173.]  Thursday,  May  18,  1710. 

Sapientia  priina  est 

Stultitia  cariiisse. Hor.  1.  Ep.  i.  41. 

When  free  from  folly,  we  to  wisdom  rise.  Francis. 

Sheer -lane.  May  17. 

When  I first  began  to  learn  to  push,*  this 
last  winter,  my  master  had  a great  deal  of  work 
upon  his  hands  to  make  me  unlearn  the  pos- 
tures and  motions  which  I had  got,  by  having 
in  rny  younger  years  practised  back-sword,  witli 
a little  eye  to  the  single  falchion.  Knock  down, 
was  the  word  in  the  civil  wars ; and  we  gener- 
ally added  to  this  skill  the  knowledge  of  the 
Cornish  hug,  as  well  as  the  grapple,  to  play  with 
hand  and  foot.  By  this  means,  I was  for  de- 
fending my  head  when  the  French  gentleman 
was  making  a full  pass  at  my  bosom  ; insomuch, 
that  he  told  me  I was  fairly  killed  seven  times 
in  one  morning,  without  having  done  my  mas- 
ter any  other  mischief  than  one  knock  on  the 
pate.  This  was  a great  misfortune  to  me ; and 
I believe  1 may  say,  without  vanity,  I am  the 
first  who  ever  pushed  so  erroneously,  and  yet 
conquered  the  prejudice  of  education  so  v^^ell,  as 
to  make  my  passes  so  clear,  and  recover  hand 
and  foot  with  that  agility  as  I do  at  this  day. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  the  first  rudiments  of  educa- 
tion are  given  very  indiscreetly  by  most  parents, 
as  much  with  relation  to  the  more  important 
concerns  of  the  mind,  as  the  gestures  of  the 
body.  Whatever  children  are  designed  for,  and 
whatever  prospects  the  fortune  or  interest  of 
their  parents  may  give  them  in  their  future 
lives,  they  are  all  promiscuously  instructed  the 
same  way;  and  Horace  and  Virgil  must  be 
thumbed  by  a boy,  as  well  before  he  goes  to  an 
apprenticeship,  as  to  the  university.  This  ridi- 
culous way  of  treating  the  under-aged  of  this 
island  has  very  often  raised  both  my  spleen  and 
mirth,  but  I think  never  both  at  once  so  much 
as  to-day.  A good  mother  of  our  neighbour- 
hood made  me  a visit  with  her  son  and  heir  ; a 
lad  somewhat  above  five  feet,  and  wants  but 
little  of  the  height  and  strength  of  a good  mus- 
keteer  in  any  regiment  in  the  service.  Her 
business  was  to  desire  I would  examine  him  ; 
for  he  was  far  gone  in  a book,  the  first  letters  of 
which  she  often  saw  in  my  papers.  The  youth 
produced  it,  and  I found  it  was  my  friend  Hor- 
ace. It  was  very  easy  to  turn  to  the  place  the 
boy  was  learning  in,  which  was  the  fifth  ode  of 
the  first  book,  to  Pyrrha.  I read  it  over  aloud, 
as  well  because  I am  always  delighted  when  I 
turn  to  the  beautiful  parts  of  that  author,  as  also 
to  gain  time  for  considering  a little  how  to  keep 
up  the  mother’s  pleasure  in  her  child,  which  I 
thought  barbarity  to  interrupt.  In  the  first 
place  I asked  him,‘  Who  this  same  Pyrrha  was?’ 
He  answered  very  readily,  ‘She  was  the  wife  of 
Pyrrhus,  one  of  Alexander’s  captains.’  I lifted 
up  my  hands.  The  mother  courtsies — ‘ Nay,’ 
says  she,  ‘ I knew  you  would  stand  in  admira- 
tion— I assure  you,’  continued  she,  ‘ for  all  he 
looks  so  tall,  he  is  but  very  young.  Pray  ask 
him  some  more  ; never  spare  him.’  With  that 
I took  the  liberty  to  ask  him,  ‘ what  was  the 

* See  Taller,  164,  and  note  on  Bickerstaff ’g  perfection 
in  fencing. 


character  of  this  gentlewoman  ?’  He  read  the 
three  first  verses ; 

(inis  multa  gracilis  te  pner  in  rosa 

Eerfusus  liquidis  nrget  odoribus 
Grato,  Pyrrha,  snb  antro?  Hor.  1.  Od.  v.  1. 

And  very  gravely  told  me,  she  lived  at  the  sign 
of  The  Rose  in  a cellar.  I took  care  to  be  very 
much  astonished  at  the  lad’s  improvements ; but 
withal  advised  iier,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  take 
him  from  school,  lor  he  could  learn  no  more 
tliere.  This  very  silly  dialogue  was  a lively 
image  of  tlie  impertinent  method  used  in  breed- 
ing boys  without  genius  or  spirit  to  the  reading 
things  for  which  their  heads  were  never  framed. 
But  this  is  the  natural  effect  of  a certain  vanity 
in  the  minds  of  parents ; who  are  wonderfully 
delighted  with  the  thought  of  breeding  their 
children  to  accomplishments,  which  they  be- 
lieve nothing,  but  want  of  the  same  care  in 
their  own  fathers,  prevented  them  from  being 
masters  of.  Thus  it  is,  that  the  part  of  life 
most  fit  for  improvement  is  generally  employed 
in  a method  against  the  bent  of  nature  ; and  a 
lad  of  such  parts  as  are  fit  for  an  occupation, 
where  there  can  be  no  calls  out  of  the  beaten 
path,  is  two  or  three  years  of  his  time  wholly 
taken  up  in  knowing  how  well  Ovid’s  mistress 
became  such  a dress ; how  such  a nymph  for 
her  cruelty  was  changed  into  such  an  animal ; 
and  how  it  is  made  generous  in  A3neas  to  put 
Turnis  to  death ; gallantries  that  can  no  more 
come  within  the  occurrences  of  the  lives  of  or- 
dinary men,  than  they  can  be  relished  by  their 
imaginations.  However,  still  the  humour  goes 
on  from  one  generation  to  another;  and  the 
pastry-cook  here  in  the  lane,  the  other  night, 
told  me,  ‘ he  would  not  yet  take  away  his  son 
from  his  learning  ; but  has  resolved,  as  soon  as 
he  had  a little  smattering  in  the  Greek,  to  put 
him  apprentice  to  a soap-boiler.’  These  wrong 
beginnings  determine  our  success  in  the  w'orld : 
and  when  our  thoughts  are  originally  falsely 
biassed,  their  agility  and  force  do  but  carry  us 
the  further  out  of  our  way,  in  proportion  to  our 
speed.  But  we  are  half  way  on  our  journey,  when 
we  have  got  into  the  right  road.  If  all  our 
days  were  usefully  employed,  and  we  did  not 
set  out  inapertinently,  we  should  not  have  so 
many  grotesque  professors  in  all  the  arts  of  life  ; 
but  every  man  would  be  in  a proper  and  be- 
coming method  of  distinguishing  or  entertain- 
ing himself,  suitably  to  what  nature  designed 
him.  As  they  go  on  now,  our  parents  do  not 
only  force  us  upon  what  is  against  our  talents, 
but  our  teachers  are  also  as  injudicious  in  what 
they  put  us  to  learn.  I have  hardly  ever  since 
suffered  so  much  by  the  charms  of  any  beauty, 
as  I did  before  I had  a sense  of  passion,  for  not 
apprehending  that  the  smile  of  Lalage  was  what 
pleased  Horace  ; and  I verily  believe,  the  stripes 
I suffered  about  Digitomale  pertinaci  has  given 
me  that  irreconcileable  aversion,  which  I shall 
carry  to  my  grave,  against  coquettes. 

As  for  the  elegant  writer  of  whom  I am  talk- 
ing, his  excellences  are  to  be  observed  as  they 


* Tell  me,  Pyrrha,  tell  me  truth. 
Who  is  now  the  hapless  youth, 
Doomed  to  wear  thy  captive  chain, 
Whilst  he  sues,  but  sues  in  vain  ? 


308 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  174. 


relate  to  the  different  concerns  of  his  life  ; and 
he  is  always  to  be  looked  upon  as  a lover,  a 
courtier,  or  a man  of  wit.  His  admirable  Odes 
have  numberless  instances  of  his  merit  in  each 
of  these  characters.  His  Epistles  and  Satires 
are  full  of  proper  notices  for  the  conduct  of  life 
in  a court ; and  what  we  call  good-breeding,  is 
most  agreeably  intermixed  with  his  morality. 
His  addresses  to  the  persons  who  favoured  him, 
are  so  inimitably  engaging,  that  Augustus  com- 
plained of  him  for  so  seldom  writing  to  him,  and 
asked  him,  ‘whether  he  was  afraid  posterity 
should  read  their  names  together  V Now,  for 
the  generality  of  men  to  spend  much  time  in 
such  writings  is  as  pleasant  a folly  as  any  he  ri- 
dicules. Whatever  the  crowd  of  scholars  may 
pretend,  if  their  way  of  life,  or  their  own  ima- 
ginations, do  not  lead  tliem  to  a taste  of  him, 
they  may  read,  nay  write,  fifty  volumes  upon 
him,  and  be  just  as  they  were  when  they  began. 
I remember  to  have  heard  a great  painter  say, 
‘ There  are  certain  faces  for  certain  painters,  as 
well  as  certain  subjects  for  certain  poets.’  This 
is  as  true  in  the  choice  of  studies  ; and  no  one 
will  ever  relish  an  author  thoroughly  well,  who 
would  not  have  been  fit  company  for  that  author, 
had  they  lived  at  the  same  time.  All  others  are 
mechanics  in  learning,  and  take  the  sentiments 
of  writers  like  waiting-servants,  wdio  report  what 
passed  at  their  master’s  table ; but  debase  every 
thought  and  expression,  for  want  of  the  air  with 
which  they  were  uttered. 


No.  174.]  Saturday,  May  20,  1710. 

Quem  mala  stultitia,  aut  quoecunque  inscitia  veri, 

Ccecum  agit,  insanum  Clirysippi  porticiis,  et  grex 

Autumat. Hor.  2 Sat  ii.  43. 

Whom  vicious  passions,  or  whom  falsehood,  blind. 

Are  by  the  stoics  held  of  madding  kind.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment. 

The  learned  Scotus,  to  distinguish  the  race  of 
mankind,  gives  every  individual  of  that  species 
what  he  calls  a Seity,  something  peculiar  to  him- 
self, which  makes  him  different  from  all  other 
persons  in  the  world.  This  particularity  ren- 
ders him  either  venerable  or  ridiculous,  accord- 
ing as  he  uses  his  talents,  which  always  grow 
out  into  faults,  or  improve  into  virtues.  In  the 
office  I have  undertaken,  you  are  to  observe,  that 
I have  hitherto  presented  only  the  more  insig- 
nificant and  lazy  part  of  mankind  under  the  de- 
nomination of  dead  men,  together  with  the  de- 
grees towards  non-existence,  in  which  others  can 
neither  be  said  to  live  or  be  defunct ; but  are 
only  animals  merely  dressed  up  like  men,  and 
differ  from  each  other  but  as  flies  do,  by  a little 
colouring  or  fluttering  of  their  wings.  Now  as 
our  discourses  heretofore  have  chiefly  regarded 
the  indolent  part  of  the  species,  it  remains  that 
we  do  justice  also  upon  the  impertinently  active 
and  enterprising.  Such  as  these  I shall  take 
particular  care  to  place  in  safe  custody,  and  have 
used  all  possible  diligence  to  run  up  my  edifice 
in  Moor-fields  for  that  service. 

We,  who  are  adepts  in  astrology,  can  impute 
it  to  several  causes  in  the  planets,  that  this  quar- 


ter of  our  great  city  is  the  region  of  such  per- 
sons  as  either  never  had,  or  have  lost  the  use  of 
reason.  It  has  indeed  been,  time  out  of  mind, 
the  reception  of  fools  as  well  as  madmen.  The 
care  and  information  of  the  former  I assign  to 
other  learned  men,  who  have  for  that  end  taken 
up  their  habitation  in  those  parts  ; as,  among 
others,  to  the  famous  Dr.  Trotter,  and  my  in- 
genious friend  Dr.  Langham.  These  oraculous 
proficients  are  day  and  night  employed  in  deep 
searches,  for  the  direction  of  such  as  run  astray 
after  their  lost  goods : but  at  present  they  are 
more  particularly  serviceable  to  their  country, 
in  foretelling  the  fate  of  such  as  have  chances 
in  the  public  lottery.  Dr.  Langham  shows  a 
peculiar  generosity  on  this  occasion,  taking  only 
one  half-crown  for  a prediction,  eighteen-pence 
of  which  to  be  paid  out  of  the  prizes  ; which 
method  the  doctor  is  willing  to  comply  with  in 
favour  of  every  adventurer  in  the  whole  lottery. 
Leaving  therefore  the  whole  generation  of  such 
inquirers  to  such  Literati  as  I have  now  men- 
tioned, we  are  to  proceed  towards  peopling  our 
house,  which  we  have  erected  with  the  greatest 
cost  and  care  imaginable. 

It  is  necessary  in  this  place  to  premise,  that 
the  superiority  and  force  of  mind  which  is  born 
with  men  of  great  genius,  and  which,  when  it 
falls  in  with  a noble  imagination,  is  called  poeti- 
cal fury,  does  not  come  under  my  consideration ; 
but  the  pretence  to  such  an  impulse,  without 
natural  w’armth,  shall  be  allowed  a fit  object  of 
this  charity  ; and  all  the  volumes,  written  by 
such  hands,  shall  be  from  time  to  time  placed 
in  proper  order  upon  the  rails  of  the  unhoused 
booksellers  within  the  district  of  the  college, 
who  have  long  inhabited  this  quarter,*  in  the 
same  manner  as  they  are  already  disposed,  soon 
after  the  publication.  I promise  myself  from 
these  writings  my  best  opiates  for  those  patients, 
wdiose  high  imaginations  and  hot  spirits  have 
awaked  them  into  distraction.  Their  boiling 
tempers  are  not  to  be  wrought  upon  by  my  gru- 
els and  juleps,  but  must  ever  be  employed,  or 
appear  to  be  so ; or  their  recovery  wull  be  im- 
practicable. I shall  therefore  make  use  of  such 
poets  as  preserve  so  constant  a mediocrity,  as 
never  to  elevate  the  mind  into  joy,  or  depress  it 
into  sadness,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  keep  the  fa- 
culties of  the  readers  in  suspense,  though  they 
introduce  no  ideas  of  their  own.  By  this  means, 
a disordered  mind,  like  a broken  limb,  will  re- 
cover its  strength  by  the  sole  benefit  of  being 
out  of  use,  and  lying  without  motion.  But,  as 
reading  is  not  an  entertainment  that  can  take 
up  the  full  time  of  my  patients,  I have  now  in 
pension  a proportionable  number  of  story-tellers, 
who  are  by  turns  to  w^alk  about  the  galleries  of 
the  house,  and,  by  their  narrations,  second  the 
labours  of  my  pretty  good  poets.  There  are 
among  these  story-tellers,  some  that  have  so 
earnest  countenances,  and  weighty  brows,  that 
they  will  draw  a madman,  even  when  his  fit  is 
just  coming  on,  into  a whisper  ; and  by  the  force 
of  shrugs,  nods,  and  busy  gestures,  make  him 
stand  amazed  so  long,  as  that  we  have  time  to 
give  him  his  broth  without  danger. 

* The  walls  of  Berllam  were  at  that  time  almost  wholly 
covered  by  the  dealers  in  old  books. 


No.  175.] 


THE  TATLER. 


309 


But,  as  fortune  has  the  possession  of  men’s 
minds,  a pliysician  may  cure  all  the  sick  people 
of  ordinary  degree  in  the  whole  town,  and  never 
come  into  reputation.  I shall  therefore  begin 
with  persons  of  condition  ; and  tlie  first  I shall 
undertake  shall  be  the  lady  Fidget,  the  general 
visitant,  and  Will  Voluble,  the  fine  talker.  These 
persons  shall  be  first  locked  up,  for  the  peace  of 
all  whom  the  one  visits,  and  all  whom  the  other 
talks  to. 

The  passion  that  first  touched  the  brain  of 
both  these  persons,  was  envy  ; which  has  had 
such  wondrous  effects,  that  to  this,  lady  Fidget 
owes  that  she  is  so  courteous  ; to  this.  Will  Vo- 
luble that  he  is  eloquent.  Fidget  has  a restless 
torment  in  hearing  of  any  one’s  prosperity  ; and 
cannot  know  any  quiet  until  she  visits  her,  and 
is  eye-witness  of  something  that  lessens  it.  Thus 
her  life  is  a continual  search  after  what  does  not 
concern  her ; and  her  companions  speak  kindly 
even  of  the  absent  and  the  unfortunate,  to  teaze 
her.  She  was  the  first  that  visited  Flavia  after  the 
small-pox,  and  has  never  seen  her  since  because 
she  is  not  altered.  Call  a young  woman  hand- 
some in  her  company,  and  she  tells  you,  it  is  a 
pity  she  has  no  fortune  ; say  she  is  rich,  and 
she  is  as  sorry  that  she  is  silly.  With  all  this 
ill-nature.  Fidget  is  herself  young,  rich,  and 
handsome  ; but  loses  the  pleasure  of  all  those 
qualities,  because  she  has  them  in  common  with 
others. 

To  make  up  her  misery,  she  is  well  bred ; 
she  hears  commendations  until  she  is  ready  to 
faint  for  want  of  venting  herself  in  contradic- 
tions. This  madness  is  not  expressed  by  the 
voice ; but  is  uttered  in  the  eyes  and  features  : 
its  first  symptom  is,  upon  beholding  an  agree- 
able object,  a sudden  approbation  immediately 
checked  with  dislike. 

This  lady  I shall  take  the  liberty  to  conduct 
into  a bed  of  straw  and  darkness  ; and  have 
some  hopes,  that,  after  long  absence  from  the 
light,  the  pleasure  of  seeing  at  all,  may  reconcile 
her  to  what  she  shall  see,  though  it  proves  to  be 
never  so  agreeable. 

My  physical  remarks  on  the  distraction  of 
envy  in  other  persons,  and  particularly  in  Will 
Voluble,  is  interrupted  by  a visit  from  Mr.  Kid- 
ney,*' with  advices  w’hich  will  bring  matter  of 
new  disturbance  to  many  possessed  with  this 
sort  of  disorder,  which  I shall  publish  to  bring 
out  the  symptoms  more  kindly,  and  lay  the  dis- 
temper more  open  to  my  view. 

St.  James’s  Coffee-house,  May  19. 

This  evening  a mail  from  Holland  brought 
the  following  advices  : 

From  the  Camp  before  Douay,  May  26,  N.  S. 

On  the  twenty -third  the  French  assembled 
their  army,  and  encamped  with  their  right  near 
Bouchain,  and  their  left  near  Crevecceur.  Upon 
this  motion  of  the  enemy,  the  duke  of  Marl- 
borough and  prince  Eugene  made  a movement 
with  their  army  on  the  twenty-fourth,  and  en- 
camped from  Arlieux  to  Vitry  and  Isez  Esquer- 


* A waiter  at  that  time  in  St.  James’s  Coffee-house, 
frequently  mentioneil  in  these  paiiers.  See  Tatler,  num- 
bers 1.  10.  26,  &c. 


chien,  where  they  are  so  advantageously  posted, 
that  they  not  only  cover  the  siege,  secure  our 
convoys  of  provisions,  forage,  and  ammunition, 
from  Lisle  and  Tournay,  and  the  canals  and 
dikes  we  have  made  to  turn  the  water  of  the 
Scarp  and  La  Cense  to  Bouchain  ; but  are  in 
readiness,  by  marching  from  the  right,  to  possess 
themselves  of  the  field  of  battle  marked  out  be- 
twixt Vitry  and  Montigny,  or  from  the  left  to 
gain  the  lines  of  circumvallation  betwixt  Fierin 
and  Dechy  ; so  that  whatever  way  the  enemy 
shall  approach  to  attack  us,  whether  by  the 
plains  of  Lens,  or  by  Bouchain  and  Valenciennes, 
we  have  but  a very  small  movement  to  make, 
to  possess  ourselves  of  the  ground  on  which  it 
will  be  most  advantageous  to  receive  them.  The 
enemy  marched  this  morning  from  their  left, 
and  are  encamped  with  their  right  at  Oisy,  and 
their  left  toward  Arras,  and,  according  to  our 
advices,  will  pass  the  Scarp  to-morrow,  and  en- 
ter on  the  plains  of  Lens,  though  several  regi- 
ments of  horse,  the  German  and  Liege  troops, 
which  are  destined  to  compose  part  of  their  ar- 
my, have  not  yet  joined  them.  If  they  pass  the 
Scarp,  we  shall  do  the  like  at  the  same  time,  to 
possess  ourselves  with  all  possible  advantage  of 
the  field  of  battle  ; but  if  they  continue  where 
they  are,  we  shall  not  remove,  because,  in  our 
present  station,  we  sufficiently  cover  from  all 
insults  both  our  siege  and  convoys. 

Monsieur  Villars  cannot  yet  go  without 
crutches,  and  it  is  believed  will  have  much  diffi- 
culty to  ride.  He  and  the  duke  of  Berwick 
are  to  command  the  French  army,  the  rest  of 
the  marshals  being  only  to  assist  in  council. 

Last  night  we  entirely  perfected  four  bridges 
over  the  Avant  Fosse  at  both  attacks  ; and  our 
saps  are  so  far  advanced,  that  in  three  or  four 
days,  batteries  will  be  raised  on  the  Glacis,  to 
batter  in  breach  both  the  outworks  and  ramparts 
of  the  town. 

Letters  from  the  Hague  of  the  twenty-seventh, 
N.  S.  say.  That  the  deputies  of  the  states  of 
Holland,  who  set  out  for  Gertruydenburg  on  the 
twenty-third,  to  renew  the  conferences  with  the 
French  ministers,  returned  on  the  twenty-sixth, 
and  had  communicated  to  the  states-general  the 
new  overtures  that  were  made  on  the  part  of 
France,  which,  it  is  believed,  if  they  are  in  ear- 
nest, may  produce  a general  treaty. 


No.  175.]  Tuesday,  May  23,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  22. 

In  the  distribution  of  the  apartments  in  the 
New  Bedlam,  proper  regard  is  had  to  the  differ- 
ent sexes,  and  the  lodgings  accommodated  ac- 
cordingly. Among  other  necessaries,  as  I have 
thought  fit  to  appoint  story-tellers  to  soothe  the 
men,  so  I have  allowed  tale-bearers  to  indulge 
the  intervals  of  my  female  patients.  But,  be- 
fore I enter  upon  disposing  of  the  main  of  the 
great  body  that  wants  my  assistance,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  consider  the  human  race  abstracted  from 
all  other  distinctions  and  considerations  except 
that  of  sex.  This  will  lead  us  to  a nearer  view 
of  their  excellences  and  imperfections,  which 
are  to  be  accounted,  the  one  or  tire  other,  as  they 


310 


THE  TATLER. 


are  suitable  to  the  desig'n  for  which  the  person 
so  defective  or  accomplished  came  into  tne 
world. 

To  make  this  inquiry  aright,  we  must  speak 
of  the  life  of  people  of  condition  ; and  the  pro- 
portionable applications  to  those  below  them 
will  be  easily  made,  so  as  to  value  the  whole 
species  by  the  same  rule.  We  will  begin  with 
the  woman,  and  behold  her  as  a virgin  in  her 
father’s  house.  This  state  of  her  life  is  infinitely 
more  delightful  than  that  of  her  brother  at  the 
same  age.  While  she  is  entertained  with  learn- 
ing melodious  airs  at  her  spinnet,  is  led  round 
a room  in  the  most  complaisant  manner  to  a 
fiddle,  or  is  entertained  with  applauses  of  her 
beauty  and  perfection  in  the  ordinary  conversa- 
tion she  meets  with ; the  young  man  is  under 
the  dictates  of  a rigid  school-master  or  instruc- 
tor, contradicted  in  every  word  he  speaks,  and 
curbed  in  all  the  inclinations  he  discovers.  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  is  the  object  of  desire  and  admiration, 
looked  upon  with  delight,  courted  with  all  the 
powers  of  eloquence  and  address,  approached 
with  a certain  worship,  and  defended  with  a cer- 
tain loyalty.  This  is  her  case  as  to  the  world. 
In  her  domestic  character,  she  is  the  compa- 
nion, the  friend,  and  confident  of  her  mother, 
and  the  object  of  a pleasure,  something  like  the 
love  between  angels,  to  her  father.  Her  youth, 
her  beauty,  her  air,  are  by  him  looked  upon  with 
an  ineffable  transport  beyond  any  other  joy  in 
this  life,  with  as  much  purity  as  can  be  met 
with  in  the  next. 

Her  brother  William,  at  the  same  years,  is 
but  in  the  rudiments  of  those  acquisitions  which 
must  gain  him  esteem  in  the  world.  His  heart 
beats  for  applause  among  men  ; yet  he  is  fear- 
ful of  every  step  towards  it.  If  he  proposes  to 
himself  to  make  a figure  in  the  world,  his  youth 
is  damped  w’ith  a prospect  of  difficulties,  dan- 
gers, and  dishonours  ; and  an  opposition  in  all 
generous  attempts,  whether  they  regard  his 
love  or  his  ambition. 

In  the  next  stage  of  life,  she  has  little  else  to 
do,  but  (what  she  is  accomplished  for  by  the 
mere  gifts  of  nature)  to  appear  lovely  and 
agreeable  to  her  husband,  tender  to  her  children, 
and  affable  to  her  servants.  But  a man,  when 
he  enters  into  this  way,  is  but  in  the  first  scene, 
far  from  the  accomplishment  of  his  designs.  He 
is  now  in  all  things  to  act  for  others  as  well  as 
himself.  He  is  to  have  industry  and  frugality 
in  his  private  affairs,  and  integrity  and  address 
in  public.  To  these  qualities,  he  must  add  a 
courage  and  resolution  to  support  his  other 
abilities,  lest  he  be  interrupted  in  the  prosecu- 
tion of  his  just  endeavours,  in  which  the  honour 
and  interest  of  his  posterity  are  as  much  con- 
cerned as  his  own  personal  welfare. 

This  little  sketch  may,  in  some  measure,  give 
an  idea  of  the  different  parts  which  the  sexes 
have  to  act,  and  the  advantageous  as  well  as 
inconvenient  terms  on  which  they  are  to  enter 
upon  their  several  parts  of  life.  This  may  also 
be  some  rule  to  us  in  the  examination  of  their 
conduct.  In  short,  I shall  take  it  for  a maxim, 
that  a woman  who  resigns  the  purpose  of  being 
pleasing,  and  the  man  who  gives  up  the  thoughts 
of  being  wise,  do  equally  quit  their  claim  to  the 
true  causes  of  living ; and  are  to  be  allowed  the 


[No.  176. 

diet  and  discipline  of  my  charitable  structure, 
to  reduce  them  to  reason. 

On  the  other  side,  the  woman  who  hopes  to 
please  by  methods  which  should  make  her 
odious,  and  the  man  who  would  be  thought  wise 
by  a behaviour  that  renders  him  ridiculous,  are 
to  be  taken  into  custody  for  their  false  industry, 
as  justly  as  they  ought  for  their  negligence. 

N.  B.  Mr.  Bickerstaff  is  taken  extremely  ill 
with  the  toothache,  and  cannot  proceed  in  this 
discourse. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  May  22. 

Advices  from  Flanders  of  the  thirtieth  in- 
stant,  N.  S.  say.  That  the  duke  of  Marlborough, 
having  intelligence  of  the  enemy’s  passing  the 
Scarp  on  the  twenty -ninth  in  the  evening,  and 
their  mareh  towards  the  plains  of  Lens,  had 
put  the  confederate  army  in  motion,  which  was 
advancing  towards  the  camp  on  the  north  side 
of  that  river,  between  Vitry  and  Henin-Leitard. 
The  confederates,  since  the  approach  of  the 
enemy,  have  added  several  new  redoubts  to  their 
camp,  and  drawn  the  cannon  out  of  the  lines 
of  circumvallation  in  a readiness  for  the  bat- 
teries. 

It  is  not  believed,  notwithstanding  these  ap- 
pearances, that  the  enemy  will  hazard  a battle 
for  the  relief  of  Douay  ; the  siege  of  which 
place  is  carried  on  with  all  the  success  that  can 
be  expected,  considering  the  difficulties  they 
meet  with,  occasioned  by  the  inundations.  On 
the  twenty-eighth  at  night  we  made  a lodgment 
on  the  salient  angle  of  the  glaeis  of  the  second 
counterscarp,  and  our  approaches  are  so  far  ad- 
vaneed,  that  it  is  believed  the  town  will  be 
obliged  to  surrender  before  the  eighth  of  the 
next  month. 


No.  176.]  Thursday,  May  25,  1710. 

Nullum  numen  abest,  si  sit  prudentia. 

Juv.  Sat.  X.  363. 

Whoe’er  takes  Prudence  for  his  guard  and  guide, 

Engages  every  guardian  beside. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  23. 

This  evening,  after  a little  ease  from  the 
raging  pain  caused  by  so  small  an  organ  as  an 
aching  tooth,  (under  which  I behaved  myself  so 
ill  as  to  have  broke  two  pipes  and  my  speetacles) 
I began  to  reflect  with  admiration  on  those  he- 
roic spirits,  which  in  the  conduct  of  their  lives 
seem  to  live  so  much  above  the  condition  of  our 
make,  as  not  only  under  the  agonies  of  pain  to 
forbear  any  intemperate  word  or  gesture,  but 
also  in  their  general  and  ordinary  behaviour,  to 
resist  the  impulses  of  their  very  blood  and  con- 
stitution. This  watch  over  a man’s  self,  and 
the  command  of  his  temper,  I take  to  be  the 
greatest  of  human  perfections,  and  is  the  effect 
of  a strong  and  a resolute  mind.  It  is  not  only 
the  most  expedient  praetice  for  carrying  on  our 
own  designs  ; but  is  also  very  deservedly  the 
most  amiable  quality  in  the  sight  of  others.  It 
is  a winning  deference  to  mankind,  which  cre- 
ates an  immediate  imitation  of  itself  wherever 
it  appears  ; and  prevails  upon  all,  who  have  to 


THE  TATLER. 


311 


No.  176.] 

do  with  a person  endued  with  it,  either  through 
shame  or  emulation.  I do  not  know  how  to  ex- 
press this  habit  of  mind,  except  you  will  let  me 
call  it  Equanimity.  It  is  a virtue  which  is  ne- 
cessary at  every  hour,  in  every  place,  and  in  all 
conversations  ; and  it  is  the  effect  of  a regular 
and  exact  prudence.  He  that  will  look  back 
upon  all  the  acquaintances  he  has  had  in  his 
whole  life,  will  find,  he  has  seen  more  men  ca- 
pable of  the  greatest  employments  and  per- 
formances, than  such  as  could,  in  the  general 
bent  of  their  carriage,  act  otherwise  than  ae- 
cording  to  their  own  complexion  and  humour. 
But  the  indulgence  of  ourselves,  in  wholly  giving 
way  to  our  natural  propensity,  is  so  unjust  and 
improper  a lieense,  that  when  people  take  it  up, 
there  is  but  very  little  difference,  with  relation 
to  their  friends  and  families,  whether  they  are 
good  or  ill-natured  men : for  he  that  errs  by 
being  wrought  upon  by  what  we  call  the  sweet- 
ness of  his  temper,  is  as  guilty  as  he  that  of- 
fends through  the  perverseness  of  it. 

It  is  not  therefore  to  be  regarded  what  men 
are  in  themselves,  but  what  they  are  in  their 
actions.  Eucrates  is  the  best  natured  of  all 
men ; but  that  natural  softness  has  effeets  quite 
contrary  to  itself ; and,  for  want  of  due  bounds 
of  his  benevolenee,  while  he  has  a will  to  be  a 
friend  to  all,  he  has  the  power  of  being  sueh  to 
none.  His  eonstant  inelination  to  please,  makes 
him  never  fail  of  doing  so  ; though,  without 
being  eapable  of  falsehood,  he  is  a friend  only 
to  those  who  are  present ; for  the  same  humour 
which  makes  him  the  best  eompanion,  renders 
him  the  worst  correspondent.  It  is  a melan- 
choly thing  to  consider,  that  the  most  engaging 
sort  of  men  in  eonversation,  are  frequently  the 
most  fyrannieal  in  power,  and  the  least  to  be  de- 
pended upon  in  friendship.  It  is  certain  this  is 
not  to  be  imputed  to  their  own  uisposition  ; but 
he  that  is  to  be  led  by  others,  has  only  good  luek 
if  he  is  not  the  worst,  though  in  himself  the 
best  man  living.  For  this  reason,  we  are  no 
more  wholly  to  indulge  our  good  than  our  ill 
dispositions.  I remember  a erafty  old  eit  one 
day  speaking  of  a well-natured  young  fellow, 
who  set  up  with  a good  stoek  in  Lombard-street ; 
‘ I will,’  says  he,  ‘ lay  no  more  money  in  his 
hands ; for  he  never  denied  me  any  thing.’ 
This  was  a very  base,  but  with  him  a prudential, 
reason  for  breaking  off  eommerce  ; and  this  ae- 
quaintance  of  mine  carried  this  way  of  judging 
so  far,  that  he  has  often  told  me  ‘ lie  never  cared 
to  deal  with  a rhan  he  liked  ; for  that  our  affec- 
tions must  never  enter  into  our  business.’ 

When  we  look  round  us  in  this  populous  eity, 
and  eonsider  how  eredit  and  esteem  are  lodged, 
you  find  men  have  a great  share  of  the  former, 
without  the  least  portion  of  the  latter.  He  who 
knows  himself  for  a beast  of  prey,  looks  upon 
others  in  the  same  light ; and  we  are  so  apt  to 
judge  of  others  by  ourselves,  that  the  man  who 
has  no  merey,  is  as  eareful  as  possible  never  to 
want  it.  Henee  it  is,  that  in  many  instances 
men  gain  credit  by  the  very  eontrary  methods 
by  whieh  they  do  esteem ; for  wary  traders 
think  every  affection  of  the  mind  a key  to  their 
cash. 

But  what  led  me  into  this  diseourse,  was  my 
impatienee  of  pain ; and  I have,  to  my  great 


disgrace  seen  an  instance  of  the  contrary  car- 
riage in  so  high  a degree,  that  I am  out  of  coun- 
tenance that  I ever  read  Seneea.  When  I look 
upon  the  conduct  of  others  in  such  occurrences, 
as  well  as  behold  their  equanimity  m the  general 
tenor  of  their  life,  it  very  mueh  abates  the  self- 
love,  whieh  is  seldom  well  governed  by  any  sort 
of  men,  and  least  of  all  by  us  authors. 

The  fortitude  of  a man,  who  brings  his  will 
to  the  obedience  of  his  reason,  is  conspicuous, 
and  carries  with  it  a dignity  in  the  lowest  state 
imaginable.  Poor  Martins,  who  now  lies  lan- 
guishing in  the  most  violent  fever,  diseovers  in 
the  faintest  moments  of  his  distemper  sueh  a 
greatness  of  mind,  that  a perfeet  stranger,  who 
should  now  behold  him,  would  indeed  see  an  ob- 
ject of  pity,  but  at  the  same  time,  that  it  was 
lately  an  objeet  of  veneration.  His  gallant 
spirit  resigns,  but  resigns  with  an  air  that 
speaks  a resolution  whieh  eould  yield  to  nothing 
but  fate  itself.  This  is  conquest  in  the  philo- 
sophic sense ; but  the  empire  over  ourselves  is, 
methinks,  no  less  laudable  in  common  life, 
where  the  whole  tenor  of  a man’s  earriage  is  in 
subservience  to  his  own  reason,  and  in  con- 
formity both  to  the  good  sense  and  inelination 
of  other  men. 

* Aristaeus  is,  in  my  opinion,  a perfeet  master 
of  himself  in  all  cireumstanees.  He  has  all  the 
spirit  that  man  can  have ; and  yet  is  as  regular 
in  his  behaviour  as  a mere  maehine.  He  is 
sensible  of  every  passion,  but  ruffled  by  none. 
In  eonversation  he  frequently  seems  to  be  less 
knowing,  to  be  more  obliging,  and  chooses  to  be 
on  a level  with  others  rather  than  oppress  with 
the  superiority  of  his  genius.  In  friendship,  he 
is  kind  without  profession.  In  business,  expe- 
ditious without  ostentation.  With  the  greatest 
softness  and  benevolenee  imaginable,  he  is  im- 
partial in  spite  of  all  importunity,  even  that  of 
his  own  good-nature.  He  is  ever  elear  in  his 
judgment ; but,  in  complaisance  to  his  compa- 
ny, speaks  with  doubt ; and  never  shows  con- 
fidenee  in  argument  but  to  support  the  sense  of 
another.  Were  sueh  an  equality  of  mind  the 
general  endeavour  of  all  men,  how  sweet  would 
be  the  pleasures  of  eonversation  ? He  that  is 
loud  would  then  understand,  that  we  ought  to 
eall  a constable  ; and  know,  that  spoiling  good 
eompany  is  the  most  heinous  way  of  breaking 
the  peaee.  We  should  then  be  relieved  from 
those  zealots  in  soeiety,  who  take  upon  them  to 
he  angry  for  all  the  company,  and  quarrel 
with  the  waiters  to  show  they  have  no  respeet 
for  any  body  else  in  the  room.  To  be  in  a rage 
before  you  is,  in  a kind,  being  angry  with  you. 
You  may  as  well  stand  naked  before  eompany, 
as  to  use  sueh  familiarities  ; and  to  be  eareless 
of  what  you  say,  is  the  most  clownish  way  of 
being  undressed. 

Sheer -lane.,  May  24. 

When  I earae  home  this  evening,  I found  the 
following  letters  ; and  beeause  I think  one  a 
very  good  answer  to  the  other,  as  well  as  that  it 
is  the  affair  of  a young  lady,  it  must  be  im- 
mediately dismissed. 

* Steele,  witli  a delicacy  dictated  Iw  genuine  friend- 
ship, seems  to  have  taken  the  opportunity  of  Addison’s 
absence  from  England,  to  treat  the  public  with  this  fine 
picture  of  him. 


312 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  177. 


‘ Sir, — I have  a good  fortune,  partly  paternal, 
and  partly  aequired.  My  younger  years  I spent 
in  business  ; but,  age  coming  on,  and  having  no 
more  children  than  one  daughter,  I resolved  to 
be  a slave  no  longer  : and,  accordingly,  I have 
disposed  of  my  effects,  placed  my  money  in  the 
funds,  bought  a pretty  seat  in  a pleasant  coun- 
try, am  making  a garden,  and  have  set  up  a pack 
of  little  beagles.  I live  in  the  midst  of  a good 
many  well-bred  neighbours,  and  several  well- 
tempered  clergymen.  Against  a rainy  day,  I 
have  a little  library  ; and  against  the  gout  in 
my  stomach,  a little  good  claret.  With  all  this 
I am  the  miserablest  man  in  the  world  ; not  that 
I have  lost  the  relish  of  any  of  these  pleasures, 
but  am  distraeted  with  such  a multiplicity  of 
entertaining  objects,  that  I am  lost  in  the  va- 
riety. I am  in  such  a hurry  of  idleness,  that 
I do  not  know  with  what  diversion  to  begin. 
Therefore,  sir,  I must  beg  the  favour  of  you, 
when  your  more  weighty  affairs  will  permit,  to 
put  me  in  some  method  of  doing  nothing;  for 
I find  Pliny  makes  a great  difference  betwixt 
nihil  agere  and  agere  nihil;  and  I fancy,  if  you 
would  explain  him,  you  would  do  a very  great 
kindness  to  many  in  Great  Britain,  as  well  as  to 
your  humble  servant,  J.  B.’ 

‘Sir, — The  inclosed  is  written  by  my  father  in 
one  of  his  pleasant  humours.  He  bids  me  seal  it 
up,  and  send  you  a word  or  two  from  myself ; 
which  he  would  not  desire  to  see  until  he  hears 
of  it  from  you.  Desire  him,  before  he  begins 
his  method  of  doing  nothing,  to  leave  nothing  to 
do ; that  is  to  say,  let  him  marry  off  his  daugh- 
ter. ‘ 1 am  your  gentle  reader,  S.  B.’ 


No.  177.] 


Saturday,  May  27, 1710. 


Male  si  palpere,  recalcitrat  undique  tutus. 

Hor.  1 Sat.  ii.  20. 

He  spurns  the  flatterer,  and  his  saucy  praise. 

Francis. 

Sheer-lane,  May  26. 

The  ingenious  i\Ir.  Penkethman,  the  come- 
dian, has  lately  left  here  a paper  or  ticket,  to 
which  is  affixed  a small  silver  medal,  wdiich  is 
to  entitle  the  bearer  to  see  one-and-twenty  plays 
at  his  theatre  for  a guinea.  Greenwich  is  the 
place  where,  it  seems,  be  has  erected  his  house  ; 
and  his  time  of  action  is  to  be  so  contrived,  that 
it  is  to  fall  in  with  going  and  returning  with  the 
tide.  Besides  that,  the  bearer  of  this  ticket  may 
carry  down  with  Jiim  a particular  set  of  com- 
pany to  the  play,  striking  olf  for  each  person  so 
introduced  one  of  his  twenty-one  times  of  ad- 
mittance. In  this  warrant  of  his,  he  has  made 
me  a high  compliment  in  a facetious  distich,  by 
way  of  dedication  of  his  endeavours,  and  de- 
sires I would  recommend  them  to  the  world.  I 
must  needs  say,  I have  not  for  some  time  seen 
a properer  choice  than  he  has  made  of  a patron. 
Who  more  fit  to  publish  his  work  than  a novel- 
ist ? who  to  recommend  it  than  a censor  ? This 
honour  done  me,  has  made  me  turn  my  thoughts 
upon  the  nature  of  dedications  in  general,  and 
the  abuse  of  that  custom,  as  well  by  a long  prac- 


'tiee  of  my  predecessors,  as  the  continued  folly 
of  my  contemporary  authors. 

In  ancient  times,  it  was  the  custom  to  address 
their  works  to  some  persons  eminent  for  their 
merit  to  mankind,  or  particular  patronage  of  the 
writers  themselves,  or  knowledge  in  the  matter 
of  which  they  treated.  Under  these  regards,  it 
was  a memorable  honour  to  both  parties,  and  a 
very  agreeable  record  of  their  commerce  with 
each  other.  These  applications  were  never 
stuffed  with  impertinent  praises,  but  were  the 
native  product  of  their  esteem  ; which  was  im- 
plicitly received,  or  generally  known  to  be  due 
to  the  patron  of  the  work : but  vain  flourishes 
came  into  the  world,  with  other  barbarous  em- 
bellishments ; and  the  enumeration  of  titles  and 
great  actions,  in  the  patrons  themselves,  or  their 
sires,  are  as  foreign  to  the  matter  in  hand,  as 
the  ornaments  are  in  a Gothic  building.  This 
is  clapping  together  persons  which  have  no  man- 
ner of  alliance ; and  can  for  that  reason  have  no 
other  effect  than  making  both  parties  justly  ri- 
diculous. What  pretence  is  there  in  nature  for 
me  to  write  to  a great  man,  and  tell  him,  ‘ My 
lord,  because  your  grace  is  a duke,  your  grace’s 
father  before  you  was  an  earl,  his  lordship’s  fa- 
ther was  a baron,  and  his  lordship’s  father  both 
a wise  and  a rich  man  : I,  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  am 
obliged,  and  could  not  possibly  forbear  address- 
ing to  you  the  following  treatise.’  Though  this 
is  the  plain  exposition  of  all  I could  possibly 
say  to  him  with  a good  conscience,  yet  the  silly 
custom  has  so  universally  prevailed,  that  my 
lord  duke  and  I must  necessarily  be  particular 
friends  from  this  time  forward  ; or' else  I have 
just  room  for  being  disobliged,  and  may  turn 
my  panegyric  into  a libel.  But  to  carry  this 
affair  still  more  home  ; were  it  granted  that 
praises  in  dedications  were  proper  topics,  what 
is  it  that  gives  a man  authority  to  commend,  or 
what  makes  it  a favour  to  me  that  he  does  com 
mend  me  ? It  is  certain,  that  there  is  no  praise 
valuable  but  from  the  praise- worthy.  Were  it 
otherwise,  blame  might  be  as  much  in  the  same 
hands.  Were  the  good  and  evil  of  fame  laid 
upon  a level  among  mankind,  the  judge  on  the 
bench  and  the  criminal  at  the  bar  wmold  differ 
only  in  their  stations ; and  if  one’s  word  is  to 
pass  as  much  as  the  other’s,  their  reputation 
would  be  much  alike  to  the  jury.  Pliny,  speak- 
ing of  the  death  of  Martial,  expresses  himself 
with  great  gratitude  to  him,  fbr  the  honours  done 
liim  in  the  writings  of  that  author  ; but  he  be- 
gins it  with  an  account  of  his  character,  which 
only  made  the  applause  valuable.  He  indeed  in 
the  same  epistle  says,  ‘ It  is  a sign  we  have  left 
off  doing  things  which  deserve  praise,  when  we 
think  commendation  imiiertinent.’  This  is  as- 
serted with  a just  regard  to  the  persons  whose 
good  opinion  we  wish  for  ; otherwise  reputation 
would  be  v’alued  according  to  the  number  of 
voices  a man  has  for  it,  which  are  not  always  to 
be  insured  on  the  more  virtuous  side.  But  how- 
ever we  pretend  to  model  these  nice  affairs,  true 
glory  will  never  attend  any  thing  but  truth  ; 
and  there  is  something  so  peculiar  in  it,  that 
the  very  self-same  action  done  by  different  men, 
cannot  merit  the  same  degree  of  applause.  The 
Roman,  who  was  surprised  in  tlie  enemy’s  camp 
before  he  had  accomplished  his  design,  and 


No.  178.] 


THE  TATLER. 


313 


thrust  his  bare  arm  into  a flaming  pile,  telling 
the  general,  there  were  many  as  determined  as 
himself,  who,  against  sense  of  danger,  had  con- 
spired his  death,  wrought  in  the  very  enemy  an 
admiration  of  his  fortitude,  and  a dismission 
with  applause.  But  the  eondemned  slave,  who 
represented  him  in  the  theatre,  and  consumed 
his  arm  in  the  same  manner,  with  the  same  re- 
solution, did  not  raise  in  the  spectators  a great 
idea  of  his  virtue,  but  of  him  whom  he  imitated 
in  an  action  no  way  differing  from  that  of  the 
real  Scaevola,  but  in  the  motive  to  it. 

Thus  true  glory  is  inseparable  from  true  me- 
rit ; and  whatever  you  call  men,  they  are  no 
more  than  what  they  are  in  themselves ; but  a 
romantic  sense  has  crept  into  the  minds  of  the 
generality,  who  will  ever  mistake  words  and 
appearances  for  persons  and  things. 

The  simplicity  of  the  ancients  was  as  con- 
spicuous in  the  address  of  their  writings,  as  in 
any  other  monuments  they  have  left  behind 
them.  Caesar  and  Augustus  were  much  more 
high  words  of  respect,  when  added  to  occasions 
fit  for  their  characters  to  appear  in,  than  any 
appellations  which  have  ever  been  since  thought 
of.  The  latter  of  these  great  men  had  a very 
pleasant  way  of  dealing  with  applications  of  this 
kind.  When  he  received  pieces  of  poetry  which 
he  thought  had  worth  in  them,  he  rewarded  the 
writer;  but  where  he  thought  them  empty,  he 
generally  returned  the  compliment  made  him 
with  some  verses  of  his  own. 

This  latter  method  I have  at  present  occasion 
to  imitate.  A female  author  has  dedicated  a 
piece  to  me,*  wherein  she  would  make  my  name, 
as  she  has  others,  the  introduction  of  whatever 
is  to  follow  in  her  book  ; and  has  spoke  some 
panegyrical  things  which  I know  not  how  to 
return,  for  want  of  belter  acquaintance  v/ith  the 
lady,  and  consequently  being  out  of  a eapacity 
of  giving  her  praise  or  blame ; all  therefore  that 
is  left  for  me,  according  to  the  foregoing  rules, 
is  to  lay  the  picture  of  a good  and  evil  woman 
before  her  eyes,  which  are  but  mere  words  if 
they  do  not  concern  her.  Now  you  are  to  ob- 
serve, the  way  in  a dedication  is,  to  make  all  the 
rest  of  the  world  as  little  like  the  person  we  ad- 
dress to  as  possible,  according  to  the  following 
epistle. 

‘ Madam, 

But  M 

Memorabile  nunum 

Foeminea  in  poena  est.’ 


No.  178.]  Tuesday,  May  30,1710. 

Sheer-lane,  May  29. 

When  we  look  into  the  delightful  history  of 
the  most  ingenious  Don  Quixote  of  la  Mancha, 
and  consider  the  exercises  and  manner  of  life  of 
that  renowned  gentleman,  we  cannot  but  admire 


* Mrs.  D.  Manley  published  at  this  time  one  of  her 
scandalous  chronicles,  in  8vo.  under  the  title  of  Me- 
moirs of  Europe  towards  the  Close  of  the  eighth  Cen- 
tury, written  by  Eginardiis,  .secretary,  &c.  to  Charle- 
magne, and  done  into  English  by  the  Translator  of  the 
New  Atalanlis.’ 

2 R 


the  exquisite  genius  and  discerning  spirit  of 
Michael  Cervantes ; who  has  not  only  painted 
his  adventurer  with  great  mastery  in  the  con- 
spicuous parts  of  his  story,  which  relate  to  love 
and  honour  ; but  also  intimated  in  his  ordinary 
life,  in  his  economy  and  furniture,  the  infallible 
symptoms  he  gave  of  his  growing  frenzy,  be- 
fore he  declared  himself  a Knight  Errant.  His 
hall  was  furnished  with  old  lances,  halberds,  and 
morions  ; his  food,  lentils  ; his  dress,  amorous. 
He  slept  moderately,  rose  early,  and  spent  his 
time  in  hunting.  When  by  watchfulness  and 
exercise  he  was  thus  qualified  for  the  hardships 
of  his  intended  peregrinations,  he  had  nothing 
more  to  do  but  to  fall  hard  to  study ; and  before 
he  should  apply  himself  to  the  practical  part, 
get  into  the  methods  of  making  love  and  war 
by  reading  books  of  knighthood.  As  for  raising 
tender  passions  in  him,  Cervantes  reports,  that 
he  was  wonderfully  delighted  with  a smooth  in- 
tricate  sentence  ; and  when  they  listened  at  his 
study-door,  they  could  frequently  hear  him  read 
loud,  ‘ The  reason  of  the  unreasonableness,  which 
against  my  reason  is  wrought,  doth  so  weaken 
my  reason,  as  with  all  reason  I do  justly  com- 
plain of  your  beauty.’  Again,  he  would  pause 
until  he  came  to  another  charming  sentence, 
and,  with  the  most  pleasing  accent  imaginable, 
be  loud  at  a new  paragraph  : ‘ The  high  heavens, 
which  with  your  divinity,  do  fortify  you  divinely 
with  the  stars,  make  you  deserveress  of  the  de- 
serts that  your  greatness  deserves.’  With  these 
and  other  such  passages,  says  my  author,  the 
poor  gentleman  grew  distracted,  and  was  break- 
ing his  brains  day  and  night  to  understand  and 
unravel  their  sense. 

As  much  as  the  case  of  this  distempered 
knight  is  received  by  all  the  readers  of  his  his- 
tory as  the  most  incurable  and  ridiculous  of  all 
frenzies  ; it  is  very  certain,  we  have  crowds 
among  us  far  gone  in  as  visible  a madness  as  his, 
though  they  are  not  observed  to  be  in  that  con- 
dition. As  great  and  useful  discoveries  are 
sometimes  made  by  accidental  and  small  begin- 
nings, I came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  most  epi- 
demic ill  of  this  sort,  by  falling  into  a coffee- 
house, where  I saw  my  friend  the  upholsterer, 
whose  crack  towards  politics  I have  heretofore 
mentioned.  This  touch  in  the  brain  of  the  Bri- 
tish subject,  is  as  certainly  owing  to  the  reading 
of  newspapers,  as  that  of  the  Spanish  worthy 
above  mentioned  to  the  reading  of  v/orks  of  chi- 
valry. My  contemporaries,  the  novelists,  have, 
for  the  better  spinning  out  paragraphs,  and 
working  down  to  the  end  of  their  columns,  a 
most  happy  art  in  saying  and  unsaying,  giving 
hints  of  intelligence,  and  interpretations  of  in- 
different actions,  to  the  great  disturbance  of  the 
brains  of  ordinary  readers.  This  way  of  going 
on  in  the  words,  and  making  no  progress  in  the 
sense,  is  more  particularly  the  excellency  of  my 
most  ingenious  and  renowned  fellow-labourer, 
the  Post-man  ; and  it  is  to  this  talent  in  him 
that  I impute  the  loss  of  my  upholsterer’s  intel- 
lects. That  unfortunate  tradesman  has,  for  years 
past,  been  the  chief  orator  in  ragged  assemblies, 
and  the  reader  in  alley  coffee-houses.  He  was 
yesterday  surrounded  by  an  audience  of  that 
sort,  among  whom  I sat  unobserved,  through 
the  favour  of  a cloud  of  tobacco,  and  saw  him 


314 


THE  TATLER. 


with  the  Post-man  in  his  hand,  and  all  the  other 
papers  safe  under  his  elbow.  He  was  intermixing 
remarks,  and  reading  the  Paris  article  of  May 
the  thirtieth,  which  says,  ‘That  it  is  given  out 
that  an  express  arrived  this  day  with  advice, 
that  the  armies  were  so  near  in  the  plain  of 
Lens,  that  they  cannonaded  each  other.’  ‘ Ay, 
ay,  here  we  shall  have  sport.’  ‘ And  that  it  was 
highly  probable  the  next  express  would  bring 
us  an  account  of  an  engagement.’  ‘ They  are 
welcome  as  soon  as  they  please.’  ‘ Though  some 
others  say,  that  the  same  will  be  put  olf  until 
the  second  or  third  of  June,  because  the  marshal 
Villars  expects  some  further  reinforcements 
from  Germany,  and  other  parts,  before  that 
time.’  ‘What  a-pox  does  he  put  it  off  for? 
Does  he  think  our  horse  is  not  marching  up  at  j 
the  same  time  ? But  let  us  see  what  he  says  ; 
further.’  ‘ They  hope  that  Monsieur  Albergotti,  I 
being  encouraged  by  the  presence  of  so  great  I 
an  army,  will  make  an  extraordinary  defence.’  j 
‘ Why  then,  I $nd,  Albergotti  is  one  of  those  ! 
that  love  to  have  a great  many  on  their  side.  ' 
Nay,  I will  say  that  for  this  paper,  he  makes  | 
the  most  natural  inferences  of  any  of  them  all.’ 

‘ The  elector  of  Bavaria,  being  uneasy  to  be 
without  any  command,  has  desired  leave  to 
come  to  court,  to  communicate  a certain  project  | 

to  his  majesty. Whatever  it  be,  it  is  said,  ! 

that  prince  is  suddenly  expected  ; and  then  we 
shall  have  a more  certain  account  of  his  project,  | 
if  this  report  has  any  foundation.’  ‘ Nay,  this 
paper  never  imposes  upon  us  ; he  goes  upon  sure 
grounds ; for  he  will  not  be  positive  the  elector 
has  a project,  or  that  he  will  come,  or  if  he  does  j 
come  at  all ; for  he  doubts,  you  see,  whether  the  ! 
report  has  any  foundation.’ 

What  makes  this  the  more  lamentable  is,  that 
this  way  of  w'riting  falls  in  with  the  imagina- 
tions of  the  cooler  and  duller  part  of  her  majes- 
ty’s subjects.  The  being  kept  up  with  one  line 
contradicting  another ; and  the  whole,  after  many 
sentences  of  conjecture,  vanishing  in  a doubt 
whether  there  is  any  thing  at  all  in  what  the 
person  has  been  reading,  puts  an  ordinary  head 
into  a vertigo,  which  his  natural  dulness  would 
have  secured  him  from.  Next  to  the  labours  of 
the  Post-man,  the  upholsterer  took  from  under 
his  elbow  honest  Icabod  Dawks’s  Letter ; and 
there,  among  other  speculations,  the  historian 
takes  upon  him  to  say,  ‘ That  it  is  discoursed 
that  there  will  be  a battle  in  Flanders  before  the 
anriies  separate,  and  many  will  have  it  to  be 
to-morrow,  the  great  battle  of  Ramelies  being 
fought  on  a Whitsunday.’  A gentleman,  who 
was  a wag  in  this  company,  laughed  at  the  ex- 
pression, and  said,  ‘ By  Mr.  Dawks’s  favour,  I 
warrant  you,  if  we  meet  them  on  Whitsunday 
or  Monday  we  shall  not  stand  upon  the  day  with 
them,  whether  it  be  before  or  after  the  holidays.’ 
An  admirer  of  this  gentleman  stood  up,  and  told 
a neighbour  at  a distant  table  the  conceit ; at 
which  indeed  we  were  all  very  merry.  These 
reflections,  in  the  writers  of  the  transactions  of 
the  times,  seize  the  noddles  of  such  as  were  not 
born  to  have  thoughts  of  their  own,  and  conse- 
quently lay  a weight  upon  every  thing  which 
they  read  in  print.  But  Mr.  Dawks  concluded 
his  paper  with  a courteous  sentence,  which  was 
very  well  taken  and  applauded  by  the  whole 


[No.  178. 

company.  ‘ We  wish,’  says  he,  ‘ all  our  cus- 
tomers a merry  Whitsuntide  and  many  of  them.’ 
Honest  Icabod  is  as  extraordinary  a man  as  any 
of  our  fraternity,  and  as  particular.  His  style 
is  a dialect  between  the  familiarity  of  talking 
and  writing,  and  his  letter  such  as  you  cannot 
distinguish  whether  print  or  manuscript,*  which 
gives  us  a refreshment  of  the  idea  from  what 
has  been  told  us  from  the  press  by  others.  This 
wishing  a good  Tide  had  its  effect  upon  us,  and 
he  was  commended  for  his  salutation,  as  show- 
ing as  w'ell  the  capacity  of  a bell-man  as  a his- 
torian. My  distempered  old  aequaintance  read, 
in  the  next  place,  the  account  of  the  affairs 
abroad  in  the  Courant : but  the  matter  was  told 
so  distinetly,  that  these  wanderers  thought  there 
j was  no  news  in  it;  this  paper  differing  from 
the  rest,  as  a history  from  a romance.  The 
tautology,  the  contradiction,  the  doubts,  and 
wants  of  confirmations,  are  what  keep  up  ima- 
ginary entertainments  in  empty  heads,  and  pro- 
duce neglect  of  their  own  affairs,  poverty,  and 
bankruptcy,  in  many  of  the  shop-statesmen  ; 
but  turn  the  imaginations  of  those  of  a little 
higher  orb  into  deliriums  of  dissatisfaction,  which 
is  seen  in  a continual  fret  upon  all  that  touches 
their  brains,  but  more  particularly  upon  any 
advantage  obtained  by  their  country,  where 
they  are  considered  as  lunatics,  and  therefore 
tolerated  in  their  ravings. 

What  I am  now  warning  the  people  of  is, 
that  the  newspapers  of  this  island  are  as  perni- 
cious to  weak  heads  in  England,  as  ever  books 
of  chivalr}’^  to  Spain  ; and  therefore  shall  do  all 
that  in  me  lies,  with  the  utmost  care  and  vigi- 
lance imaginable,  to  prevent  these  growing  evils. 
A flaming  instance  of  this  malady  appeared  in 
my  old  acquaintance  at  this  time,  who,  after  he 
had  done  reading  all  his  papers,  ended  with  a 
thoughtful  air,  ‘ If  w’e  should  have  a peace,  we 
should  then  know  for  certain  whether  it  was  the 
king  of  Sweden  that  lately  came  to  Dunkirk  ?’ 
I whispered  him,  and  desired  him  to  step  aside 
a little  with  me.  When  I had  opportunity,  I 
decoyed  him  into  a coach,  in  order  for  his  more 
easy  conveyance  to  IMoorfields.  The  man  went 
very  quietly  with  me ; and  by  that  time  he  had 
brought  the  Swede  from  the  defeat  by  the  czar 
to  the  Boristhenes,  we  were  passing  by  Will’s 
coffee-house,  where  the  man  of  the  house  beck- 
oned to  us.  We  made  a full  stop,  and  could  hear 
from  above  a very  loud  voice  swearing,  with 
some  expressions  towards  treason,that  the  subject 
in  France  was  as  free  as  in  England.  His  dis- 
temper w’ould  not  let  him  reflect,  that  his  own 
discourse  was  an  argument  of  the  contrary. 
They  told  him,  one  would  speak  with  him  be- 
low. He  came  immediately  to  our  coach-side. 

I whispered  him,  ‘ that  I had  an  order  to  carry 
him  to  the  Bastile.’  He  immediately  obeyed 
with  great  resignation : for  to  this  sort  of  luna- 
tic, whose  brain  is  touched  for  the  French,  the 
name  of  a gaol  in  that  kingdom  has  a more 
agreeable  sound,  than  that  of  a paternal  seat  in 
this  their  own  country.  It  happened  a little 
unluckily  bringing  these  lunatics  together,  for 
they  immediately  fell  into  a debate  concerning 
the  greatness  of  their  respective  monarchs ; one 

* Dawks's  ‘ Letter’  was  circulated  in  MS. 


THE  TATLER. 


315 


No.  179.] 

for  the  king  of  Sweden,  the  other  for  the  grand 
monarque  of  France.  This  gentleman  from 
Will’s  is  now  next  door  to  the  upholsterer,  safe 
in  his  apartment  in  my  Bedlam,  with  proper 
medicaments,  and  the  Mercure  Gallant  to  .soothe 
his  imagination  that  he  is  actually  in  France. 
If,  therefore,  he  should  escape  to  Covent-garden 
again,  all  persons  are  desired  to  lay  hold  of  him, 
and  deliver  him  to  Mr.  Morphew,  my  overseer. 
At  the  same  time,  I desire  all  true  subjects  to 
forbear  discourse  with  him,  any  otherwise  than, 
when  he  begins  to  fight  a battle  for  France,  to 
say,  ‘ Sir,  I hope  to  see  you  in  England.’ 


No.  179.]  Saturday,  June  1, 1710. 

Oh!  quis  me  gelidis  in  vallibus  Haemi 
Sistat,  et  ingenti  ramoriim  protegat  umbra? 

Virg.  Georg,  ii.  488. 

Some  god  conduct  me  to  the  sacred  shades, 

Or  lift  me  high  to  Hsemus’  hilly  crown ! Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  May  31. 

In  this  parched  season,  next  to  the  pleasure 
of  going  into  the  country  is  that  of  hearing  from 
it,  and  partaking  the  joys  of  it  in  description  ; 
as  in  the  following  letter  : 

‘Sir, — I believe  you  will  forgive  me,  though 
I write  to  you  a very  long  epistle ; since  it  re- 
lates to  the  satisfaction  of  a country  life,  which 
I know  you  would  lead,  if  you  could.  In  the 
first  place,  I must  confess  to  you  that  I am 
one  of  the  most  luxurious  men  living  ; and  as  I | 
am  such,  I take  care  to  make  my  pleasures  I 
lasting,  by  following  none  but  such  as  are  inno- 
cent and  refined,  as  well  as,  in  some  measure, 
improving.  You  have  in  your  labours  been  so 
much  concerned  to  represent  the  actions  and 
passions  of  mankind,  that  the  whole  vegetable 
world  has  almost  escaped  your  observation  : but 
sure  there  are  gratifications  to  be  drawn  from 
thence,  which  deserve  to  be  recommended.  For 
your  better  information,  I wish  you  could  visit 
your  old  friend  in  Cornwall.  You  would  be 
pleased  to  see  the  many  alterations  I have  made 
about  my  house,  and  how  much  I have  im- 
proved my  estate  without  raising  the  rents  of  it. 

As  the  winter  engrosses  with  us  near  a double 
portion  of  the  year,  the  three  delightful  vicissi- 
tudes being  crowded  almost  within  the  space  of 
six  months,  there  is  nothing  upon  which  I have 
bestowed  so  much  study  and  expense,  as  in  con- 
triving means  to  soften  the  severity  of  it,  and, 
if  possible,  to  establish  twelve  cheerful  montlis 
about  my  habitation.  In  order  to  this,  the 
charges  I have  been  at  in  building  and  furnish- 
ing a green-house  will  perhaps  be  thought  some- 
what extravagant  by  a great  many  gentlemen 
whose  revenues  exceed  mine.  But,  when  I 
consider,  that  all  men  of  any  life  and  spirit  have 
their  inclinations  to  gratify  ; and  when  I com- 
pute the  sums  laid  out  by  the  generality  of  the 
men  of  pleasure,  in  tiie  number  of  which  I 
always  rank  myself,  in  riotous  eating  and  drink- 
ing, in  equipage  and  apparel,  upon  wenching, 
gaming,  racing,  and  hunting  ; I find,  upon  the 
balance,  that  the  indulging  of  my  humour 
comes  at  a reasonable  rate. 


‘ Since  I communicate  to  you  all  incidents, 
serious  and  trifling,  even  the  death  of  a but- 
terfly, that  fall  out  within  the  compass  of  my 
little  empire  ; you  will  not,  I hope,  be  ill  pleased 
with  the  draught  I now  send  you  of  my  little 
winter  paradise,  and  with  an  account  of  my  way 
of  amusing  myself  and  others  in  it. 

‘ The  younger  Pliny,  you  know,  writes  along 
letter  to  his  friend  Gallus,  in  which  he  gives 
him  a very  particular  plan  of  the  situation,  the 
conveniences,  and  the  agreeableness  of  his  fiZZa. 
In  my  last,  you  may  remember,  I promised  you 
something  of  this  kind.  Had  Pliny  lived  in  a 
northern  climate,  I doubt  not  but  we  should 
have  found  a very  complete  orangery  among  his 
epistles  ; and  I,  probably,  should  have  copied 
his  model,  instead  of  building  after  my  own 
fancy,  and  you  had  been  referred  to  him  for  the 
history  of  my  late  exploits  in  architecture  : by 
which  means  my  performances  would  have 
made  a better  figure,  at  least  in  writing,  than 
they  are  like  to  make  at  present. 

‘ The  area  of  my  green-house  is  a hundred 
paces  long,  fifty  broad,  and  the  roof  thirty  feet 
high.  The  wall  toward  the  north  is  of  solid  stone. 
On  the  south  side,  and  at  both  the  ends,  the 
stone  work  rises  but  three  feet  from  the  ground ; 
excepting  the  pilasters,  placed  at  convenient 
distances,  to  strengthen  and  beautify  the  build- 
ing. The  intermediate  spaces  are  filled  up 
w'ith  large  sashes  of  the  strongest  and  most 
transparent  glass.  The  middle  sash,  which  is 
wider  than  any  of  the  other,  serves  for  the  en- 
trance  ; to  which  you  mount  by  six  easy  steps, 
and  descend  on  the  inside  by  as  many.  This 
opens  and  shuts  with  greater  ease,  keeps  the 
wind  out  better,  and  is  at  the  same  time  more 
uniform  than  folding-doors. 

‘ In  the  middle  of  the  roof  there  runs  a ceiling 
thirty  feet  broad,  from  one  end  to  the  other. 
This  is  enlivened  by  a masterly  pencil,  with  all 
the  variety  of  rural  scenes  and  prospects,  which 
he  has  peopled  with  the  whole  tribe  of  sylvan 
deities.  Their  characters  and  their  stories  arc 
so  well  expressed,  that  the  whole  seems  a col- 
lection of  all  the  most  beautiful  fables  of  the  an- 
cient poets  translated  into  colours.  The  remain- 
ing spaces  of  the  roof,  ten  feet  on  each  side  of 
the  ceiling,  are  of  the  clearest  glass,  to  let  in 
the  sky  and  clouds  from  above.  Tiie  building 
points  fif.ZZ  east  and  isest,  so  tliat  I enjoy  the  sun 
while  he  is  above  the  horizon.  Kis  rays  are  im- 
proved through  the  glass  ; and  I receive  through 
it  what  is  desira’ole  in  a winter  sky,  without  the 
coarse  alia}'  of  the  season,  which  is  a kind  of 
sifting  or  straining  the  weather.  My  greens 
and  flowers  arc  as  sensible  as  I am  of  this 
benefit.  They  flourish  and  look  cheerful  as  in 
the  spring,  while  their  fellow-creatures  abroad 
are  starved  to  death.  I must  add,  that  a mode- 
rate expense  of  fire,  over  and  above  the  contri- 
bution I receive  from  the  sun,  serves  to  keep  this 
large  room  in  a due  temperature  ; it  being  shel- 
tered from  the  cold  winds  by  a hill  on  the  north, 
and  a wood  on  the  east. 

‘ The  shell,  you  see,  is  both  agreeable  and 
convenient ; and  now  you  shall  judge,  whether 
I have  laid  out  the  floor  to  advantage.  There 
goes  through  the  whole  length  of  it  a spacious 
walk  of  the  finest  gravel,  made  to  bind  and 


316 


THE  TATLER. 


unite  so  firmly  that  it  seems  one  continued 
stone  ; with  this  advantage,  that  it  is  easier  to 
the  foot,  and  better  for  walking,  than  if  it  were 
what  it  seems  to  be.  At  each  end  of  the  walk, 
on  the  one  and  on  the  other  side  of  it,  lies  a 
square  plot  of  grass  of  the  finest  turf  and 
brightest  verdure.  What  ground  remains  on 
both  sides,  between  these  little  smooth  fields  of 
green,  is  flagged  with  large  quarries  of  white 
marble ; where  the  blue  veins  trace  out  such  a 
variety  of  irregular  windings,  through  the  clear 
surface,  that  these  bright  plains  seem  full  of 
rivulets  and  streaming  meanders.  This,  to  my 
eye,  that  delights  in  simplicity,  is  inexpressibly 
more  beautiful  than  the  chequered  floors  which 
are  so  generally  admired  by  others.  Upon  the 
right  and  upon  the  left,  along  the  gravel  walk, 
I have  ranged  interchangeably  the  bay,  the  myr- 
tle, the  orange,  and  the  lemon-trees,  intermixed 
with  painted  hollies,  silver  firs,  and  pyramids 
of  yew  ; all  so  disposed,  that  every  tree  receives 
an  additional  beauty  from  its  situation,  besides 
the  harmony  that  rises  from  the  disposition  of 
the  whole.  No  shade  cuts  too  strongly,  or 
breaks  in  harshly  upon  the  other  ; but  the  eye 
is  cheered  with  a mild  rather  than  gorgeous 
diversity  of  greens. 

‘ The  borders  of  the  four  grass-plots  are  gar- 
nished with  pots  of  flowers.  Those  delicacies 
of  nature  recreate  two  senses  at  once  ; and  leave 
such  delightful  and  gentle  impressions  upon  the 
brain,  that  I cannot  help  thinking  them  of  equal 
force  with  the  softest  airs  of  music,  toward  the 
smoothing  of  our  tempers.  In  the  centre  of 
every  plot  is  a statue.  The  figures  I have  made 
choice  of  are  a Venus,  an  Adonis,  a Diana,  and 
an  Apollo ; such  excellent  copies,  as  to  raise 
the  same  delight  as  we  should  draw  from  the 
sight  of  the  ancient  originals. 

‘ The  north  wall  would  have  been  but  a tire- 
some waste  to  the  eye,  if  I had  not  diversified 
it  with  the  most  lively  ornaments,  suitable  to 
the  place.  To  this  intent,  I have  been  at  the 
expense  to  lead,  over  arches,  from  a neighbour- 
ing hill,  a plentiful  store  of  spring-water,  which 
a beautiful  Naiad,  placed  as  high  as  is  possible 
in  the  centre  of  the  wall,  pours  out  from  an  urn. 
I’his,  by  a fall  of  above  twenty  feet,  makes  a 
most  delightful  cascade  into  a bason,  that  opens 
wide  within  the  marble  floor  on  that  side.  At 
a reasonable  distance,  on  either  hand  of  the 
cascade,  the  wall  is  hollowed  into  turn  spreading 
scollops,  each  of  which  receives  a couch  of  green 
velvet,  and  forms  at  the  same  time  a canopy 
over  them.  Next  to  them  come  two  large  avia- 
ries, wl)ich  are  likewise  let  into  the  stone. 
These  are  succeeded  by  two  grottos,  set  off"  with 
all  the  pleasing  rudeness  of  shells,  and  moss, 
and  cragged  stones,  imitating,  in  miniature, 
rocks  and  precipices,  the  most  dreadful  and  gi- 
gantic  works  of  nature.  After  the  grottos,  you 
have  two  niches  ; the  one  inhabited  by  Ceres, 
with  her  sickle  and  sheaf  of  wheat ; and  the 
other  by  Pomona,  who,  with  a countenance  full 
of  good  cheer,  pours  a bounteous  autumn  of 
fruits  out  of  her  horn.  Last  of  all  come  turn 
colonies  of  bees,  whose  stations  lying  east  and 
west,  the  one  is  saluted  by  the  rising,  the  other 
by  the  setting  sun.  These,  all  of  them  being 
placed  at  proportioned  intervals,  furnish  out  the 


[No.  180 

whole  length  of  the  wall ; and  the  spaces  that  lij 
between  are  painted  in  fresco,  by  the  same  hand 
that  has  enriched  my  ceiling. 

‘ Now,  sir,  you  see  my  whole  contrivance  to 
elude  the  rigour  of  the  year,  to  bring  a north- 
ern climate  nearer  the  sun,  and  to  exempt  my- 
self from  the  common  fate  of  my  countrymen. 
I must  detain  you  a little  longer,  to  tell  you  that 
I never  enter  this  delicious  retirement,  but  my 
spirits  are  revived,  and  a sweet  complacency 
diffuses  itself  over  my  whole  mind.  And  how 
can  it  be  otherwise,  with  a conscience  void  of 
offence,  where  the  music  of  falling  waters,  the 
symphony  of  birds,  the  gentle  humming  of  bees, 
the  breath  of  flowers,  the  fine  imagery  of  paint- 
ing and  sculpture  ; in  a word,  the  beauties  and 
the  charms  of  nature  and  of  art,  court  all  my 
faculties,  refresh  the  fibres  of  the  brain,  and 
smooth  every  avenue  of  thought?  What  pleasing 
meditations,  what  agreeable  wanderings  of  the 
mind,  and  what  delicious  slumbers,  have  I en- 
joyed here  ? And  when  I turn  up  some  mas- 
terly writer  to  my  imagination,  methinks  here 
his  beauties  appear  in  the  most  advantageous 
light,  and  the  rays  of  his  genius  shoot  upon  me 
with  greater  force  and  brightness  than  ordinary. 
This  place  likewise  keeps  the  whole  family  in 
good  humour,  in  a season  wherein  gloominess  of 
temper  prevails  universally  in  this  island.  My 
wife  does  often  touch  her  lute  in  one  of  the  grot- 
tos, and  my  daughter  sings  to  it ; while  the  la- 
dies with  you,  amidst  all  the  diversions  of  the 
town,  and  in  the  most  affluent  fortunes,  are  fret- 
ting and  repining  beneath  a louring  sky  for 
they  know  not  what.  In  the  green-house  we 
often  dine,  we  drink  tea,  we  dance  country- 
dances  ; and,  what  is  the  chief  pleasure  of  all, 
we  entertain  our  neighbours  in  it,  and  by  this 
means  contribute  very  much  to  mend  the  cli- 
mate five  or  six  miles  about  us.  I am,  your 
most  humble  servant,  T.  S-’ 


No.  180.]  Tuesday,  June  3,  1710. 

Stultitiam  patiuntur  opes. 

Hot.  1 Ep.  xviii.  29. 

Their  folly  pleads  the  privilege  of  wealth. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  2. 

I HAVE  received  a letter  which  accuses  me  of 
partiality  in  the  administration  of  the  Censor- 
ship ; and  says,  that  I have  been  very  free 
with  the  lower  part  of  mankind,  but  extremely 
cautious  in  representations  of  matters  which 
concern  men  of  condition.  This  correspondent 
takes  upon  him  also  to  say,  the  upholsterer  was 
not  undone  by  turning  politician,  but  became 
bankrupt  b}’-  trusting  his  goods  to  persons  of 
quality ; and  demands  of  me,  that  I should  do 
justice  upon  such  as  brought  poverty  and  dis- 
tress upon  the  world  below  them,  while  they 
themselves  were  sunk  in  pleasures  and  lux- 
ury, supported  at  the  expense  of  those  very 
persons  whom  they  treated  wuth  negligence,  as 
if  they  did  not  know  w'hether  they  dealt  with 
them  or  not.  This  is  a very  heavy  accusation, 
both  of  me,  and  such  as  the  man  aggrieved  ac- 
cuses me  of  tolerating.  For  this  reason,  I re- 


THE  TATLER. 


317 


r 


! 


S 


No.  180.] 

solved  to  take  this  matter  into  consideration  ; 
and  upon  very  little  meditation,  could  call  to 
my  memory  many  instances  which  made  this 
complaint  far  from  being  groundless.  The  root 
of  this  evil  does  not  always  proceed  from  injus- 
tice in  the  men  of  figure,  but  often  from  a false 
grandeur  which  they  take  upon  them  in  being 
unacquainted  with  their  own  business ; not  con- 
sidering how  mean  a part  they  act,  when  their 
names  and  characters  are  subjected  to  the  little 
arts  of  their  servants  find  dependants.  The 
overseers  of  the  poor  are  a people  who  have  no 
great  reputation  for  the  discharge  of  their  trust ; 
but  are  much  less  scandalous  than  the  overseers 
of  the  rich.  Ask  a young  fellow  of  a great 
estate,  who  was  that  odd  fellow  that  spoke  to 
him  in  a public  place  ? he  answers,  ‘ one  that 
does  my  business.’  It  is,  with  many,  a natural 
consequence  of  being  a man  of  fortune,  that 
they  are  not  to  understand  the  disposal  of  it ; 
and  they  long  to  come  to  their  estates,  only  to 
put  themselves  under  new  guardianship.  Nay, 
I have  known  a young  fellow,  who  was  regu- 
larly bred  an  attorney,  and  was  a very  expert 
one  until  he  had  an  esta.te  fallen  to  him.  The  mo- 
ment that  happened,  he,  who  could  before  prove 
the  next  land  he  cast  his  eye  upon  his  own,  and 
was  so  sharp,  that  a man  at  first  sight  would 
give  him  a small  sum  for  a general  receipt, 
whether  he  owed  him  any  thing  or  not ; such  a 
one,  I say,  have  I seen,  upon  coming  to  an  es- 
tate, forget  all  his  diffidence  of  mankind,  and 
become  the  most  manageable  thing  breathing. 
He  immediately  wanted  a stirring  man  to  take 
upon  him  his  affairs,  to  receive  and  pay,  and  do 
every  thing  which  he  himself  was  now  too  fine 
a gentleman  to  understand.  It  is  pleasant  to 
consider,  that  he  who  would  have  got  an  estate, 
had  he  not  come  to  one,  will  certainly  starve 
because  one  fell  to  him  ; but  such  contradictions 
are  we  to  ourselves,  and  any  change  of  life  is 
insupportable  to  some  natures. 

It  is  a mistaken  sense  of  superiority,  to  be- 
lieve a figure,  or  equipage,  gives  men  prece- 
dence to  their  neighbours.  Nothing  can  create 
respect  from  mankind,  but  laying  obligations 
upon  them  ; and  it  may  very  reasenably  be  con- 
cluded, that  if  it  were  put  into  a due  balance, 
according  to  the  true  state  of  the  account,  many 
who  believe  themselves  in  possession  of  a large 
share  of  dignity  in  the  world,  must  give  place 
to  their  inferiors.  The  greatest  of  all  distinctions 
in  civil  life  is  that  of  debtor  and  creditor  ; and 
there  needs  no  great  progress  in  logic  to  know 
which,  in  that  case,  is  the  advantageous  side. 
He  who  can  say  to  another,  ‘ Pray,  master,’  or, 

‘ Pray,  my  lord,  give  me  my  own,’  can  as  justly 
tell  him,  ‘ It  is  a fantastical  distinction  you  take 
upon  you,  to  pretend  to  pass  upon  the  world  for 
my  master  or  lord,  when,  at  the  same  time  that 
I wear  your  livery,  you  owe  me  wages;  or, 
while  I wait  at  your  door,  you  are  ashamed  to 
see  me  until  you  have  paid  my  bill.’ 

The  good  old  way  among  the  gentry  of  Eng- 
land, to  maintain  their  pre-eminence  over  the 
lower  rank,  was  by  their  bounty,  munificence, 
and  hospitality ; and  it  is  a very  unhappy  change, 
if  at  present,  by  themselves  or  their  agents,  the 
luxury  of  the  gentry  is  supported  by  the  credit 
of  the  trader.  This  is  what  my  correspondent 


pretends  to  prove  out  of  his  own  books,  and 
those  of  his  whole  neighbourhood.  He  has  the 
confidence  to  say,  that  there  is  a mug-house  near 
Long-acre,  where  you  may  every  evening  hear 
an  exact  account  of  distresses  of  this  kind.  One 
complains  that  such  a lady’s  finery  is  the  oc- 
casion that  his  own  wife  and  daughter  appear 
so  long  in  the  same  gown.  Another,  that  all 
the  furniture  of  her  visiting  apartment  are  no 
more  hers,  than  the  scenery  of  a play  are  the 
proper  goods  of  the  actress.  Nay,  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  same  table,  you  may  hear  a butcher 
and  poulterer  say,  that,  at  their  proper  charge, 
all  that  family  has  been  maintained  since  they 
last  came  to  town. 

The  free  manner  in  which  people  of  fashion 
are  discoursed  on  at  such  meetings,  is  but  a just 
reproach  of  their  failures  in  this  kind  ; but  the 
melancholy  relations  of  the  great  necessities 
tradesmen  are  driven  to,  who  support  their  credit 
in  spite  of  the  faithless  promises  which  are  made 
them,  and  the  abatement  which  they  suffer 
when  paid  by  the  extortion  of  upper  servants,  is 
what  would  stop  the  most  thoughtless  man  in 
the  career  of  his  pleasures,  if  rightly  represented 
to  him. 

If  this  matter  be  not  very  speedily  amended, 
I shall  think  fit  to  print  exact  lists  of  all  persons 
who  are  not  at  their  own  disposal,  though  above 
the  age  of  twenty-one  ; and  as  the  trader  is 
made  bankrupt  for  absence  from  his  abode,  so 
shall  the  gentleman  for  being  at  home,  if,  when 
Mr.  Morphew  calls,  he  cannot  give  an  exact  ac- 
count of  what  passes  in  his  own  family.  After 
this  fair  warning,  no  one  ought  to  think  him- 
self  hardly  dealt  with,  if  I take  upon  me  to  pro- 
nounce him  no  longer  master  of  his  estate,  wife, 
or  family,  than  he  continues  to  improve,  cherish, 
and  maintain  them  upon  the  basis  of  his  own 
property,  without  incursions  upon  his  neighbour 
in  any  of  these  particulars. 

According  to  that  excellent  philosopher,  Epic- 
tetus, we  are  all  but  acting  parts  in  a play  ; and 
it  is  not  a distinction  in  itself  to  be  high  or  low, 
but  to  become  the  parts  we  are  to  perform.  I 
am  by  my  office  prompter  on  this  occasion  ; and 
shall  give  those  who  are  a little  out  in  their 
parts,  such  soft  hints  as  may  help  them  to  pro- 
ceed, without  letting  it  be  known  to  the  audience 
they  were  out ; but  if  they  run  quite  out  of  cha- 
racter, they  must  be  called  off  the  stage,  and 
receive  parts  more  suitable  to  their  genius.  Ser- 
vile complaisance  shall  degrade  a man  from  his 
honour  and  quality,  and  haughtiness  be  yet 
more  debased.  Fortune  shall  no  longer  appro- 
priate distinctions,  but  nature  direct  us  in  the 
disposition  both  of  respect  and  discountenance. 
As  there  are  tempers  made  for  command,  and 
others  for  obedience  ; so  there  are  men  born  for 
acquiring  possessions,  and  others  incapable  of 
being  other  than  mere  lodgers  in  the  houses  of 
their  ancestors,  and  have  it  not  in  their  very 
composition  to  be  proprietors  of  any  thing. 
These  men  are  moved  only  by  the  mere  effects 
of  impulse : their  good-will  and  disesteem  are 
to  be  regarded  equally ; for  neither  is  the  effect 
of  their  judgment.  This  loose  temper  is  that 
which  makes  a man,  what  Sallust  so  well  re- 
marks to  happen  frequently  in  the  same  person, 
to  be  covetous  of  what  is  anotlier’s,  and  profuse 
27^ 


318 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  181. 


of  what  is  his  own.  This  sort  of  men  is  usually 
amiable  to  ordinary  eyes ; but,  in  the  sight  of 
reason,  nothing  is  laudable  but  what  is  guided 
by  reason.  The  covetous  prodigal  is  of  all  others 
the  worst  man  in  society.  If  he  would  but  take 
time  to  look  into  himself,  he  would  find  his  soul 
all  over  gashed  with  broken  vows  and  promises; 
and  his  retrospect  on  his  actions  would  not  con- 
sist  of  reflections  upon  those  good  resolutions, 
after  mature  thought,  which  are  the  true  life  of 
a reasonable  creature,  but  the  nauseous  memory 
of  imperfect  pleasures,  idle  dreams,  and  occa- 
sional amusements.  To  follow  such  dissatis- 
fying pursuits,  is  it  possible  to  suffer  the  igno- 
miny of  being  unjust  ? I remember  in  Tully’s 
Epistle,  in  the  recommendation  of  a man  to  an 
affair  which  had  no  manner  of  relation  to  mo- 
ney, it  is  said,  ‘You  may  trust  him,  for  he  is  a 
frugal  man.’  It  is  certain,  he  who  has  not  re- 
gard to  strict  justice  in  the  commerce  of  life, 
can  be  capable  of  no  good  action  in  any  other 
kind  ; but  he,  who  lives  below  his  income,  lays 
up,  every  moment  of  life,  armour  against  a base 
world,  that  will  cover  all  his  frailties  while  he 
is  so  fortified,  and  exaggerate  them  when  he  is 
naked  and  defenceless. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

A stage-coach  sets  out  exactly  at  six  from 
Nando’s  coffee-house  to  Mr.  Tiptoe’s  dancing- 
school,  and  returns  at  eleven  every  evening,  for 
one  shilling  and  four-pence. 

N.  B.  Dancing  shoes,  not  exceeding  four 
inches  height  in  the  heels,  and  periwigs,  not  ex- 
ceeding three  feet  in  length,  are  carried  in  the 
coach-box  gratis. 


No.  181.]  Tuesday^  June  6,  1710. 

Dies,  ni  fallor,  adest,  quern  semper  acerbum, 

Semper  honoratum,  sic  dii  voluislis,  habebo. 

Virg.  ^n.  V.  49. 

And  now  the  rising  day  renews  .the  year, 

A day  for  ever  sad,  for  ever  dear.  Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  June  5. 

There  are  those  among  mankind,  who  can 
enjoy  no  relish  of  their  being,  except  the  world 
is  made  acquainted  with  all  that  relates  to  them, 
and  think  every  thing  lost  that  passes  unob- 
served ; but  others  find  a solid  delight  in  steal- 
ing by  the  crowd,  and  modelling  their  life  after 
such  a manner,  as  is  as  much  above  the  appro- 
bation as  the  practice  of  the  vulgar.  Life  being 
too  short  to  give  instances  great  enough  of  true 
friendship  or  good-will,  some  sages  have  thought 
it  pious  to  preserve  a certain  reverence  for  the 
manes  of  their  deceased  friends ; and  have 
withdrawn  themselves  from  the  rest  of  the  world 
at  certain  seasons,  to  commemorate  in  their  own 
thoughts  such  of  their  acquaintance  who  have 
gone  before  them  out  of  this  life.  And  indeed, 
when  we  are  advanced  in  years,  there  is  not  a 
more  pleasing  entertainment,  than  to  recollect 
in  a gloomy  moment  the  many  we  have  parted 
with,  that  have  been  dear  and  agreeable  to  us, 
and  to  cast  a melancholy  thought  or  two  after 
those,  with  whom,  perhaps,  we  have  indulged 
ourselves  in  whole  nights  of  mirth  and  jollity. 


With  such  inclinations  in  my  heart  I went  tc> 
my  closet  yesterday  in  the  evening,  and  resolved 
to  be  sorrowful ; upon  which  occasion  I could 
not  but  look  with  disdain  upon  myself,  that 
though  all  the  reasons  which  I had  to  lament 
the  loss  of  many  of  my  friends  are  now  as  for- 
cible as  at  the  moment  of  their  departure,  yet 
did  not  my  heart  swell  with  the  same  sorrow 
which  I felt  at  that  time  ; but  I could,  without 
tears,  reflect  upon  many  pleasing  adventures  I 
have  had  with  some,  who  have  long  been  blended 
with  common  earth.  Though  it  is  by  the  be- 
nefit of  nature,  that  length  of  time  thus  blots 
out  the  violence  of  afflictions  ; yet,  with  tem- 
pers too  much  given  to  pleasure,  it  is  almost  ne- 
cessary to  revive  the  old  places  of  grief  in  our 
memory  ; and  ponder  step  by  step  on  past  life, 
to  lead  the  mind  into  that  sobriety  of  thought 
which  poises  the  heart,  and  makes  it  beat  with 
due  time,  without  being  quickened  with  desire, 
or  retarded  with  despair,  from  its  proper  and 
equal  motion.  When  we  wind  up  a clock  that 
is  out  of  order,  to  make  it  go  well  for  the  fu- 
ture, we  do  not  immediately  set  the  hand  to  the 
present  instant,  but  we  make  it  strike  the  round 
of  all  its  hours,  before  it  can  recover  the  regu- 
larity of  its  time.  Such,  thought  I,  shall  be  my 
method  this  evening  ; and  since  it  is  that  day 
of  the  year  which  I dedicate  to  the  memory  of 
such  in  another  life  as  I much  delighted  in 
when  living,  an  hour  or  two  shall  be  sacred  to 
sorrow  and  their  memory,  while  I run  over  all 
the  melancholy  circumstances  of  this  kind 
which  have  occurred  to  me  in  my  whole  life. 

The  first  sense  of  sorrow  I ever  knew  was 
upon  the  death  of  my  father,*  at  which  time  I 
was  not  quite  five  years  of  age  ; but  was  rather 
amazed  at  what  all  the  house  meant,  than  pos- 
sessed with  a real  understanding  why  nobody 
was  willing  to  play  with  me.  I remember  I 
went  into  the  room  where  his  body  lay,  and  my 
mother  sat  weeping  alone  by  it.  I had  my 
battledore  in  my  hand,  and  fell  a beating  the 
coffin,  and  calling  Papa  ; for,  I know  not  how, 
I had  some  slight  idea  that  he  was  locked  up 
there.  My  mother  catched  me  in  her  arms, 
and,  transported  beyond  all  patience  of  the  si- 
lent grief  she  was  before  in,  she  almost  smo- 
thered me  in  her  embraces ; and  told  me  in  a 
flood  of  tears,  ‘ Papa  could  not  hear  me,  and 
would  play  with  me  no  more,  for  they  were 
going  to  put  him  under  ground,  whence  he 
could  never  come  to  us  again.’  She  was  a very 
beautiful  woman,  of  a noble  spirit,  and  there  was 
a dignity  in  her  grief  amidst  all  the  wildness  of 
her  transport  ; which,  methought,  struck  me 
with  an  instinct  of  sorrow,  that,  before  I was 
sensible  of  what  it  was  to  grieve,  seized  my 
very  soul,  and  has  made  pity  the  weakness  of 
my  heart  ever  since.  The  mind  in  infancy  is, 

* This  anecdote  of  Steele’s  history  seems  to  have  es- 
caped the  notice  of  the  writer  of  his  life  in  the  Biog. 
Britain.  Steele’s  father  was  a counsellor  at  law,  and 
some  time  private  secretary  to  James  I.  duke  of  Ormond. 
His  sou  (Sir  Richard)  was  born  at  Dublin,  but  of  Eng- 
lish extraction,  probably  about  the  year  1676 ; and  being 
brought  to  London  very  young,  he  was  put  to  school  at 
the  Charter-house,  as  it  seems,  by  the  direction  of  his 
patron,  James  I.  duke  of  Ormond,  who  was  one  of  the 
governors  of  that  hospital,  and  who,  if  he  had  lived 
long  enough,  might  probably  have  been  very  serviceable 
to  our  author. 


No.  182.] 


THE  TATLER. 


319 


methinks,  like  the  body  in  embryo  ; and  re- 
ceives impressions  so  forcible,  that  they  are  as 
hard  to  be  removed  by  reason,  as  any  mark  with 
which  a child  is  born  is  to  be  taken  away  by 
any  future  application.  Hence  it  is,  that  good- 
nature in  me  is  no  merit ; but  having  been  so  fre- 
I quently  overwhelmed  with  her  tears  before  I 
1 knew  the  cause  of  any  affliction,  or  could  draw 
^ defences  from  my  own  judgment,  I imbibed 
. commiseration,  remorse,  and  an  unmanly  gentle- 
ness of  mind,  which  has  since  insnared  me  into 
ten  thousand  calamities  ; from  whence  I can 
reap  no  advantage,  except  it  be,  that,  in  such  a 
i humour  as  I am  now  in,  I can  the  better  indulge 
myself  in  the  softness  of  humanity,  and  enjoy 
that  sweet  anxiety  which  arises  from  the  me- 
mory of  past  afflictions. 

I VVe,  that  are  very  old,  are  better  able  to  re- 
j member  things  which  befell  us  in  our  distant 
I youth,  than  the  passages  of  later  days.  P or 
1 this  reason  it  is,  that  the  companions  of  my 
I strong  and  vigorous  years  present  themselves 
I more  immediately  to  me  in  this  office  of  sorrow. 

I Untimely  and  unhappy  deaths  are  what  we  are 
! most  apt  to  lament  ; so  little  are  we  able  to 
I make  it  indifferent  when  a thing  happens, 

I though  we  know  it  must  happen.  Thus  we 
jj  groan  under  life,  and  bewail  those  who  are  re- 
,1  lieved  from  it.  Every  object  that  returns  to 
I our  imagination  raises  different  passions,  ac- 
I cording  to  the  circumstance  of  their  departure. 

1 Who  can  have  lived  in  an  army,  and  in  a serious 
li  hour  reflect  upon  the  many  gay  and  agreeable 
I men  that  might  long  have  flourished  in  the  arts 
I of  peace,  and  not  join  with  the  imprecations  of 
I the  fatherless  and  widow  on  the  tyrant  to  whose 

I ambition  they  fell  sacrifices  ? But  gallant  men, 

< who  are  cut  off  by  the  sword,  move  rather  our 
ij  veneration  than  our  pity  ; and  we  gather  relief 

II  enough  from  their  own  contempt  of  death,  to 
I make  that  no  evil,  which  was  approached  with 
I so  much  cheerfulness,  and  attended  with  so 
I much  honour.  But  when  we  turn  our  thoughts 
t from  the  great  parts  of  life  on  such  occasions, 
t and  instead  of  lamenting  those  who  stood  ready 
! to  give  death  to  those  from  whom  they  had  the 
' fortune  to  receive  it ; I say,  when  we  let  our 
* thoughts  wander  from  such  noble  objects,  and 

consider  the  havoc  which  is  made  among  the 
tender  and  the  innocent,  pity  enters  with  an 
unmixed  softness,  and  possesses  all  our  souls  at 
1 once. 

I Here  (were  the  words  to  express  such  senti- 
ments with  proper  tenderness)  I should  record 
the  beauty^  innocence,  and  untimely  death,  of 
the  first  object  my  eyes  ever  beheld  with  love. 
The  beauteous  virgin  ! how  ignorantly  did  she 
charm,  how  carelessly  excel  ? Oh  Death  ! thou 
hast  right  to  the  bold,  to  the  ambitious,  to 
the  high,  and  to  the  haughty  ; but  why  this 
cruelty  to  the  humble,  to  the  meek,  to  the  un- 
discerning, to  the  thoughtless  ? Nor  age,  nor 
business,  nor  distress,  can  erase  the  dear  image 
from  my  imagination.  In  the  same  week,  I 
saw  her  dressed  for  a ball,  and  in  a shroud. 
How  ill  did  the  habit  of  death  become  the  pretty 

trifler  ? I still  behold  the  smiling  earth A 

large  train  of  disasters  were  coming  on  to  my 
memory,  when  my  servant  knocked  at  my 
closet-door,  and  interrupted  me  with  a letter. 


attended  with  a hamper  of  wine,  of  the  same 
sort  with  that  which  is  to  be  put  to  sale  on 
Thursday  next,  at  Garraway’s  coffee-house. 
Upon  the  receipt  of  it,  I sent  for  three  of  my 
friends.  We  are  so  intimate,  that  we  can  be 
company  in  whatever  state  of  mind  we  meet, 
and  can  entertain  each  other  without  expecting 
always  to  rejoice.  The  wine  we  found  to  be 
generous  and  warming,  but  with  such  a heat 
as  moved  us  rather  to  be  cheerful  than  frolick- 
some.  It  revived  the  spirits,  without  firing  the 
blood.  We  commended  it  until  two  of  the 
clock  this  morning  ; and  having  to-day  met  a 
little  before  dinner,  we  found,  that  though  we 
drank  two  bottles  a man,  we  had  much  more 
reason  to  recollect  than  forget  what  had  passed 
the  night  before. 


No.  182.]  Thursday,  June  8,  1710. 

Spectaret  populum  ludis  attentius  ipsis. 

Hor.  1 Ep.  ii.  197. 

The  crowd  would  more  delight  the  laughing  sage,* 

Than  all  the  farce,  and  follies  of  the  stage. 

Francis. 

Sheer-lane,  June  7 

The  town  grows  so  very  empty,  that  the 
greater  number  of  my  gay  characters  are  fled 
out  of  my  sight  into  the  country.  My  beaux 
are  now  shepherds,  and  my  belles  wood-nymphs. 
They  are  lolling  over  rivulets,  and  covered  with 
shades,  while  we  who  remain  in  town,  hurry 
through  the  dust  about  impertinencies,  without 
knowing  the  happiness  of  leisure  and  retire- 
ment. To  add  to  this  calamity,  even  the  actors 
are  going  to  desert  us  for  a season,  and  we  shall 
not  shortly  have  so  much  as  a landscape  or  a 
forest  scene  to  refresh  ourselves  with  in  the 
midst  of  our  fatigues.  This  may  not,  perhaps, 
be  so  sensible  a loss  to  any  other  as  to  me  ; for 
I confess  it  is  one  of  my  greatest  delights  to  sit 
unobserved  and  unknown  in  the  gallery,  and 
entertain  myself  either  with  what  is  personated 
on  the  stage,  or  observe  what  appearances  pre- 
sent themselves  in  the  audience.  If  there  were 
no  other  good  consequences  in  a play-house,  than 
that  so  many  persons  of  different  ranks  and  con- 
ditions are  placed  there  in  their  most  pleasing 
aspects,  that  prospect  only  would  be  very  far 
from  being  below  the  pleasures  of  a wise  man. 
There  is  not  one  person  you  can  see,  in  whom, 
if  you  look  with  an  inclination  to  be  pleased, 
you  may  not  behold  something  worthy  or 
agreeable.  Our  thoughts  are  in  our  features ; 
and  the  visage  of  those  in  whom  love,  rage, 
anger,  jealousy,  or  envy,  have  their  frequent 
mansions,  carries  the  traces  of  those  passions 
wherever  the  amorous,  the  choleric,  the  jealous, 
or  the  envious,  are  pleased  to  make  their  ap- 
pearance. However,  the  assembly  at  a play  is 
usually  made  up  of  such  as  have  a sense  of  some 
elegance  in  pleasure  ; by  which  means  the  audi- 
ence is  generally  composed  of  those  who  have 
gentle  affections,  or  at  least  of  such,  as  at  that 
time,  are  in  the  best  humour  you  can  ever  find 
them.  This  has  insensibly  a good  effect  upon 

* Democritus. 


320 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  183. 


our  spirits ; and  the  musical  airs  which  are 
played  to  us,  put  the  whole  company  into  a par- 
ticipation  of  the  same  pleasure,  and  by  conse- 
quence, for  that  time,  equal  in  humour,  in  for- 
tune, and  in  quality.  Thus  far  we  gain  only  by 
coming  into  an  audience ; but  if  we  find,  added 
to  this,  the  beauties  of  proper  action,  the  force 
of  eloquence,  and  the  gaiety  of  well-placed  lights 
and  scenes,  it  is  being  happy,  and  seeing  others 
happy,  for  two  hours : a duration  of  bliss  not  at 
all  to  be  slighted  by  so  short-lived  a creature  as 
man.  Why  then  should  not  the  duty  of  the 
player  be  had  in  much  more  esteem  than  it  is  at 
present  ? If  the  merit  of  a performance  is  to 
be  valued  according  to  the  talents  which  are  ne- 
cessary to  it,  the  qualifications  of  a player  should 
raise  him  much  above  the  arts  and  ways  of  life 
which  we  call  mercenary  or  mechanic.  When 
we  look  round  a full  house,  and  behold  so  few 
that  can,  though  they  set  themselves  out  to 
show  as  much  as  the  persons  on  the  stage  do, 
come  up  to  what  they  would  appear  even  in 
dumb  show  ; how  much  does  the  actor  deserve 
our  approbation,  who  adds  to  the  advantage  of 
looks  and  motions,  the  tone  of  voice,  the  dignity, 
the  humility,  the  sorrow,  and  the  triumph,  suita- 
ble to  the  character  he  personates  ? 

It  may  possibly  be  imagined  by  severe  men, 
that  I am  too  frequent  in  the  mention  of  the 
theatrical  representations ; but  who  is  not  ex- 
cessive in  the  discourse  of  what  he  extremely 
likes  ? Eugenio  can  lead  you  to  a gallery  of  fine 
pictures,  which  collection  he  is  always  in- 
creasing. Crassus,  through  woods  and  forests, 
to  which  he  designs  to  add  the  neighbouring 
counties.  These  are  great  and  noble  instances 
of  their  magnificence.  The  players  are  my 
pictures,  and  their  scenes  my  territories.  By 
communicating  the  pleasure  I take  in  them,  it 
may  in  some  measure  add  to  men’s  gratification 
this  way  ; as  viewing  the  choice  and  wealth  of 
Eugenio  and  Crassus  augments  the  enjoyments 
of  those  whom  they  entertain,  with  a prospect 
of  such  possessions  as  would  not  otherwise  fall 
within  the  reach  of  their  fortunes. 

It  is  a very  good  office  one  man  does  another, 
when  he  tells  him  the  manner  of  his  being 
pleased  ; and  I have  often  thought,  that  a com- 
ment upon  the  capacities  of  the  players  would 
very  much  improve  the  delight  that  way,  and 
impart  it  to  those  who  otherwise  have  no  sense 
of  it. 

The  first  of  the  present  stage  are  Wilks  and 
Cibber,  perfect  actors  in  their  different  kinds. 
Wilks  has  a singular  talent  in  representing  the 
graces  of  nature ; Cibber  the  deformity  in  the 
affectation  of  them.  Were  I a writer  of  plays, 
I should  never  employ  either  of  them  in  parts 
which  had  not  their  bent  this  way.  This  is  seen 
in  the  inimitable  strain  and  run  of  good  humour 
which  is  kept  up  in  the  character  of  Wildair, 
and  in  the  nice  and  delicate  abuse  of  under- 
standing in  that  of  Sir  Novelty.  Cibber,  in 
another  light,  hits  exquisitely  the  flat  civility 
of  an  affected  gentleman-usher,  and  Wilks  the 
easy  frankness  of  a gentleman. 

If  you  would  observe  the  force  of  the  same 
capacities  in  higher  life,  can  any  thing  be  more 
ingenuous  than  the  behaviour  of  prince  Harry, 
when  his  father  checks  him  ? any  thing  more 


exasperating  than  that  of  Richard,  when  he  in- 
sults his  superiors  ? To  beseech  gracefully,  to 
approach  respectfully,  to  pity,  to  mourn,  to  love, 
are  the  places  wherein  Wilks  may  be  made  to 
shine  v/ith  the  utmost  beauty.  To  rally  plea- 
santly, to  scorn  artfully,  to  flatter,  to  ridicule, 
and  to  neglect,  are  what  Cibber  would  perform 
with  no  less  excellence. 

When  actors  are  considered  with  a view  to 
their  talents,  it  is  not  only  the  pleasure  of  that 
hour  of  action,  which  the  spectators  gain  from 
their  performance  ; but  the  opposition  of  right 
and  wrong  on  the  stage,  would  have  its  force  in 
the  assistance  of  our  judgments  on  other  occa- 
sions. I have  at  present  under  my  tutelage  a 
young  poet,  who,  I design,  shall  entertain  the 
town  the  ensuing  winter.  And  as  he  does 
me  the  honour  to  let  me  see  his  comedy  as  he 
writes  it,  I shall  endeavour  to  make  the  parts 
fit  the  geniuses  of  the  several  actors,  as  exactly 
as  their  habits  can  their  bodies.  And  because 
the  two  I have  mentioned  are  to  perform  the 
principal  parts,  I have  prevailed  with  the  house 
to  let  the  ‘ Careless  Husband’  be  acted  on  Tues- 
day next,  that  my  young  author  may  have  a 
view  of  the  play,  which  is  acted  to  perfection 
both  by  them  and  all  concerned  in  it ; as  being 
born  within  the  walls  of  the  theatre,  and  written 
with  an  exact  knowledge  of  the  abilities  of  the 
performers.  Mr.  Wilks  will  do  his  best  in  this 
play,  because  it  is  for  his  own  benefit ; and  Mr. 
Cibber,  because  he  writ  it.  Besides  which,  all 
the  great  beauties  we  have  left  in  town,  or  with- 
in call  of  it,  will  be  present,  because  it  is  the 
last  play  this  season.  7’his  opportunity  will,  I 
hope,  inflame  my  pupil  with  such  generous  no- 
tions, from  seeing  so  fair  an  assembly  as  w'ill 
be  then  present,  that  his  play  may  be  composed 
of  sentiments  and  characters  proper  to  be  pre- 
sented to  such  an  audience.  His  drama  at  pre- 
sent has  only  the  outlines  drawm.  There  are, 
I find,  to  be  in  it  all  the  reverend  offices  of  life 
(such  as  regard  to  parents,  husbands,  and  honour- 
able lovers)  preserved  with  the  utmost  care ; and, 
at  the  same  time,  that  agreeableness  of  be- 
haviour, w’ith  the  intermixture  of  pleasing  pas- 
sions which  arise  from  innocence  and  virtue, 
interspersed  in  such  a manner,  as  that  to  be 
charming  and  agreeable,  shall  appear  the  natural 
consequence  of  being  virtuous.  This  great  end 
is  one  of  those  I propose  to  do  in  my  censor- 
ship ; but  if  I find  a thin  house  on  an  occasion 
w’hen  such  w’ork  is  to  be  promoted,  my  pupil 
shall  return  to  his  commons  at  Oxford,  and 
Sheer-lane  and  the  theatres  be  no  longer  corres- 
pondents. 


No.  183.]  Saturday^  June  10,  1710. 

Fait  heec  sapientia  quondam 

Publica  privatis  seceniere. 

Hor.  Ars.  Poet.  ver.  396. 

Our  sage  forefathers  wisely  understood 
To  sep’rate  public  froin  the  private  good. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  9. 

When  men  look  into  their  own  bosoms,  and 
consider  the  generous  seeds  which  are  there 


No.  183.J 


THE  TATLER. 


321 


planted,  that  might,  if  rightly  cultivated,  en- 
noble their  lives,  and  make  their  virtue  vene- 
rable to  futurity ; how  can  they,  without  tears, 
reflect  on  the  universal  degeneracy  from  that 
public  spirit,  which  ought  to  be  the  first  and  prin- 
cipal motive  of  all  their  actions?  In  the  Gre- 
cian and  Roman  nations,  they  were  wise  enough 
to  keep  up  this  great  incentive,  and  it  was  im- 
possible to  be  in  the  fashion  without  being  a pa- 
triot. All  gallantry  had  its  first  source  from 
hence  ; and  to  want  a warmth  for  the  public  wel- 
fare, was  a defect  so  scandalous,  that  he  who 
was  guilty  of  it  had  no  pretence  to  honour  or 
manhood.  What  makes  the  depravity  among 
us  in  this  behalf  the  more  vexatious  and  irk- 
some to  reflect  upon,  is,  that  the  contempt  of  life 
is  carried  as  far  amongst  us,  as  it  could  be  in 
those  memorable  people ; and  w^e  want  only  a 
proper  application  of  the  qualities  which  are 
frequent  among  us,  to  be  as  worthy  as  they. 
There  is  hardly  a man  to  be  found  who  will  not 
fight  upon  any  occasion,  which  he  thinks  may 
taint  his  own  honour.  Were  this  motive  as 
strong  in  every  thing  that  regards  the  public,  as 
it  is  in  this  our  private  case,  no  man  would  pass 
his  life  away  without  having  distinguished  him- 
self by  some  gallant  instance  of  his  zeal  towards 
it  in  the  respective  incidents  of  his  life  and  pro- 
fession. But  it  is  so  far  otherwise,  that  there 
cannot  at  present  be  a more  ridiculous  animal, 
than  one  who  seems  to  regard  the  good  of  others. 
He,  in  civil  life,  whose  thoughts  turn  upon 
schemes  which  may  be  of  general  benefit,  with- 
out further  reflection,  is  called  a projector : and 
the  man  whose  mind  seems  intent  upon  glori- 
ous achievements,  a knight-errant.  Tiie  ridicule 
among  us  runs  strong  against  laiwjable  actions  ; 
nay,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  and  tiie 
common  regards  of  life,  negligence  of  the  public 
is  an  epidemic  vice.  The  brewer  in  his  excise, 
the  merchant  in  his  customs,  and,  for  aught  we 
know,  the  soldier  in  his  muster-rolls,  think  never 
the  worse  of  themselves  for  being  guilty  of  their 
respective  frauds  towards  the  public.  This  evil 
is  come  to  such  a fantastical  height,  that  he  is  a 
man  of  a public  spirit,  and  heroically  affected  to 
his  country,  who  can  go  so  far  as  even  to  turn 
usurer  with  all  he  has  in  her  funds.  There  is 
not  a citizen  in  whose  imagination  such  a one 
does  not  appear  in  the  same  light  of  glory  as 
Codrus,  Scaevola,  or  any  other  great  name  in  old 
Rome.  Were  it  tiot  for  the  heroes  of  so  much 
per  cent,  as  have  regard  enough  for  themselves 
and  their  nation,  to  trade  with  her  with  their 
wealth,  the  very  notion  of  public  love  would  long 
before  now  have  vanished  from  among  us.  But 
however  general  custom  may  hurry  us  away  in 
the  stream  of  a common  error,  there  is  no  evil, 
no  crime,  so  great  as  that  of  being  cold  in  mat- 
ters which  relate  to  the  common  good.  This  is 
in  nothing  more  conspicuous  than  in  a certain 
willingness  to  receive  any  thing  that  tends  to 
the  diminution  of  such  as  have  been  conspicuous 
instruments  in  our  service.  Such  inclinations 
proceed  from  the  most  low  and  vile  corruption, 
of  which  the  soul  of  man  is  capable.  This  ef- 
faces not  only  the  practice,  but  the  very  appro- 
bation of  honour  and  virtue  : and  has  had  such 
an  effect,  that,  to  speak  freely,  the  very  sense 
of  public  good  has  no  longer  a part  even  of  our 
2S 


conversations.  Can  then  the  most  generous  mo- 
tive of  life,  the  good  of  others,  be  so  easily  ban- 
ished the  breast  of  man  ? Is  it  possible  to  draw 
all  our  passions  inward  ? Shall  the  boiling  heat 
of  youth  be  sunk  in  pleasures,  the  ambition  of 
manhood  in  selfish  intrigues?  Shall  all  that  is 
glorious,  all  that  is  worth  the  pursuit  of  great 
minds,  be  so  easily  rooted  out  ? When  the  uni- 
versal bent  of  a people  seems  diverted  from  the 
sense  of  their  common  good  and  common  glory, 
it  looks  like  a fatality,  and  crisis  of  impending 
misfortune. 

The  generous  nations  we  just  now  mentioned 
understood  this  so  very  well,  that  there  was 
hardly  an  oration  ever  made,  which  did  not  turn 
upon  this  general  sense,  ‘ That  the  love  of  their 
country  was  the  first  and  most  essential  quality 
in  an  honest  mind.’  Demosthenes,  in  a cause 
wherein  his  fame,  reputation,  and  fortune,  were 
embarked,  puts  his  all  upon  this  issue  ; ‘ Let  the 
Athenians,’  says  he,  ‘be  benevolent  to  me,  as  they 
think  I have  been  zealous  for  them.’  This  great 
and  discerning  orator  knew,  there  was  nothing 
else  in  nature  could  bear  him  up  against  his  ad- 
versaries, but  this  one  quality  of  having  shown 
himself  willing  or  able  to  serve  his  country. 
This,  certainly,  is  the  test  of  merit ; and  the  first 
foundation  for  deserving  good  will,  is  having  it 
yourself.  The  adversary  of  this  orator  at  that 
time  was  Aeschines,  a man  of  wily  arts  and  skill 
in  the  world,  who  could,  as  occasion  served,  fall 
in  with  a national  start  of  passion,  or  sullenncss 
of  humour,  which  a whole  nation  is  sometimes 
taken  with,  as  well  as  a private  man,  and  by 
that  means  divert  them  from  their  common 
sense,  into  an  aversion  for  receiving  any  thing 
in  its  true  light.  But  when  Demosthenes  had 
awakened  liis  audience,  with  that  one  hint,  of 
judging  by  the  general  tenor  of  his  life  towards 
them,  his  services  bore  down  his  opponent  before 
him,  who  fled  to  the  covert  of  his  mean  arts, 
until  some  more  favourable  occasion  should  offer 
against  the  superior  merit  of  Demosthenes. 

It  were  to  be  wished,  that  love  of  their  coun- 
try were  the  first  principle  of  action  in  men 
of  business,  even  for  their  own  sakes  ; for,  when 
the  world  begins  to  examine  into  their  conduct, 
the  generality,  who  have  no  share  in,  or  hopes 
of  any  part  in  power  or  riches,  but  what  is  the 
effect  of  their  own  labour  or  property,  will  judge 
of  them  by  no  other  method,  than  that  of  how 
profitable  their  administration  has  been  to  the 
whole  ? They  who  are  out  of  the  influence  of 
men’s  fortune  or  favour,  will  let  them  stand  or 
fall  by  this  one  only  rule  ; and  men  who  can 
bear  being  tried  by  it,  are  always  popular  in 
their  fall.  Those,  who  cannot  suffer  such  a 
scrutiny,  are  contemptible  in  their  advancement. 

But  I am  here  running  into  shreds  of  maxims 
from  reading  Tacitus  this  morning,  that  has 
driven  me  from  my  recommendation  of  public 
spirit,  which  was  the  intended  purpose  of  this 
lucubration.  There  is  not  a more  glorious  in- 
stance of  it,  than  in  the  character  of  Regulus. 
This  same  Regulus  was  taken  prisoner  by  the 
Carthaginians,  and  was  sent  by  them  to  Rome, 
in  order  to  demand  some  Punic  noblemen,  who 
were  prisoners,  in  exchange  for  himself;  and' 
was  bound  by  an  oath,  that  he  would  return  to 
Carthage  if  he  failed  in  his  commission.  He 


322 


THE  TATLER. 


proposes  this  to  the  senate,  who  were  in  suspense 
upon  it,  which  Regulus  observing,  without  hav- 
ing  the  least  notion  of  putting  the  care  of  his 
own  life  in  competition  with  the  public  good, 
desired  them  to  consider,  that  he  was  old,  and 
almost  useless ; that  those  demanded  in  exchange 
were  men  of  daring  tempers,  and  great  merit  in 
military  affairs ; and  wondered  they  would  make 
any  doubt  of  permitting  him  to  go  back  to  the 
sliort  tortures  prepared  for  him  at  Carthage, 
where  he  should  have  the  advantage  of  ending  a 
long  life  both  gloriously  and  usefully.  This 
generous  advice  was  consented  to ; and  he  took 
his  leave  of  his  country  and  his  weeping  friends, 
to  go  to  certain  death,  with  that  cheerful  com- 
posure, as  a man,  after  the  fatigue  of  business 
in  a court  or  a city,  retires  to  the  next  village 
for  the  air. 


No.  184.]  Tuesday^  June  13,  1710. 

Una  de  inullis  face  niiptiali 

Digna Ilor.  11  Od.  iii.  33. 

Yet  worthy  of  the  nuptial  flame 

Of  many,  one  untainted  maid.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment.,  June  12. 

There  are  certain  occasions  oflife  which  give 
propitious  omens  of  the  future  good  conduct  of 
it,  as  well  as  others  which  explain  our  present 
inward  state,  according  to  our  behaviour  in  them. 
Of  the  latter  sort,  are  funerals ; of  the  former, 
weddings.  The  manner  of  our  carriage  when 
we  lose  a friend,  shows  very  much  our  temper, 
in  the  humility  of  our  words  and  actions,  and  a 
general  sense  of  our  destitute  condition,  which 
runs  through  all  our  deportment.  This  gives  a 
solemn  testimony  of  the  generous  affection  we 
bore  our  friends,  when  we  seem  to  disrelish 
every  thing  now  we  can  no  more  enjoy  them, 
or  see  them  partake  in  our  enjoyments.  It  is 
very  proper  and  humane  to  put  ourselves,  as  it 
were,  in  their  livery  after  their  decease,  and 
wear  a habit  unsuitable  to  prosperity,  while  those 
we  loved  and  honoured  are  mouldering  in  the 
grave.  As  this  is  laudable  on  the  sorrowful 
side,  so  on  the  other,  incidents  of  success  may 
« no  less  justly  be  represented  and  acknowledged 
in  our  outward  figure  and  carriage.  Of  all  such 
occasions,  that  great  change  of  a single  life  into 
marriage  is  the  most  important;  as  it  is  the 
source  of  all  relations,  and  from  whence  all  other 
friendship  and  commerce  do  principally  arise. 
The  general  intent  of  both  sexes  is  to  dispose 
of  themselves  happily  and  honourably  in  this 
state  ; and,  as  all  the  good  qualities  we  have,  are 
exerted  to  make  our  way  into  it,  so  the  best  ap- 
pearance, with  regard  to  their  minds,  their  per- 
sons, and  their  fortunes,  at  the  first  entrance 
into  it,  is  a due  to  each  other  in  the  married 
pair,  as  well  as  a compliment  to  the  rest  of  the 
world.  It  was  an  instruction  of  a wise  law- 
giver, that  unmarried  women  should  wear  such 
loose  habits,  which,  in  the  flowing  of  their  garb, 
should  incite  their  beholders  to  a desire  of  their 
persons  ; and  that  the  ordinary  motion  of  their 
bodies  might  display  the  figure  and  shape  of  their 
limbs  in  such  a manner,  as  at  once  to  preserve 


[No.  184. 

the  strictest  decency,  and  raise  the  warmest  in- 
clinations. 

This  was  the  economy  of  the  legislature  for 
the  increase  of  people,  and  at  the  same  time  for 
the  preservation  of  the  genial  bed.  She  who 
was  the  admiration  of  all  who  beheld  her  while 
unmarried,  was  to  bid  adieu  to  the  pleasure  of 
shining  in  the  eyes  of  many,  as  soon  as  she 
took  upon  her  the  wedded  condition.  However, 
there  was  a festival  of  life  allowed  the  new- 
married,  a sort  of  intermediate  state  between 
celibacy  and  matrimony,  which  continued  cer- 
tain days.  During  that  time,  entertainments, 
equipages,  and  other  circumstances  of  rejoicing, 
were  encouraged ; and  they  were  permitted  to 
exceed  the  common  mode  of  living,  that  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  might  learn  from  such 
freedoms  of  conversation  to  run  into  a general 
conduct  to  each  other,  made  out  of  their  past 
and  future  state,  so  to  temper  the  cares  of  the 
man  and  the  wife  with  the  gayeties  of  the  lover 
and  the  mistress. 

In  those  wise  ages  the  dignity  of  life  was 
kept  up,  and  on  the  celebration  of  such  solem- 
nities there  were  no  impertinent  whispers,  and 
senseless  interpretations  put  upon  the  unaffected 
cheerfulness  or  accidental  seriousness  of  the 
bride  ; but  men  turned  their  thoughts  upon  the 
general  reflections,  on  what  issue  might  proba- 
bly be  expected  from  such  a qpuple  in  the  suc- 
ceeding course  of  their  life,  and  felicitated  them 
accordingly  upon  such  prospects. 

I must  confess,  I cannot,  from  any  ancient 
manuscripts,  sculptures,  or  medals,  deduce  the 
rise  of  our  celebrated  custom  of  throwing  the 
stocking;  but  have  a faint  memory  of  an  ac- 
count a friend  gave  me  of  an  original  picture  in 
the  palace  of  Aldobrandini  in  Rome.  This 
seems  to  show  a sense  of  this  affair  very  differ- 
ent from  what  is  usual  among  us.  It  is  a Gre- 
cian wedding ; and  the  figures  represented  are 
a person  offering  sacrifice,  a beautiful  damsel 
dancing,  and  another  playing  on  the  harp.  The 
bride  is  placed  in  her  bed,  the  bridegroom  sits 
at  the  foot  of  it,  with  an  aspect  which  intimates, 
his  thoughts  were  not  only  entertained  with  the 
joys  with  which  he  was  surrounded  ; but  also 
with  a noble  gratitude,  and  divine  pleasure  in 
the  offering,  which  was  then  made  to  the  gods 
to  invoke  their  influence  on  his  new  condition. 
There  appears  in  the  face  of  the  woman  a mix- 
ture of  fear,  hope,  and  modesty  ; in  the  bride- 
groom a well-governed  rapture.  As  you  see  in 
great  spirits,  grief,  which  discovers  itself  the 
more  by  forbearing  tears  and  complaints,  you 
may  observe  also  the  highest  joy  is  too  big  for 
utterance;  the  tongue  being, of  all  the  organs, 
the  least  capable  of  expressing  such  a circum- 
stance. The  nuptial  torch,  the  bower,  the  mar- 
riage song,  are  all  particulars  which  we  meet 
with  in  the  allusions  of  the  ancient  writers  ; 
and  in  efery  one  of  them  something  is  to  be 
observed,  which  denotes  their  industry  to  ag- 
grandize and  adorn  this  occasion  above  all 
others. 

With  us  all  order  and  decency  in  this  point 
is  perverted,  by  the  insipid  mirth  of  certain 
animals  we  usually  call  Wags.  These  are  a 
species  of  all  men  the  most  insupportable.  One 
cannot  without  some  reflection  say,  whether 


No.  185.] 


THE  TATLER. 


323 


their  flat  mirth  provokes  us  more  to  pity  or  to 
scorn ; but  if  one  considers  with  how  great  af- 
fectation they  utter  their  frigid  conceits,  com- 
miseration immediately  changes  itself  into  con- 
tempt. 

A Wag  is  the  last  order  even  of  pretenders  to 
wit  and  good  humour.  He  has  generally  his 
mind  prepared  to  receive  some  occasion  of  mer- 
riment, but  is  of  himself  too  empty  to  draw  any 
out  of  his  own  set  of  thoughts ; and  therefore 
laughs  at  the  next  thing  he  meets,  not  because 
it  is  ridiculous,  but  because  he  is  under  a neces- 
sity of  laughing.  A Wag  is  one  that  never  in  its 
life  saw  a beautiful  object ; but  sees,  what  it  does 
see,  in  the  most  low,  and  most  inconsiderable 
light  it  can  be  placed.  There  is  a certain  ability 
necessary  to  behold  what  is  amiable  and  worthy 
of  our  approbation,  which  little  minds  want,  and 
attempt  to  hide  by  a general  disregard  to  every 
thing  they  behold  above  what  they  are  able  to 
relish.  Hence  it  is,  that  a Wag  in  an  assembly  is 
ever  guessing,  how  well  such  a lady  slept  last 
night,  and  how  much  such  a young  fellow  is 
pleased  with  himself.  The  Wag’s  gayety  consists 
in  a certain  professed  ill-breeding,  as  if  it  were  an 
excuse  for  committing  a fault,  that  a man  knows 
he  does  so.  Though  all  public  places  are  full  of 
persons  of  this  order  ; yet,  because  I will  not 
allow  impertinence  and  affectation  to  get  the 
better  of  native  innocence  and  simplicity  of 
manners,  I have,  in  spite  of  such  little  disturb- 
ers of  public  entertainments,  persuaded*  my 
brother  Tranquillus,  and  his  wife,  my  sister 
Jenny,  in  favour  of  Mr.  Wilks,  to  be  at  the  play 
to-morrow  evening. 

They,  as  they  have  so  much  good  sense  as  to 
act  naturally,  without  regard  to  the  observation 
of  others,  will  not,  I hope,  he  discomposed,  if 
any  of  the  fry  of  Wags  should  take  upon  them 
to  make  themselves  merry  upon  the  occasion 
of  their  coming,  as  they  intend,  in  their  wedding 
clothes.  My  brother  is  a plain,  worthy,  and 
honest  man ; and  as  it  is  natural  for  men  of 
that  turn  to  be  mightily  taken  with  sprightly 
and  airy  women,  my  sister  has  a vivacity  which 
may  perhaps  give  hopes  to  impertinents,  but 
will  be  esteemed  the  effect  of  innocence  among 
wise  men.  They  design  to  sit  with  me  in  the 
box,  which  the  house  have  been  so  complaisant 
as  to  offer  me  whenever  I think  fit  to  come 
thither  in  my  public  character. 

I do  not  in  the  least  doubt,  but  the  true  figure 
of  conjugal  affection  will  appear  in  their  looks 
and  gestures.  My  sister  does  not  affect  to  be 
gorgeous  in  her  dress  ; and  thinks  the  happiness 
of  a wife  is  more  visible  in  a cheerful  look  than 
a gay  apparel.  It  is  a hard  task  to  speak  of 
persons  so  nearly  related  to  one  with  decency  ; 
but  I may  say,  all  who  shall  he  at  the  play  will 
allow  him  to  have  the  mien  of  a worthy  English 
gentleman  ; her,  that  of  a notable  and  deserving 
wife. 


No.  185.]  Thursday,  June  15,  1710. 

Notitiam  primosque  gradus  vicinia  fecit, 
Tempore  crevit  amor,  taeds  quoque  jure  coissent, 
Sed  vetuere  patres  Quod  non  potuere  vetare, 
Ex  sequo  captis  ardebant  mentibiis  ambo. 

Ovid,  de  Pyr.  et  Tliisb.  Met.  iv.  59. 


Their  neighbourhood  acquaintance  early  bred, 
Acquaintance  love,  and  love  in  time  had  led 
The  happy  couple  to  the  nuptial  bod  : 

Their  fathers  stopt  them.  But  in  vain  oppose 
Their  mutual  passion,  source  of  all  their  woes. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  14. 

As  soon  as  I w^as  up  this  morning,  my  man 
gave  me  the  following  letter  ; which,  since  it 
leads  to  a subject  that  may  prove  of  common 
use  to  the  world,  I shall  take  notice  of  with  as 
much  expedition  as  my  fair  petitioner  could  de- 
sire. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Since  you  have  so  often 
declared  yourself  a patron  of  the  distressed,  I 
must  acquaint  you,  that  1 am  daughter  to  a 
country  gentleman  of  good  sense,  and  may  ex- 
pect three  or  four  thousand  pounds  for  my  for- 
tune. I love  and  am  beloved  by  Philander,  a 
young  gentleman  who  has  an  estate  of  five  hun- 
dred pounds  per  annum,  and  is  our  next  neigh- 
bour in  the  country  every  summer.  My  father, 
though  he  has  been  a long  time  acquainted  with 
it,  constantly  refuses  to  comply  with  our  mutual 
inclinations  : but  what  most  of  all  torments  me 
is,  that  if  ever  I speak  in  commendation  of  my 
lover,  he  is  much  louder  in  his  praises  than 
myself ; and  professes,  that  it  is  out  of  pure  love 
and  esteem  for  Philander,  as  well  as  his  daugh- 
ter, that  he  can  never  consent  we  should  marry 
each  other ; when,  as  he  terms  it,  we  may  both 
do  so  much  better.  It  must  indeed  be  confessed, 
that  two  gentlemen  of  considerable  fortunes 
made  their  addresses  to  me  last  winter,  and  Phi- 
lander, as  I have  since  learned,  was  offered  a 
young  heiress  with  fifteen  thousand  pounds  ; but 
it  seems  we  could  neither  of  us  think,  that  ac- 
cepting those  matches  would  be  doing  better 
than  remaining  constant  to  our  first  passion. 
Your  thoughts,  upon  the  whole,  may  perhaps 
have  some  weight  with  my  father,  who  is  one 
of  your  admirers,  as  is  your  humble  servant, 

‘ SYLVIA. 

‘ P.  S.  You  are  desired  to  be  speedy,  since 
my  father  daily  presses  me  to  accept  of,  what 
he  calls,  an  advantageous  offer.’ 

There  is  no  calamity  in  life  that  falls  heavier 
upon  human  nature  than  a disappointment  in 
love  ; especially  when  it  happens  between  two 
persons  who.se  hearts  are  mutually  engaged  to 
each  other.  It  is  this  distress  which  has  given 
occasion  to  some  of  the  finest  tragedies  that 
were  ever  written,  and  daily  fills  the  world  with 
melancholy,  discontent,  frfenzy,  sickness,  despair 
and  death.  I have  often  admired  at  the  bar- 
barity of  parents,  who  so  frequently  interpose 
their  autliority  in  this  grand  article  of  life.  I 
would  fain  ask  Sylvia’s  father,  whether  he 
thinks  he  can  bestow  a greater  favour  on  his 
daughter,  than  to  put  her  in  a way  to  live  hap- 
pily ? Whether  a man  of  Philander’s  charac- 
ter, with  five  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  is  not 
more  likely  to  contribute  to  that  end,  than  many 
a young  fellow  whom  he  may  have  in  his 
thoughts  with  so  many  thousands  ? Whether 
lie  can  make  amends  to  his  daughter  by  any 
increase  of  riches,  for  the  loss  of  that  happiness 
she  proposes  to  herself  in  her  Philander  ? Or, 
whether  a father  should  compound  with  his 
daughter  to  be  miserable,  though  she  were  to 


324 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  186, 


get  twenty  thousand  pounds  by  the  bargain  ? I 
suppose  lie  would  liave  her  reflect  with  esteem 
on  his  memory  after  his  death : and  does 
think  this  a proper  method  to  make  her 
so,  when,  as  often  as  she  thinks  on  the  loss  of 
her  Philander,  she  must,  at  the  same  time,  re- 
member him  as  the  cruel  cause  of  it?  Any 
transient  ill-humour  is  soon  forgotten ; but  the 
reflection  of  such  a cruelty  must  continue  to 
raise  resentments  as  long  as  life  itself ; and,  by 
this  one  piece  of  barbarity,  an  indulgent  father 
loses  the  merit  of  all  his  past  kindness.  It  is 
not  impossible  but  she  may  deceive  herself  in 
the  happiness  which  she  proposes  from  Philan- 
der ; but,  as  in  such  a case  she  can  have  no  one 
to  blame  but  herself,  she  will  bear  the  disappoint- 
ment with  greater  patience  ; but  if  she  never 
makes  the  experiment,  however  happy  she 
may  be  with  another,  she  will  still  think  she 
might  have  been  happier  with  Philander.  There 
is  a kind  of  sympathy  in  souls,  that  fits  them 
for  each  other  ; and  we  may  be  assured,  when 
we  see  two  persons  engaged  in  the  warmths  of 
a mutual  affection,  that  there  are  certain  quali- 
ties  in  both  their  minds  which  bear  a resem- 
blance to  one  another.  A generous  and  con- 
stant passion  in  an  agreeable  lover,  where  there 
is  not  too  great  a disparity  in  other  circumstan- 
ces, is  the  greatest  blessing  that  can  befall  the 
person  beloved  ; and,  if  overlooked  in  one,  may 
perhaps  never  be  found  in  another.  I shall  con- 
clude this  with  a celebrated  instance  of  a fa- 
ther’s indulgence  in  this  particular  ; which, 
though  carried  to  an  extravagance,  has  some- 
thing in  it  so  tender  and  amiable,  as  may  justly 
reproach  the  harshness  of  temper  that  is  to  be 
met  with  in  many  a British  father. 

^ Antiochus,  a prince  of  great  hopes,  fell  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  the  young  queen  Strato- 
nice,  who  was  his  mother-in-law,  and  had  bore 
a son  to  the  old  king,  Seleucus,  his  father.  The 
prince,  finding  it  impossible  to  extinguish  his 
passion,  fell  sick ; and  refused  all  manner  of 
nourishment,  being  determined  to  put  an  end  to 
that  life  wdiich  was  become  insupportable. 

Erasistratus,  the  physician,  soon  found  that 
love  was  his  distemper  ; and  observing  the 
alteration  in  his  pulse  and  countenance,  whenso- 
ever Stratonice  made  him  a visit,  was  soon  sa- 
tisfied that  he  was  dying  for  his  young  mother- 
in-law.  Knownng  the  old  king’s  tenderness  for 
his  son,  when  he  one  morning  inquired  of  his 
health,  he  told  him,  that  the  prince’s  distemper 
was  love  ; but  that  it  was  incurable,  because  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  possess  the  person 
whom  he  loved.  The  king,  surprized  at  his  ac- 
count, desired  to  know  how  his  son’s  passion 
could  be  incurable  ? ‘ Why,  sir,’  replied  Erasis- 
tratus, i because  he  is  in  love  with  the  person  I 
am  married  to.’ 

The  old  king  immediately  conjured  him  by 
all  his  past  favours,  to  save  the  life  of  liis  son 
and  successor.  ‘ Sir,’  said  Erasistratus,  ‘ would 
your  majesty  but  fancy  yourself  in  my  place, 
you  would  see  the  unreasonableness  of  what  you 
desire  ‘ Heaven  is  my  witness,’  said  Seleu- 
cus,  ‘ 1 could  resign  even  my  Stratonice  to  save 
niy  Antiochus.’  At  this,  the  tears  ran  down 
his  cheeks  ; which  when  the  physician  saw, 
taking  hini  by  the  hand,  ‘ Sir,’  says  he,  ‘ if  these 


are  your  real  sentiments,  the  prince’s  life  is 
out  of  danger  ; it  is  Stratonice  for  whom  he 
dies.’  Seleucus  immediately  gave  orders  for 
solemnizing  the  marriage ; and  the  young  queen, 
to  show  her  obedience,  very  generously  ex- 
changed the  father  for  the  son. 


No.  186.]  Saturday,  June  17, 1710. 

Emitur  sola  virtute  potestas.  Claud. 

Virtue  alone  ennobles  human  kind. 

And  power  should  on  her  glorious  foot-steps  wait. 

R.  Wynne. 

Sheer -lane,  June  16. 

As  it  has  been  the  endeavour  of  these  our 
labours  to  extirpate  from  among  the  polite  or 
busy  part  of  mankind,  all  such  as  are  either 
prejudicial  or  insignificant  to  society,  so  it 
ought  to  be  no  less  our  study  to  supply  the 
havock  we  have  made,  by  an  exact  care  of  the 
growing  generation.  But  when  we  begin  to 
inculcate  proper  precepts  to  the  children  of  this 
island,  except  we  could  take  them  out  of  their 
nurse’s  arms,  we  see  an  amendment  is  almost 
impracticable  ; for  we  find  the  whole  species  of 
our  youth,  and  grown  men,  is  incorrigibly  pre- 
possessed with  vanity,  pride,  or  ambition,  ac- 
cording to  the  respective  pursuits  to  which  they 
turn  themselves  ; by  which  means  the  world  is 
infatuated  with  the  love  of  appearances  instead 
of  things.  Thus  the  vain  man  takes  praise  for 
honour ; the  proud  man,  ceremony  for  respect, 
the  ambitious  man,  power  for  glory.  These 
three  characters  are  indeed  of  very  near  re- 
semblance, but  differently  received  by  mankind. 
Vanity  makes  men  ridiculous  ; pride  odious  ; 
and  ambition  terrible.  The  foundation  of  all 
which  is,  that  they  are  grounded  upon  falsehood: 
for  if  men,  instead  of  studjnng  to  appear  con- 
siderable, were  in  tlieir  own  hearts  possessors 
of  the  requisites  for  esteem,  the  acceptance  they 
otherwise  unfortunately  aim  at  would  be  as  in- 
separable from  them,  as  approbation  is  from 
truth  itself.  By  this  means  they  would  have 
some  rule  to  walk  by  ; and  they  may  ever  be 
assured,  that  a good  cause  of  action  will  cer- 
tainly receive  a suitable  effect.  It  may  be  a 
useful  hint  in  such  cases  for  a man  to  ask  of 
himself,  whether  he  really  is  what  he  has  a 
mind  to  be  thought  ? If  he  is,  he  need  not  give 
himself  mucli  further  anxiety.  What  wnll  the 
world  say  ? is  the  common  question  in  matters 
of  difficulty  ; as  if  the  terror  lay  wholly  in  the 
sense  which  others,  and  not  we  ourselves,  shall 
have  of  your  actions.  From  this  one  source 
arise  all  the  impostors  in  every  art  and  profes- 
sion, in  all  places,  among  all  per.«ons,  in  conver. 
sation,  as  well  as  in  business.  Hence  it  is,  that 
a vain  fellow  takes  twice  ns  much  pains  to  be 
ridiculous,  as  would  make  him  sincerely  agree- 
able. 

Can  any  one  be  better  fashioned,  better  bred, 
or  lias  any  one  more  good  nature,  than  Dama- 
sippus  ? But  the  wdiole  scope  of  his  looks  and 
actions  tend  so  immediately  to  gain  the  good 
opinion  of  all  he  converses  with,  that  he  loses  it 
for  that  only  reason.  As  it  is  tlie  nature  of 


No.  187.] 


THE  TATLER. 


325 


vanity  to  impose  false  shows  for  truth,  so  does 
it  also  turn  real  possessions  into  imaginary  ones. 
Damasippus,  by  assuming  to  himself  what  he 
has  not,  robs  himself  of  what  he  has. 

There  is  nothing  more  neeessary  to  establish 
reputation,  than  to  suspend  the  enjoyment  of  it. 
He  that  cannot  bear  the  sense  of  merit  with 
silence,  must  of  necessity  destroy  it ; for  fame 
being  the  general  mistress  of  mankind,  whoever 
gives  it  to  himself  insults  all  to  whom  he  relates 
any  circumstances  to  his  own  advantage.  He 
is  considered  as  an  open  ravisher  of  that  beauty, 
for  whom  all  others  pine  in  silence.  But  some 
minds  are  so  incapable  of  any  temperance  in 
this  particular,  that  on  every  second  in  their  dis- 
course, you  may  observe  an  earnestness  in  their 
eyes,  which  shows  they  wait  for  your  approba- 
tion ; and  perhaps  the  next  instant  cast  an  eye 
on  a glass,  to  see  how  they  like  themselves. 
Walking  the  other  day  in  a neighbouring  inn  of 
court,  I saw  a more  happy  and  more  graceful 
orator  than  I ever  before  had  heard  or  read  of.  A 
youth,  of  about  nineteen  years  of  age,  was,  in 
an  Indian  night-gown  and  laced  cap,  pleading 
a cause  before  a glass.  The  young  fellow  had 
a very  good  air,  and  seemed  to  hold  his  brief  in 
his  hand  rather  to  help  his  action,  than  that  he 
wanted  notes  for  his  further  information.  When 
I first  began  to  observe  him,  I feared  he  would 
soon  be  alarmed  ; but  he  was  so  zealous  for  his 
client,  and  so  favourably  received  by  the  court, 
that  he  went  on  with  great  fluency  to  inform 
the  bench,  that  he  humbly  hoped  they  would  not 
let  the  merit  of  the  cause  suffer  by  the  youth 
and  inexperience  of  the  pleader ; that  in  all 
things  he  submitted  to  their  candour  ; and 
modestly  desired  they  would  not  conclude,  but 
that  strength  of  argument,  and  force  of  reason 
may  be  consistent  with  grace  of  action  and 
comeliness  of  person. 

To  me  (who  see  people  every  day  in  the  midst 
of  crowds,  whomsoever  they  seem  to  address  to, 
talk  only  to  themselves,  and  of  themselves)  this 
orator  was  not  so  extravagant  a man  as  perhaps 
another  would  liave  thought  him  ; but  I took 
part  in  his  success,  and  was  very  glad  to  find  he 
had,  in  his  favour,  judgment  and  costs,  without 
any  manner  of  opposition. 

The  effects  of  pride  and  vanity  are  of  conse- 
quence only  to  the  proud  and  vain  ; and  tend  to 
no  further  ill  than  what  is  personal  to  them- 
selves, in  preventing  their  progress  in  any  thing 
that  is  worthy  and  laudable,  and  creating  envy 
instead  of  emulation  of  superior  virtue.  These 
ill  qualities  are  to  be  found  only  in  such  as  have 
so  little  minds,  as  to  circumscribe  their  thoughts 
and  designs  witliin  what  properly  relates  to  the 
value,  whieh  they  think  due  to  their  dear  and 
amiable  selves  ; but  ambition,  which  is  the  third 
great  impediment  to  honour  and  virtue,  is  a 
fault  of  such  as  think  themselves  born  for 
moving  in  a higher  orb,  and  prefer  being  power- 
ful and  mischievous  to  being  virtuous  and  ob- 
scure. The  parent  of  this  mischief  in  life,  so  far 
as  to  regulate  it  into  schemes,  and  make  it  pos- 
sess a man’s  whole  heart  without  his  believing 
himself  a daemon,  was  Machiavel.  He  first 
taught,  that  a man  must  necessarily  appear 
weak,  to  be  honest.  Hence  it  gains  upon  the 
imagination,  that  a great  is  not  so  despicable 


as  a little  villain  ; and  men  arc  insensibly  led 
to  a belief,  that  tlie  aggravation  of  crimes  is  the 
diminution  of  them.  Hence  the  impiety  of  think- 
ing one  thing,  and  speaking  another.  In  pur- 
suance of  this  empty  and  unsatisfying  dream, 
to  betray,  to  undermine,  to  kill  in  themselves 
all  natural  sentiments  of  love  to  friends  or  coun- 
try, is  the  willing  practice  of  such  as  are  thirsty 
of  power  for  any  other  reason,  than  that  of  being 
useful  and  acceptable  to  mankind. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas  Mr.  Bickerstalf  has  lately  received 
a letter  out  of  Ireland,  dated  June  the  ninth, 
importing,  that  he  is  grown  very  dull,  for  the 
postage  of  which  Mr.  Morphew  charges  one 
shilling  ; and  another  without  date,  or  place,  or 
time,  for  which  he,  the  said  Morphew,  charges 
two-pence  : it  is  desired,  that  for  the  future,  his 
courteous  and  uncourteous  readers  will  go  a 
little  further  in  expressing  their  good  and  ill- 
will,  and  pay  for  the  carriage  of  their  letters  ; 
otherwise  the  intended  pleasure  or  pain,  which 
is  designed  for  Mr.  Bickerstaff*,  will  be  wholly 
disappointed. 


No.  187.]  Tuesday,  June  20,  1710. 

Pudet  hjEC  approbria  nobis, 

Et  dici  potuisse,  et  non  potuisse  refolli. 

Ovid.  Met.  ii.  759. 

To  hear  an  open  slander  is  a curse  : 

But  not  to  find  an  answer  is  a worse.  Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  19. 
Pasquin  of  Pome  to  Isaac  Bickerstaff  of  London. 

His  holiness  has  gone  to  Castel  Gandolpho, 
much  discomposed  at  some  late  accounts  from 
the  missionaries  in  your  island  ; for  a committee 
of  cardinals,  which  lately  sat  for  the  reviving 
the  force  of  some  obsolete  doctrines,  and  draw- 
ing up  amendments  to  certain  points  of  faith, 
have  represented  the  church  of  Rome  to  be  in 
great  danger,  from  a treatise  written  by  a learn- 
ed Englishman  ; which  carries  spiritual  power 
mueh  higher  than  we  could  have  dared  to  have 
attempted  even  here.  His  book  is  called,  ‘ An 
Epistolary  Discourse,  proving  from  the  Scrip- 
tures, and  the  first  Fathers,  that  the  soul  is  a 
principle  naturally  mortal.  Wherein  is  proved, 
that  none  have  the  power  of  giving  this  divine 
immortalizing  spirit,  since  the  apostles,  but  the 
bishops.  By  Henry  Dodwell,  M.  A.’  The  as- 
sertion appeared  to  our  literati  so  short  and 
effectual  a method  of  subjecting  the  laity,  that 
it  is  feared  auricular  confession  and  absolution 
will  not  be  capable  of  keeping  the  clergy  of 
Rome  in  any  degree  of  greatness,  in  competi- 
tion with  such  teachers,  whose  flocks  shall  re- 
ceive this  opinion.  What  gives  the  greater 
jealousy  here  is,  that  in  the  catalogue  of  trea- 
tises which  have  been  lately  burnt  within  the 
British  tcri’itories,  there  is  no  mention  made  of 
this  learned  wmrk  ; which  circumstance  is  a sort 
of  implication,  that  the  tenet  is  not  held  errone- 
ous, but  that  the  doctrine  is  received  among  you 
as  orthodox.  The  youth  of  this  place  are  very 
much  divided  in  opinion,  whether  a very  memo. 


326 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  1ST. 


Table  quotation  which  the  author  repeats  out  of 
Tertullian,  be  not  rather  of  the  style  and  man- 
ner of  Meursius?  In  illo  ipso  voluptatis  ultimcs 
(Bstu,  quo  genitale  virus  expellitur,  nonne  aliquid 
de  anima  quoque  sentirnus-  exire,  atque  adeo 
marcescimus  et  divigescimus  cum  lucis  detri- 
mento  7 This  piece  of  Latin  goes  no  farther 
than  to  tell  us  how  our  fathers  begot  us  ; so  that 
■we  are  still  at  a loss  how  we  afterwards  com- 
mence eternal ; for  creando  infunditer,  et  infun. 
dendo  creatur,  which  is  mentioned  soon  after, 
may  allude  only  to  flesh  and  blood,  as  w’ell  as 
the  former.  Your  readers  in  this  city,  some  of 
whom  have  very  much  approved  the  warmth 
with  w'hich  you  have  attacked  free-thinkers, 
atheists,  and  other  enemies  to  religion  and  vir- 
tue, are  very  much  disturbed,  that  you  have 
given  them  no  account  of  this  remarkable  dis- 
sertation. I am  employed  by  them  to  desire 
you  would,  with  all  p>ossible  expedition,  send 
me  over  the  ceremony  of  the  creation  of  souls,  as 
well  as  a list  of  all  the  mortal  and  immortal  men 
within  the  dominions  of  Great  Britain.  When 
you  have  done  me  this  favour,  I must  trouble 
you  for  other  tokens  of  your  kindness  ; and  par- 
ticularly I desire  you  would  let  me  have  the  re- 
ligious handkerchief,*  which  is  of  late  so  much 
worn  in  England,  for  I have  promised  to  make 
a present  of  it  to  a courtezan  of  a French 
minister. 

‘ Letters  from  the  frontiers  of  France  inform 
us,  that  a young  gentleman, t who  w’as  to  have 
been  created  a cardinal  on  the  next  promotion, 
has  put  off  his  design  of  coming  to  Rome  so  soon 
as  w'as  intended  ; having,  as  it  is  said,  received 
letters  from  Great  Britain,  wherein  several  vir- 
tuosi of  that  Island  have  desired  him  to  suspend 
his  resolutions  towards  a monastic  life,  until 
the  British  grammarians  shall  publish  their  ex- 
plication of  the  words  indefeasable  and  revolu- 
tion. According  as  these  two  hard  terms  are 
made  to  fit  the  mouths  of  the  people,  this  gen- 
tleman takes  his  measures  for  his  journey 
thither. 

‘Your  new  Bedlam  has  been  read  and  con- 
sidered by  some  of  your  countrymen  among  us ; 
and  one  gentleman,  who  is  now  here  as  a tra- 
veller, says  your  design  is  impracticable  ; for 
that  there  can  be  no  place  large  enough  to  con- 
tain the  number  of  your  lunatics.  He  advises 
you  therefore  to  name  the  ambient  sea  for  the 
boundary  of  your  hospital.  If  what  he  says  be 
true,  I do  not  see  how  you  can  think  of  any 
other  enclosure  ; for,  according  to  his  discourse, 
the  whole  people  are  taken  with  a vertigo ; great 
and  proper  actions  are  received  with  coldness 
and  discontent ; ill-news  hoped  for  with  impa- 
tience ; heroes  in  your  service  are  treated  with 
calumny,  while  criminals  pass  through  your 
towns  with  acclamations. $ 

‘ This  Englishman  went  on  to  say,  you  seemed 


* Handkerchiefs  printed  with  representations  of  Dr. 
Sacheverell. 
t The  pretender. 

i Dr.  Sacheverell,  whilst  under  the  sentence  that  sus-  j 
pended  him  from  preaching,  made  a sort  of  triumphal 
journey,  and  was  received  into  some  towns  with  ring- 
ing of  bells,  and  other  demonstrations  of  welcome  and 
approbation.  I 


at  present  to  flag  under  a satiety  of  success,  as 
if  you  wanted  misfortune  as  a necessary  vicissi- 
tude. Yet,  alas  1 though  men  have  but  a cold 
relish  of  prosperity,  quick  is  the  anguish  of  the 
contrary  fortune.  He  proceeded  to  make  com- 
parisons of  times,  seasons,  and  great  incidents. 
After  w'hich  he  grew  too  learned  for  my  under- 
standing, and  talked  of  Hanno  the  Carthaginian, 
and  his  irreconcileable  hatred  to  the  glorious 
commander  Hannibal.  Hannibal,  said  he,  was 
able  to  march  to  Rome  itself,  and  brought  that 
ambitious  people,  who  designed  no  less  than  the 
empire  of  tlje  wmrld,  to  sue  for  peace  in  the  most 
abject  and  servile  manner ; when  faction  at 
home  detracted  from  the  glory  of  his  actions, 
and,  after  many  artifices,  at  last  prevailed  with 
the  senate  to  recall  him  from  the  midst  of  his 
victories,  in  the  very  instant  when  he  was  to 
reap  the  benefit  of  all  his  toils,  by  reducing  the 
then  common  enemy  of  all  nations  which  had 
liberty  to  reason.  When  Hannibal  heard  the 
message  of  the  Carthaginian  senators,  who  were 
sent  to  recall  him,  he  was  moved  with  a gener- 
ous and  disdainful  sorrow  ; and  is  reported  to 
have  said,  “ Hannibal  then  must  be  conquered, 
not  by  the  arms  of  the  Romans,  whom  he  has 
often  put  to  flight,  but  by  the  envy  and  detrac- 
tion of  his  countrymen.  Nor  shall  Scipio  tri- 
umph so  much  in  his  fall,  as  Hanno,  who  will 
smile  to  have  purchased  the  ruin  of  Heinnibal, 
though  attended  with  the  fall  of  Carthage.” — I 
am,  Sir,  &c. 

‘ PASQUIN.’ 

Will's  Coffee-house^  June  19. 

There  is  a sensible  satisfaction  in  observing 
the  countenance  and  action  of  the  people  on 
some  occasions  To  gratify  myself  in  this  plea- 
sure, I came  hither  with  all  speed  this  evening 
with  an  account  of  the  surrender  of  Douay.  As 
soon  as  the  battle-critics  heard  it,  they  imme- 
diately drew  some  comfort,  in  that  it  must  have 
cost  us  a great  number  of  men.  Others  were 
so  negligent  of  the  glory  of  their  country,  that 
they  went  on  in  their  discourse  on  the  full  house 
which  is  to  be  at  Othello  on  Thursday,  and  the 
curiosity  they  should  go  with,  to  see  Wilks  play 
a part  so  very  difierent  from  what  he  had  ever 
before  appeared  in,  together  with  the  expecta- 
tion that  was  raised  in  the  gay  part  of  the  town 
on  that  occasion. 

This  universal  indolence  and  inattention 
among  us  to  things  that  concern  the  public, 
made  me  look  back  with  the  highest  reverence 
on  the  glorious  instances  in  antiquity,  of  a con- 
trary behaviour  in  the  like  circumstances.  Har- 
ry English,  upon  observing  the  room  so  little 
roused  on  the  news,  fell  into  the  same  way  of 
thinking.  ‘ How  unlike,’  said  he,  ‘ Mr.  Bicker- 
staff',  are  we  to  the  old  Romans.  There  was 
not  a subject  of  their  state  but  thought  himself 
as  much  concerned  in  the  honour  of  his  coun- 
try, as  the  first  officer  of  the  commonwealth. 
How  do  I admire  the  messenger,  who  ran  with 
a thorn  in  his  foot  to  tell  the  news  of  a victory 
i to  the  senate  ! He  had  not  leisure  for  his  private 
I pain,  until  he  had  expressed  his  public  joy ; nor 
1 could  he  suff'er  as  a man,  until  he  had  triumphed 
1 as  a Roman.’ 


THE  TATLER. 


327 


No.  188.] 

No.  188.]  Thursday,  June  22,  1710.  • 

Q,uffi  regio  in  terris  nOstri  non  plena  laboris  ? 

yirg.  ^n.  i.  464. 

What  clime,  what  region,  so  remote  and  strange, 

Where  these  our  labouis  are  not  known  ? 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  21. 

I WAS  this  morning-  looking  over  my  letters, 
that  I have  lately  received  from  my  several  cor- 
respondents; some  of  which,  referring  to  my 
late  papers,  I have  laid  aside,  with  an  intent  to 
give  my  reader  a sight  of  them.  The  first  cri- 
ticises upon  my  green-house,  and  is  as  follows: 

South  Wales,  June  7. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — This  letter  comes  to  you 
from  my  orangery,  which  I intend  to  reform  as 
much  as  I can,  according  to  your  ingenious 
model ; and  shall  only  beg  of  you  to  communi- 
cate to  me  your  secret  of  preserving  grass  plots 
in  a covered  room  ; for,  in  the  climate  where 
my  country-seat  lies,  they  require  rain  and  dews 
as  well  as  sun  and  fresh  air,  and  cannot  live 
upon  such  fine  food  as  your  sifted  weather.  I 
must  likewise  desire  you  to  write  over  your 
green-house  the  following  motto  : 

Hie  ver  perpetuum,  atque  alienis  mensibus  sestas. 

Here  vernal  bloom,  and  summer’s  genial  warmth. 

Reign  all  the  year. R.  Wynne. 

Instead  of  your 

O ! quis  me  gelidis  sub  montibus  Haemi 

Sistat,  et  ingenti  ramorum  protegat  umbra  ? 

Virg.  Georg,  ii.  448. 

Some  god,  convey  me  to  the  cooling  shades 

Of  dewy  Haemus! R.  Wynne. 

‘Which,  under  favour,  is  the  panting  of  one 
in  summer  after  cool  shades,  and  not  of  one  in 
winter  after  a summer-house.  The  rest  of  your 
plan  is  very  beautiful ; and  that  your  friend,  who 
has  so  well  described  it,  may  enjoy  it  many  win- 
ters, is  the  hearty  wish  of 

‘ His  and  your  unknown,  &c. 

This  oversight  of  a grass-plot  in  my  friend’s 
green-house,  puts  me  in  mind  of  a like  incon- 
sistency in  a celebrated  picture  ; where  Moses 
is  represented  as  striking  a rock,  and  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  quenching  their  thirst  at  the  wa- 
ters that  flow  from  it,  and  run  through  a beau- 
tiful landscape  of  groves  and  meadows,  which 
could  not  flourish  in  a place  where  water  was 
to  have  been  found  only  by  a miracle. 

The  next  letter  comes  to  me  from  a Kentish 
yeoman,  who  is  very  angry  with  me  for  my  ad- 
vice to  parents,  occasioned  by  the  amours  of 
Sylvia  and  Philander,  as  related  in  my  paper. 
No.  185. 

‘ Squire  Bickerstaff, — I do  not  know  by 
what  chance  one  of  your  Tatlers  is  got  into  my 
family,  and  has  almost  turned  the  brains  of  my 
eldest  daughter,  Winifred ; who  has  been  so 
undutiful  as  to  fall  in  love  of  her  own  head,  and 
tells  me  a foolish  heathen  story  that  she  has 
read  in  your  paper,  to  persuade  me  to  give  my 
consent.  I am  too  w’ise  to  let  children  have 


their  own  wills  in  a business  like  marriage.  It 
is  a matter  in  which  neither  I myself,  nor  any 
of  my  kindred,  were  ever  humoured.  My  wife 
and  I never  pretended  to  love  one  another  like 
your  Sylvias  and  Philanders  ; and  yet,  if  you 
saw  our  fire-side,  you  would  be  satisfied  we  are 
not  always  a squabbling.  For  my  part,  I think 
that  where  man  and  woman  come  together  by 
their  own  good  liking,  there  is  so  much  fondling 
and  fooling,  that  it  hinders  young  people  from 
minding  their  business.  I must  therefore  desire 
you  to  change  your  note ; and  instead  of  ad- 
vising us  old  folks,  who  perhaps  have  more  wit 
than  yourself,  to  let  Sylvia  know,  that  she  ought 
to  act  like  a dutiful  daughter,  and  marry  the 
man  that  she  does  not  care  for.  Our  great- 
grandmothers were  all  bid  to  marry  first,  and 
love  would  come  afterwards  ; and  I do  not  see 
why  their  daughters  should  follow  their  own  in- 
ventions. I am  resolved  Winifred  shall  not. 

‘ Yours,  &.C.’ 

This  letter  is  a natural  picture  of  ordinary 
contracts,  and  of  the  sentiments  of  those  minds 
that  lie  under  a kind  of  intellectual  rusticity. 
This  trifling  occasion  made  me  run  over  in  my 
imagination  the  many  scenes  I have  observed  of 
the  marriage  condition,  wherein  the  quintessence 
of  pleasure  and  pain  are  represented,  as  they 
accompany  that  state,  and  no  other.  It  is  cer- 
tain,  there  are  many  thousands  like  the  above- 
mentioned  yeoman  and  his  wife,  who  are  never 
highly  pleased  or  distasted  in  their  whole  lives. 
But  when  we  consider  the  more  informed  part 
of  mankind,  and  look  upon  their  behaviour,  it 
then  appears  that  very  little  of  their  time  is  in- 
different, but  generally  spent  in  the  most  anxious 
vexation,  or  the  highest  satisfaction.  Shakspeare 
has  admirably  represented  both  the  aspects  of 
this  state  in  the  most  excellent  tragedy  of  Othel- 
lo. In  the  character  of  Desdemona,  he  runs 
through  all  the  sentiments  of  a virtuous  maid, 
and  a tender  wife.  She  is  captivated  by  his 
virtue,  and  faithful  to  him  as  well  from  that  mo- 
tive, as  regard  to  her  own  honour.  Othello  is  a 
great  and  noble  spirit,  misled  by  the  villany  of  a 
false  friend  to  suspect  her  innocence;  and  re- 
sents it  accordingly.  When,  after  the  many 
instances  of  passion,  the  wife  is  told  the  husband 
is  jealous,  her  simplicity  makes  her  incapable 
of  believing  it,  and  say,  after  such  circumstances 
as  would  drive  another  woman  into  distraction, 

1 think  the  sun  where  he  was  born 

Drew'  all  such  humours  from  him. 

This  opinion  of  him  is  so  just,  that  his  noble 
and  tender  heart  beats  itself  to  pieces,  before  he 
can  affront  her  with  the  mention  of  his  jealousy ; 
and  he  owns,  this  suspicion  has  blotted  out  all 
the  sense  of  glory  and  happiness  which  before 
it  was  possessed  with,  when  he  laments  himself 
in  the  warm  allusions  of  a mind  accustomed  to 
entertainments  so  very  different  from  the  pangs 
of  jealousy  and  revenge.  How  moving  is  his 
sorrow,  when  he  cries  out  as  follows : 

I had  been  happy,  if  the  general  camp, 

Pioneers  and  all,  had  tasted  her  sw'eet  body, 

So  I had  nothing  known.  Oh  now ! for  ever 
Farew-ell  the  tranquil  mind!  farewell  content! 
Farewell  the  plumed  troops,  and  the  big  wars 
That  make  ambition  virtue ! Oh  farewell! 


328 


THE  TATLER. 


Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump, 
The  spirit-stirring  drum,  th’  ear  piercing  fife, 

The  royal  banner,  and  all  quality. 

Pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance,  of  glorious  war ! 
And,  oh  ye  mortal  engines!  whose  rude  throats 
Th’  immortal  Jove’s  dread  clamours  counterfeit. 
Farewell ! Othello’s  occupation’s  gone. 

I believe  I may  venture  to  say,  there  is  not 
in  any  other  part  of  Shakspcare’s  works  more 
strong  and  lively  pictures  of  nature  than  in  this. 
I shall  therefore  steal  incognito  to  see  it,  out  of 
curiosity  to  observe  how  Wilks  and  Cibber  touch 
those  places,  where  Betterton  and  Sandford  so 
very  highly  excelled.  But  now  I am  got  into  dis- 
course of  acting,  with  which  I am  so  professedly 
pleased,  I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  a note 
I have  just  received  from  the  two  ingenious 
friends,  Mr.  Penkethman  and  Mr.  Bullock. 

‘ Sir, — Finding  by  your  paper.  No.  182,  that 
you  are  drawing  parallels  between  the  greatest 
actors  of  the  age  ; as  you  have  already  begun 
with  Mr.  Wilks  and  Mr.  Cibber,  we  desire  you 
would  do  the  same  justice  to  your  humble  ser- 
vants, 

Wm.  Bullock  and  Wm.  Penkethman.’ 

For  the  information  of  posterity,  I shall  com- 
ply with  this  letter,  and  set  these  two  great  men 
in  such  a light  as  Sallust  has  placed  his  Cato 
and  Caesar. 

Mr.  William  Bullock  and  Mr.  William  Pen- 
kethman are  of  the  same  age,  profession,  and 
sex.  They  both  distinguish  themselves  in  a 
very  particular  manner  under  the  discipline  of 
the  crab-tree,  with  this  only  difference,  that  Mr. 
Bullock  has  the  more  agreeable  squall,  and  Mr. 
Penkethman  the  more  graceful  shrug.  Pen- 
kethman devours  a cold  chick  with  great  ap- 
plause ; Bullock’s  talent  lies  chiefly  in  aspara- 
gus. Penkethman  is  very  dexterous  at  con- 
veying himself  under  a table  ; Bullock  is  no  less 
active  at  jumping  over  a stick.  Mr.  Penketh- 
man has  a great  deal  of  money  ; but  Mr.  Bul- 
lock is  the  taller  man. 


No.  189.]  Saturday^  Jane  24,  1710. 

Est  in  juveneis,  est  in  equis  patruin 
Virtus  ; nec  inibellein  feroces 
Progenerant  aquilai  coluinbam. 

Hor.  4 Od.  iv.  30. 

In  steers  laborious,  and  in  generous  steeds 
We  trace  their  sires,  nor  can  the  bird  of  Jove 
Intrepid,  fierce,  beget  th’  unwailike  dove.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  23. 

Having  lately  turned  my  thoughts  upon  the 
considerations  of  the  behaviour  of  parents  to 
children  in  the  great  affair  of  marriage,  I took 
much  delight  in  turning  over  a bundle  of  let- 
ters, which  a gentleman’s  steward  in  the  coun- 
try had  sent  me  some  time  ago.  This  parcel  is 
a collection  of  letters  written  by  the  children  of 
the  family,  to  which  he  belongs,  to  their  father  ; 
and  contains  all  the  little  passages  of  their  lives, 
and  the  new  ideas  they  received  as  their  years 
advanced.  There  is  in  them  an  account  of 
their  diversions  as  well  as  their  exercises  ; and 
what  I thought  very  remarkable  is,  that  two 
sons  of  the  family,  who  now  make  considerable 


[No.  189. 

figures  in  the  world,  gave  omens  of  that  sort  of 
character  which  they  now  bear,  in  the  first  ru. 
diments  of  thought  which  they  show  in  their 
letters.  Were  one  to  point  out  a method  of 
education,  one  could  not,  methinks,  frame  one 
more  pleasing  or  improving  than  this  ; where 
the  children  get  a habit  of  communicating  their 
thoughts  and  inclinations  to  their  best  friend 
with  so  much  freedom,  that  he  can  form  schemes 
for  their  future  life  and  conduct  from  an  obser- 
vation of  their  tempers  ; and  by  that  means  be 
early  enough  in  choosing  their  way  of  life,  to 
make  them  forward  in  some  art  or  science  at  an 
age  when  others  have  not  determined  what  pro- 
fession to  follow.  As  to  the  persons  concerned 
in  this  packet  I am  speaking  of,  they  have  given 
great  proofs  of  the  force  of  this  conduct  of  their 
father  in  the  effect  it  has  upon  their  lives  and 
manners.  The  elder,  who.  is  a scholar,  showed 
from  his  infancy  a propensity  to  polite  studies, 
and  has  made  a suitable  progress  in  literature ; 
but  his  learning  is  so  well  woven  into  his  mind, 
that  from  the  impression  of  it,  he  seems  rather 
to  have  contracted  a habit  of  life,  than  manner 
of  discourse.  To  his  books  he  seems  to  owe  a 
good  economy  in  his  affairs,  and  a complacency 
in  his  manners,  though  in  others  that  way  of 
education  has  commonly  a quite  different  effect. 
The  epistles  of  the  other  son  are  full  of  accounts 
of  what  he  thought  most  remarkable  in  his  read- 
ing. He  sends  his  father  for  news  the  last  noble 
story  he  had  read.  I observe,  he  is  particularly 
touched  with  the  conduct  of  Codrus,  who  plotted 
his  own  death,  because  the  oracle  had  said,  if 
he  were  not  killed,  the  enemy  should  prevail 
over  his  country.  Many  other  incidents  in  his 
little  letters  give  omens  of  a soul  capable  of 
generous  undertakings  ; and  what  makes  it  the 
more  particular  is,  that  this  gentleman  had,  in 
the  present  war,  the  honour  and  happiness  of 
doing  an  action,  for  which  only  it  was  worth 
coming  into  the  world.  Their  father  is  the  most 
intimate  friend  they  have  ; and  they  always 
consult  him  rather  than  any  other,  when  any 
error  has  happened  in  their  conduct  through 
youth  and  inadvertency.  The  behaviour  of  this 
gentleman  to  his  sons  has  made  his  life  pass 
away  with  the  pleasures  of  second  youth  ; for, 
as  the  vexations  which  men  receive  from  their 
children  hasten  the  approach  of  age,  and  double 
the  force  of  years  ; so  the  comforts,  which  they 
reap  from  them,  are  balm  to  all  other  sorrows, 
and  disappoint  the  injuries  of  time.  Parents  of 
children  repeat  their  lives  in  their  offspring  ; 
and  their  concern  for  them  is  so  near,  that  they 
feel  all  their  sufferings  and  enjoyments  as  much 
as  if  they  regarded  their  own  proper  persons. 
But  it  is  generally  so  far  otherwise,  that  the 
common  race  of  esquires  in  this  kingdom  use 
their  sons  as  persons  that  are  waiting  only  for 
their  funerals,  and  spies  upon  their  health  and 
happiness  ; as  indeed  they  are,  by  their  own 
making  them  such.  In  cases  where  a man  takes 
the  liberty  after  this  manner  to  reprehend  others, 
it  is  commonly  said,  let  him  look  at  home.  I 
am  sorry  to  own  it ; but  there  is  one  branch  of 
the  house  of  the  Bickerstaffs,  who  have  been  as 
erroneous  in  their  conduct  this  way  as  any  other 
family  whatsoever.  The  head  of  this  branch  is 
now  in  town,  and  has  brought  up  with  him  his 


I 


THE  TATLER. 


329 


No.  190.] 

son  and  daughter,  who  are  all  the  children  he 
has,  in  order  to  be  put  some  way  into  the  world, 
and  see  fashions.  They  are  both  very  ill-bred 
cubs  ; and  having  lived  together  from  their  in- 
fancy,  without  knowledge  of  the  distinctions 
and  decencies  that  are  proper  to  be  paid  to  each 
other’s  sex,  they  squabble  like  two  brothers. 
7'he  father  is  one  of  those  who  knows  no  better 
than  that  all  pleasure  is  debauchery  ; and  ima- 
gines, when  he  sees  a man  become  his  estate, 
that  he  will  certainly  spend  it.  This  branch  are 
a people  who  never  had  among  them  one  man 
eminent  either  for  good  or  ill ; however,  have 
all  along  kept  their  heads  just  above  water,  not 
by  a prudent  and  regular  economy,  but  by  ex- 
pedients in  the  matches  they  have  made  into 
their  house.  When  one  of  the  family  has,  in 
the  pursuit  of  foxes,  and  in  the  entertainment  of 
clowns,  run  out  the  third  part  of  the  value  of 
his  estate,  such  a spendthrift  has  dressed  up  his 
eldest  son,  and  married  what  they  call  a good 
fortune  ; who  has  supported  the  father  as  a ty- 
rant over  them,  during  his  life,  in  the  same 
house  or  neighbourhood.  The  son,  in  succes- 
sion, has  just  taken  the  same  method  to  keep  up 
his  dignity,  until  the  mortgages  he  has  ate  and 
drunk  himself  into,  have  reduced  him  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  sacrificing  his  son  also,  in  imitation 
of  his  progenitor.  This  had  been,  for  many  ge- 
nerations, the  whole  that  had  happened  in  the 
family  of  Sam  Bickerstatf,  until  the  time  of  my 
present  cousin  Samuel,  the  father  of  the  young 
people  we  have  just  now  spoken  of. 

Samuel  Bickerstaff,  esquire,  is  so  happy,  as 
that  by  several  legacies  from  distant  relations, 
deaths  of  maiden  sisters,  and  other  instances  of 
good  fortune,  he  has  besides  his  real  estate,  a 
great  sum  of  ready  money.  His  son  at  the  same 
time  knows  he  has  a good  fortune,  which  the 
father  cannot  alienate  ; though  he  strives  to 
make  him  believe,  he  depends  only  on  his  will 
for  maintenance.  Tom  is  now  in  his  nineteenth 
year,  Mrs.  Mary  in  her  Jifteenth.  Cousin  Sa- 
muel, who  understands  no  one  point  of  good  be- 
haviour as  it  regards  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  is 
an  exact  critic  in  the  dress,  the  motion,  the  looks, 
and  gestures  of  his  children.  What  adds  to 
their  misery  is,  that  he  is  excessively  fond  of 
them,  and  the  greatest  part  of  their  time  is  spent 
in  the  presence  of  this  nice  observer.  Their 
life  is  one  continued  constraint.  The  girl  never 
turns  her  head,  but  she  is  warned  not  to  follow 
the  proud  minxes  of  the  town.  The  boy  is  not 
to  turn  fop,  or  be  quarrelsome  ; at  the  same  time, 
not  to  take  an  affront.  I had  the  good  fortune 
to  dine  with  him  to-day,  and  heard  his  fatherly 
table-talk  as  we  sat  at  dinner,  which,  if  my  me- 
mory does  not  fail  me,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
world,  I shall  set  down  as  he  spoke  it ; which 
was  much  as  follows,  and  may  be  of  great  use 
to  those  parents,  who  seem  to  make  it  a rule, 
that  their  children’s  turn  to  enjoy  the  world  is 
not  to  commence,  until  they  themselves  have 
left  it. 

‘Now,  Tom,  I have  bought  you  chambers  in 
the  inns  of  court.  I allow  you  to  take  a walk 
once  or  twice  a-day  round  the  garden.  If  you 
mind  your  business,  you  need  not  study  to  be 
as  great  a lawyer  as  Coke  upon  Littleton.  I 
have  that  that  will  keep  you  ; but  be  sure  you 
2 T 


keep  an  exact  account  of  your  linen.  Write 
down  what  you  give  out  to  your  laundress,  and 
what  she  brings  home  again.  Go  as  little  as 
possible  to  the  other  end  of  the  town  ; but  if  you 
do,  come  home  early.  I believe  I was  as  sharp 
as  you  for  your  years;  and  I had  my  hat  snatched 
off  my  head  coming  home  late  at  a stop  by  St. 
Clement’s  church,  and  I do  not  know  from  that 
day  to  this  who  took  it.  I do  not  care  if  you 
learn  to  fence  a little  ; for  I would  not  have  you 
be  made  a fool  of.  Let  me  have  an  account  of 
every  thing,  every  post ; I am  willing  to  be  at 
that  charge,  and  1 think  you  need  not  spare  your 
pains.  As  for  you,  daughter  Molly,  do  not  mind 
one  word  that  is  said  to  you  in  London  ; for  it  is 
only  for  your  money.’ 


No.  190.]  Tuesday,  June  27,  1710. 

Timeo  Danaos  et  dona  ferentes. 

Virg.  iEn.  ii.  48. 

Trojans  all  Greeks  and  Grecian  gifts  distrust. 

Sheer-lane,  June  26. 

There  are  some  occasions  in  life,  wherein  re- 
gard to  a man’s  self  is  the  most  pitiful  and  con- 
temptible of  all  passions  ; and  such  a time  cer- 
tainly is  when  the  true  public  spirit  of  a nation 
is  run  into  a faction  against  their  friends  and 
benefactors.  I have  hinted  heretofore  some 
things  which  discover  the  real  sorrow  I am  in 
at  the  observation,  that  it  is  now  very  much  so 
in  Great  Britain,  and  have  had  the  honour  to  be 
pelted  with  several  epistles  to  expostulate  with 
me  on  that  subject.  Among  others,  one  from  a 
person  of  the  number  of  those  they  call  Qua- 
kers, who  seems  to  admonish  me  out  of  pure 
zeal  and  good-will.  But  as  there  is  no  charac- 
ter so  unjust  as  that  of  talking  in  party  upon  all 
occasions,  without  respect  to  merit  or  worth  on 
the  contrary  side ; so  there  is  no  part  we  can 
act  so  justifiable  as  to  speak  our  mind  when  we 
see  things  urged  to  extremit}^  against  all  that  is 
praise-worthy  or  valuable  in  life,  upon  general 
and  groundless  suggestions.  But  if  I have 
talked  too  frankly  upon  such  reflections,  my  cor- 
respondent has  laid  before  me,  after  his  way,  the 
error  of  it  in  a manner  that  makes  me  indeed 
thankful  for  his  kindness,  but  the  more  inclinable 
to  repeat  the  imprudence  from  the  necessity  of 
the  circumstance. 

The  twenty-third  of  the  sixth  month, 
which  is  the  month  June. 

‘ Friend  Isaac, — Forasmuch  as  I love  thee, 
I cannot  any  longer  refrain  declaring  my  mind 
unto  thee  concerning  some  things.  Thou  didst 
thyself  indite  the  epistle  inserted  in  one  of 
thy  late  lucubrations,  as  thou  wouldst  have  us 
call  them  : for  verily  thy  friend  of  stone,*  and 
I speak  according  to  knowledge,  hath  no  fin- 
gers ; and  though  he  hath  a mouth,  yet  speaketh 
he  not  therewith  ; nor  yet  did  that  epistle  at  all 
come  unto  thee  from  the  mansion-house  of  the 
scarlet  whore.  It  is  plain  therefore,  that  the 
truth  is  not  in  thee  : but  since  thou  wouldst  lie, 
couldst  not  thou  lie  with  more  discretion  ? 
Wherefore  shouldst  thou  insult  over  the  afflicted. 


* Pasquin.  See  Tatlei',  Numbers  129,  130,  and  187. 
28* 


330 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  191. 


or  add  sorrow  unto  the  heavy  of  heart  ? Truly 
this  gall  proceedeth  not  from  the  spirit  of  meek- 
ness. I tell  thee  moreover,  the  people  of  this 
land  be  marvellously  given  to  change;  insomuch 
that  it  may  likely  come  to  pass,  that  before  thou 
art  many  years  nearer  to  thy  dissolution,  thou 
mayest  behold  him  sitting  on  a high  place  whom 
thou  now  laughest  to  scorn  : and  then  how  wilt 
thou  be  glad  to  humble  thyself  to  the  ground, 
and  lick  the  dust  of  his  feet,  that  thou  mayest 
find  favour  in  his  sight  ? If  thou  didst  meditate 
as  much  upon  the  word,  as  thou  dost  ur^n  the 
profane  scribblings  of  the  wise  ones  of  this  ge- 
neration, thou  wouldst  have  remembered  what 
happened  unto  Shimei,  the  son  of  Gera  the  Ben- 
jamite,  who  cursed  the  good  man  David  in  his 
distress.*  David  pardoned  his  transgression  ; 
yet  was  he  afterwards  taken  as  in  a snare  by 
the  words  of  his  own  mouth,  and  fell  by  the 
sword  of  Solomon  the  chief  ruler. t Further- 
more, I do  not  remember  to  have  heard  in  the 
days  of  my  youth  and  vanity,  w’hen,  like  thine, 
my  conversation  was  with  the  Gentiles,  that  the 
men  of  Rome,  which  is  Babylon,  ever  sued  unto 
the  men  of  Carthage,  for  tranquillity,  as  thou 
dost.  aver.  Neither  was  Hannibal,  the  son  of 
Hamilcar,  called  home  by  his  countrymen,  until 
these  saw  the  sword  of  their  enemies  at  their 
gates ; and  then  was  it  not  time  for  him,  thinkest 
thou,  to  return  ? It  appeareth  therefore  that 
thou  dost  prophesy  backwards ; thou  dost  row 
one  way,  and  look  another  ; and  indeed  in  all 
things  art  thou  too  much  a time-server ; yet 
seemest  thou  not  to  consider  what  a day  may 
bring  forth.  Think  of  this,  and  take  tobacco. 
Thy  friend,  AMINADAB.’ 

If  the  zealous  writer  of  the  above  letter  has 
any  meaning,  it  is  of  too  high  a nature  to  be  the 
subject  of  my  lucubrations.  I shall  therefore 
wave  such  high  points,  and  be  as  useful  as  I can 
to  persons  of  less  moment  than  any  he  hints  at. 
When  a man  runs  into  a little  fame  in  the  world, 
as  he  meets  with  a great  deal  of  reproach  which 
he  does  not  deserve,  so  does  he  also  a great  deal 
of  esteem  to  which  he  has  in  himself  no  preten- 
sions. Were  it  otherwise,  I am  sure  no  one 
would  offer  to  put  a law-case  to  me:  but  because 
I am  an  adept  in  physic  and  astrology,  they  will 
needs  persuade  me  that  I am  no  less  a proficient 
in  all  other  sciences.  However,  the  point  rnen- 
tioned  in  the  following  letter  is  so  plain  a one, 
that  I think  I need  not  trouble  myself  to  cast  a 
figure  to  be  able  to  discuss  it. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — It  is  some  years  ago 
since  the  entail  of  the  estate  of  our  family  was 
altered,  by  passing  a fine  in  favour  of  me,  who 
now  am  in  possession  of  it,  after  some  others 
deceased.  The  heirs-general,  who  lived  beyond 
sea,  were  excluded  by  this  settlement,  and  the 
whole  estate  is  to  pass  in  a new  channel  after 
me  and  my  heirs.  But  several  tenants  of  the 
lordship  persuade  me  to  let  them  hereafter  hold 
their  lands  of  me  according  to  the  old  customs 
of  the  barony,  and  not  oblige  them  to  act  by  the 
limitations  of  the  last  settlement  This,  they 
say,  will  make  me  more  popular  among  my  de- 
pendants, and  the  ancient  vassals  of  the  estate. 


to  whom  any  deviation  from  the  line  of  succes- 
sion is  always  invidious.  Yours,  &c.’ 

Sheer-lane,-  June  24. 

‘ Sir, — You  have  by  the  fine  a plain  right,  in 
which  none  else  of  your  family  can  be  your 
competitor;  for  which  reason,  by  all  means  de- 
mand vassalage  upon  that  title.  The  contrary 
advice  can  be  given  for  no  other  purpose  in  na- 
ture but  to  betray  you,  and  favour  other  pre- 
tenders, by  making  you  place  a right  which  is  in 
you  only,  upon  a level  with  a right  which  you 
have  in  common  with  others.  I am,  Sir,  your 
most  faithful  servant,  until  death,  I.  B.’ 

There  is  nothing  so  dangerous  or  so  pleasing, 
as  compliments  made  to  us  by  our  enemies  : and 
my  correspondent  tells  me,  that  though  he  knows 
several  of  those  who  give  him  this  counsel  were 
at  first  against  passing  the  fine  in  favour  of  him ; 
yet  he  is  so  touched  with  their  homage  to  him, 
that  he  can  hardly  believe  they  have  a mind  to 
set  it  aside,  in  order  to  introduce  the  heirs- 
general  into  his  estate. 

These  are  great  evils  ; but  since  there  is  no 
proceeding  with  success  in  this  world,  without 
complying  with  the  arts  of  it,  I shall  use  the 
same  method  as  my  correspondent’s  tenants  did 
with  him,  in  relation  to  one  whom  I never  had 
a kindness  for ; but  shall,  notwithstanding,  pre- 
sume to  give  my  advice. 

Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire,  of  Great  Britain,  to 
Lewis  the  Fourteenth  of  France. 

‘Sir, — Your  majesty  will  pardon  me  w^hile  I 
take  the  liberty  to  acquaint  you,  that  some  pas- 
sages written  from  your  side  of  the  water  do 
very  much  obstruct  your  interest.  We  take  it 
very  unkindly,  that  the  prints  of  Paris  are  so 
very  partial  in  favour  of  one  set  of  men  among 
us,  and  treat  the  others  as  irreconcileable  to  your 
interests.  Your  w’riters  are  very  large  in  re- 
counting any  thing  w'hich  relates  to  the  figure 
and  power  of  one  party,  but  are  dumb  w'hen 
they  should  represent  the  actions  of  the  other. 
This  is  a trifling  circumstance  which  many 
here  are  apt  to  lay  some  stress  upon  ; and  there- 
fore I thought  fit  to  offer  it  to  your  considera- 
tion before  you  despatch  the  next  courier.  I.  B.’ 


No.  191.]  Thursday,  June  29,  1710. 

Propter  vitam  vivendi  perdere  causas. 

Juv.  Sat.  viii.  84. 

Basely  they 

The  sacred  cause  for  which  they're  born,  betray. 
Who  give  up  virtue  for  a worthless  life.  R.  tVynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  28. 

Of  ail  the  evils  under  the  sun,  that  of  making 
vice  commendable  is  the  greatest ; for  it  seems 
to  be  the  basis  of  society,  that  applause  and  con- 
tempt  should  be  always  given  to  proper  objects. 
But  in  this  age  we  behold  things,  for  w'hich  we 
ought  to  have  an  abhorrence,  not  only  received 
without  disdain,  but  even  valued  as  motives  of 
emulation.  This  is  naturally  the  destruction 
of  simplicity  of  manners,  openness  of  heart,  and 


♦ Sam.  xvi.  13. 


t 1 Kings  ii.  8.  38.  ad  finem. 


No.  191.] 


THE  TATLER. 


33] 


generosity  of  temper.  When  a person  gives 
himself  the  liberty  to  range  and  run  over  in  his 
thoughts  the  different  geniuses  of  men,  which 
he  meets  in  the  world,  one  cannot  but  observe, 
that  most  of  the  indirection  and  artifice,  which 
is  used  among  men,  does  not  proceed  so  much 
from  a degeneracy  in  nature,  as  an  affectation 
of  appearing  men  of  consequence  by  such  prac- 
tices. By  this  means  it  is,  that  a cunning  man 
is  so  far  from  being  ashamed  of  being  esteemed 
such,  that  he  secretly  rejoices  in  it.  It  has  been 
a sort  of  maxim,  tliat  the  greatest  art  is  to  con- 
ceal art ; but  I know  not  how,  among  some  peo- 
ple we  meet  with,  their  greatest  cunning  is 
to  appear  cunning.  I’liere  is  Polypragmon 
makes  it  the  whole  business  of  his  life  to  be 
thought  a cunning  fellow,  and  thinks  it  a much 
greater  character  to  be  terrible  than  agreeable. 
When  it  has  once  entered  into  a man’s  head  to 
have  an  ambition  to  be  thought  crafty,  all  other 
evils  are  necessary  consequences.  To  deceive 
is  the  immediate  endeavour  of  him  who  is  proud 
of  the  capacity  of  doing  it.  It  is  certain,  Poly- 
pragmon does  all  the  ill  he  possibly  can,  but 
pretends  to  much  more  than  he  performs.  He 
is  contented  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  hugs  him- 
self in  his  closet,  that  though  he  is  locked  up 
there,  and  doing  nothing,  the  world  does  not 
know  but  that  he  is  doing  mischief.  To  favour  ‘ 
this  suspicion,  he  gives  half  looks  and  shrugs  in  j 
his  general  behaviour,  to  give  you  to  understand  j 
that  you  do  not  know  what  he  means.  He  is 
also  wonderfully  adverbial  in  his  expressions, 
and  breaks  off  with  a ‘Perhaps’  and  a nod  of  the 
head,  upon  matters  of  the  most  indifferent  na- 
ture.  It  is  a mighty  practice  with  men  of  this 
genius  to  avoid  frequent  appearance  in  public, 
and  to  be  as  mysterious  as  possible  when  they 
do  come  into  company.  There  is  nothing  to 
be  done,  according  to  them,  in  the  common  way  ; 
and  let  the  matter  in  hand  be  what  it  will,  it 
must  be  carried  with  an  air  of  importance,  and 
transacted,  if  wc  may  so  speak,  with  an  osten- 
tatious secrecy.  These  are  your  persons  of  long 
heads,  who  would  fain  make  the  world  believe 
their  thoughts  and  ideas  are  very  much  superior 
to  their  neighbours  ; and  do  not  value  what  these 
their  neighbours  think  of  them,  provided  they 
do  not  reckon  them  fools.  These  have  such  a 
romantic  touch  in  business,  that  they  hate  to 
perform  any  thing  like  other  men.  Were  it  in 
their  choice,  they  had  rather  bring  their  pur- 
poses  to  bear  by  over-reaching  the  persons  they 
deal  with,  than  by  a plain  and  simple  manner. 
They  make  difficulties  for  the  honour  of  sur- 
mounting them.  Polypragmon  is  eternally  bu- 
sied  after  this  manner,  with  no  other  prospect, 
than  that  he  is  in  hopes  to  be  thought  the  most 
cunning  of  all  men,  and  fears  the  imputation  of 
want  of  understanding  much  more  than  that  of 
the  abuse  of  it.  But  alas  ! how  contemptible  is 
such  an  ambition,  which  is  the  very  reverse  of 
all  that  is  truly  laudable,  and  the  very  contradic- 
tion to  the  only  means  to  a just  reputation,  sim- 
plicity of  manners  ! Cunning  can  in  no  cir- 
cumstance imaginable  be  a quality  worthy  a 
man,  except  in  his  own  defence,  and  merely  to 
conceal  himself  from  such  as  are  so ; and  in  such 
cases,  it  is  no  longer  craft,  but  wisdotn.  The 
monstrous  affectation  of  being  thought  artful. 


immediately  kills  all  thoughts  of  humanity  and 
goodness,  and  gives  men  a sense  of  the  soft  af- 
fections and  impulses  of  the  mind,  which  are 
imprinted  in  us  for  our  mutual  advantage  and 
succour,  as  of  mere  weaknesses  and  follies.  Ac- 
cording to  the  metv  of  cunning,  you  are  to  put 
off  the  nature  of  a man  as  fast  as  you  can,  and 
acquire  that  of  a desmon ; as  if  it  were  a more 
eligible  character  to  be  a powerful  enemy,  than 
an  able  friend.  But  it  ought  to  be  a mortifica- 
tion to  men  affected  this  way,  that  there  wants 
but  little  more  than  instinct  to  be  considerable 
in  it ; for  when  a man  has  arrived  at  being  very 
bad  in  his  inclination,  he  has  not  much  more  to 
do  but  to  conceal  himself,  and  he  may  revenge, 
cheat,  and  deceive,  without  much  employment 
for  understanding,  and  go  on  with  great  cheer- 
fulness with  the  high  applause  of  being  a prodi- 
gious cunning  fellow.  But  indeed,  when  we  ar- 
1 rive  at  that  pitch  of  false  taste,  as  not  to  think 
( cunning  a contemptible  quality,  it  is,  methinks, 

! a very  great  injustice  that  pick-pockets  are  had 
! in  so  little  veneration ; who  must  be  admirably 
j well  turned,  not  only  for  the  theoretic,  but  also 
I the  practical  behaviour  of  cunning  fellows.  After 
; all  the  endeavours  of  this  family  of  men  whom 
; we  call  cunning,  their  whole  work  falls  to  pieces, 
if  others  trample  down  all  esteem  for  such  arti- 
fices ; and  treat  it  as  an  unmanly  quality,  which 
j they  forbear  to  practice  only  because  they  abhor 
] it.  When  the  spider  is  ranging  in  the  different 
apartments  of  his  web,  it  is  true,  that  he  only 
can  weave  so  fine  a thread  ; but  it  is  in  the  power 
of  the  merest  drone  that  has  wings,  to  fiy 
through  and  destroy  it. 

Will's  Coffee-house^  June  28 

Though  the  taste  of  wit  and  pleasure  is  at 
present  but  very  low  in  this  town,  yet  there  are 
some  that  preserve  their  relish  undebauched 
Avith  common  impressions,  and  can  distinguish 
between  reality  and  imposture.  A gentleman 
was  saying  here  this  evening,  that  he  would  go 
to  the  play  to-morrow  night,  to  see  heroism  as  it 
has  been  represented  by  some  of  our  tragedians, 
represented  in  burlesque.  It  seems,  the  play  of 
Alexander  is  to  be  then  turned  into  ridicule  for 
its  bombast,  and  other  false  ornaments  in  the 
thoughts  as  well  as  the  language.  The  bluster 
Alexander  makes  is  as  much  inconsistent  with 
the  character  of  a hero,  as  tlie  roughness  of  Cly- 
tus,  an  instance  of  the  sincerity  of  a bold  artless 
soldier.  To  bo  plain  is  not  to  be  rude,  but  ra- 
ther inclines  a man  to  civility  and  deference  ; 
not  indeed  to  show  it  in  the  gestures  of  the  body, 
but  in  the  sentiments  of  the  mind.  It  is,  among 
other  things,  from  the  impertinent  figures  un- 
skilful dramatists  draw  of  the  characters  of  men, 
that  youth  are  bewildered  and  prejudiced  in 
their  sense  of  the  world,  of  which  they  have  no 
notions  but  what  they  draw  from  books  and  such 
representations.  Thus,  talk  to  a very  young 
man,  let  him  be  of  never  so  good  sense,  and  he 
shall  smile  when  you  speak  of  sincerity  in  a 
courtier,  good  sense  in  a soldier,  or  honesty  in 
a politician.  The  reason  of  this  is,  that  you 
hardly  see  one  play  wherein  each  of  these  ways 
of  life  is  not  drawn  by  hands  that  know  nothing 
of  any  one  of  them ; and  the  truth  is  so  far  of 
the  opposite  side  to  what  they  paint,  that  it  is 


332 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  192. 


more  impracticable  to  live  in  esteem  in  courts 
than  any  where  else  without  sincerity.  Good 
sense  is  the  great  requisite  in  a soldier,  and 
honesty  the  only  thing  that  ean  support  a poli- 
tician. This  way  of  thinking  made  the  gentle- 
man, of  whom  I was  just  now  speaking,  say,  he 
was  glad  any  one  had  taken  upon  him  to  de- 
preciate such  unnatural  fustian  as  the  tragedy 
of  Alexander.  The  character  of  that  prince  in- 
deed was,  that  he  was  unequal,  and  given  to  in- 
temperance ; but  in  his  sober  moments,  when 
he  had  the  precepts  of  his  great  instructor  warm 
in  his  imagination,  he  was  a pattern  of  generous 
thoughts  and  dispositions,  in  opposition  to  the 
strongest  desires  winch  are  incident  to  a youth 
and  conqueror.  But  instead  of  representing  that 
hero  in  the  glorious  character  of  generosity  and 
chastity,  in  his  treatment  of  the  beauteous  fami- 
ly of  Darius,  he  is  drawn  all  along  as  a monster 
of  lust,  or  of  cruelty  ; as  if  the  way  to  raise  him 
to  the  degree  of  a hero,  were  to  make  his  charac- 
ter as  little  like  that  of  a worthy  man  as  pos- 
sible. Such  rude  and  indigested  draughts  of 
things  are  the  proper  objects  of  ridicule  and 
contempt ; and  depreciating  Alexander,  as  we 
have  him  drawn,  is  the  only  way  of  restoring 
him  to  what  he  was  in  himself.  Jt  is  well  con- 
trived of  the  players  to  let  this  part  be  followed 
by  a true  picture  of  life,  in  the  comedy  called, 
‘ The  Chances,’*  wherein  Don  John  and  Con- 
stantia  are  acted  to  the  utmost  perfection.  There 
need  not  be  a greater  instance  of  the  force  of 
action  than  in  many  incidents  of  this  play, 
where  indifferent  passages,  and  such  as  conduce 
only  to  tacking  of  the  scenes  together,  are  en- 
livened with  such  an  agreeable  gesture  and  be- 
haviour, as  apparently  shows  what  a play  might 
be,  though  it  is  not  wholly  what  a play  should 
be. 


No.  192.]  Saturday,  July 

Tecum  vivere  amem,  tecum  obeam  libens. 

Hor.  3 Od.  ix.  ver.  ult. 

Gladly  I 

With  thee  would  live,  with  thee  would  die. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  June  30. 

Some  years  since  I was  engaged  with  a coach- 
full  of  friends  to  take  a journey  as  far  as  the 
Land’s  End.  We  were  veiy  well  pleased  with 
one  another  the  first  day  ; every  one  endeavour- 
ing to  recommend  himself  by  his  good  humour 
and  complaisance  to  the  rest  of  the  company. 
This  good  correspondence  did  not  last  long  ; one 
of  our  party  was  soured  the  very  first  evening 
by  a plate  of  butter  which  had  not  been  melted 
to  his  mind,  and  which  spoiled  his  temper  to 
such  a degree,  that  he  continued  upon  the  fret 
to  the  end  of  our  journey.  A second  fell  off  from 
his  good  humour  the  next  morning,  for  no  other 
reason,  that  I could  imagine,  but  because  I 
chanced  to  step  into  the  coach  before  him,  and 
place  myself  on  the  shady  side.  This,  however, 
was  but  my  own  private  guess ; for  he  did  not 


* A comedy  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  altered  and 
amended  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 


mention  a word  of  it,  nor  indeed  of  any  thing 
else,  for  three  days  following.  The  rest  of  out 
company  held  out  very  near  half  the  way,  when, 
on  a sudden,  Mr.  Sprightly  fell  asleep ; and,  in- 
stead  of  endeavouring  to  divert  and  oblige  us,  as 
he  had  hitherto  done,  carried  himself  with  an 
unconcerned,  careless,  drowsy  behaviour,  until 
we  came  to  our  last  stage.  There  were  three 
of  us  who  still  held  up  our  heads,  and  did  all  we 
could  to  make  our  journey  agreeable  ; but,  to  my 
shame  be  it  spoken,  about  three  miles  on  this  side 
Exeter,  I was  taken  with  an  unaccountable  fit 
of  sullenness,  that  hung  upon  me  for  above  three- 
score miles;  whether  it  were  for  want  of  respect, 
or  from  an  accidental  tread  upon  my  foot,  or 
from  a foolish  maid’s  calling  me  ‘ The  old  gen- 
tleman,’  I cannot  tell.  In  short,  there  was  but 
one  who  kept  his  good  humour  to  the  Land’s 
End. 

There  was  another  coach  that  went  along  with 
us,  in  which  I likewise  observed  that  there  were 
many  secret  jealousies,  heart-burnings  and  ani- 
mosities : for  when  we  joined  companies  at 
night,  1 could  not  but  take  notice,  that  the  pas- 
sengers neglected  their' own  company,  and 
studied  how  to  make  themselves  esteemed  by 
us,  who  were  altogetlier  strangers  to  them  ; un- 
til  at  length  they  grew  so  well  acquainted  with 
us,  that  they  liked  us  as  little  as  they  did  one 
another.  When  I reflect  upon  this  journey,  I 
often  fancy  it  to  be  a picture  of  liuman  life,  in 
respect  to  the  several  friendships,  contracts,  and 
alliances,  that  are  made  and  dissolved  in  the  se- 
veral periods  of  it.  The  most  delightful  and 
most  lasting  engagements  are  generally  those 
which  pass  between  man  and  woman  ; and  yet 
upon  what  trifles  are  they  weakened,  or  entirely 
broken!  Sometimes  the  parties  fly  asunder  even 
in  the  midst  of  courtship,  and  sometimes  grow 
cool  in  the  very  honey-month.  Some  separate 
before  the  first  child,  and  some  after  the  fifth  ; 
others  continue  good  until  thirty,  others  until 
forty  ; while  some  few,  whose  souls  are  of  a hap- 
pier  make,  and  better  fitted  to  one  another,  tra- 
vel on  together  to  the  end  of  their  journey  in  a 
continual  intercourse  of  kind  offices,  and  mutual 
endearments. 

When  we  therefore  choose  our  companions 
for  life,  if  we  hope  to  keep  both  them  and  our- 
selves in  good  humour  to  the  last  stage  of  it,  we 
must  be  extremely  careful  in  the  choice  we 
make,  as  well  as  in  the  conduct  on  our  owm  part. 
When  the  persons  to  whom  we  join  ourselves 
can  stand  an  examination,  and  bear  the  scruti- 
ny ; when  they  mend  upon  our  acquaintance 
with  them,  and  discover  new  beauties,  the  more 
we  search  into  their  characters ; our  love  will 
naturally  rise  in  proportion  to  their  perfec- 
tions. 

But  because  there  are  very  few  possessed  of 
such  accomplishments  of  body  and  mind,  we 
ought  to  look  after  those  qualifications  both  in 
ourselves  and  others,  which  are  indispensably 
necessary  towards  this  happy  union,  and  which 
are  in  the  power  of  every  one  to  acquire,  or  at 
least  to  cultivate  and  improve.  These,  in  my 
opinion,  are  cheerfulness  and  constancy.  A 
cheerful  temper,  joined  with  innocence,  will 
make  beauty  attractive,  knowledge  delightful, 
and  wit  good-natured.  It  will  lighten  sickness, 


No.  193.] 


THE  TATLER. 


333 


poverty,  and  affliction ; convert  ignorance  into 
an  amiable  simplicity  ; and  render  deformity 
itself  agreeable. 

Constancy  is  natural  to  persons  of  even  tem- 
pers and  uniform  dispositions ; and  may  be  ac- 
quired by  those  of  the  greatest  fickleness,  vio- 
lence, and  passion,  who  consider  seriously  the 
terms  of  union  upon  whieh  they  come  together, 
the  mutual  interest  in  which  they  are  engaged, 
with  all  the  motives  that  ought  to  incite  their 
tenderness  and  compassion  towards  those  who 
have  their  dependence  upon  them,  and  are  em- 
barked with  them  for  life  in  the  same  state  of 
happiness  or  misery.  Constancy,  when  it  grows 
in  the  mind,  upon  considerations  of  this  nature, 
becomes  a moral  virtue,  and  a kind  of  good- 
nature, that  is  not  subject  to  any  change  of 
health,  age,  fortune,  or  any  of  those  aceiderits, 
which  are  apt  to  unsettle  the  best  dispositions 
that  are  founded  rather  in  constitution  than  in 
reason.  Where  such  a constancy  as  this  is 
wanting,  the  most  inflamed  passion  may  fall 
away  into  coldness  and  indifference,  and  the 
most  melting  tenderness  degenerate  into  hatred 
and  aversion.  I shall  conclude  this  paper  with 
a story  that  is  very  well  known  in  the  north  of 
England. 

About  thirty  years  ago,  a pachet-hoat  that  had 
several  passengers  on  board  was  cast  away  upon 
a rock,  and  in  so  great  danger  of  sinking,  that 
all  who  were  in  it  endeavoured  to  save  them- 
selves as  well  as  they  could;  though  only  those 
who  could  swim  well  had  a bare  possibility  of 
doing  it.  Among  the  passengers  there  were  two 
women  of  fashion,  who,  seeing  themselves  in 
such  a disconsolate  condition,  begged  of  their 
husbands  not  to  leave  them.  One  of  them  chose 
rather  to  die  with  his  wife  than  to  forsake  her  ; 
the  other,  though  he  was  moved  with  the  utmost 
compassion  for  his  wife,  told  her,  ‘ that  for  the 
good  of  their  children,  it  was  better  one  of  them 
should  live,  than  both  perish.’  By  a great  piece 
of  good  luck,  next  to  a miracle,  when  one  of  our 
good  men  had  taken  the  last  and  long  farewell 
in  order  to  save  himself,  and  the  other  held  in 
his  arms  the  person  that  was  dearer  to  him  than 
life’  the  ship  was  preserved.  It  is  with  a secret 
sorrow  and  vexation  of  mind  that  I must  tell 
the  sequel  of  the  story,  and  let  my  reader  know, 
that  this  faithful  pair  who  were  ready  to  have 
died  in  each  other’s  arms,  about  three  years 
after  their  escape,  upon  some  trifling  disgust, 
grew  to  a coldness  at  first,  and  at  length  fell  out 
to  such  a degree,  that  tliey  left  one  another,  and 
parted  for  ever.  The  other  couple  lived  together 
in  an  uninterrupted  friendship  and  felicity  ; and, 
what  was  remarkable,  the  husband,  whom  the 
shipwreck  had  like  to  have  separated  from  his 
wife,  died  a few  months  after  her,  not  being  able 
to  survive  the  loss  of  her. 

I must  confess,  there  is  something  in  the 
changeableness  and  inconstancy  of  human  na- 
ture, that  very  often  both  dejects  and  terrifies 
me.  Whatever  I am  at  present,  I tremble  to 
think  what  I may  be.  While  I find  this  prin- 
ciple in  me,  how  can  I assure  myself  that  I 
shall  be  always  true  to  my  God,  my  friend,  or 
myself?  In  short,  without  constancy  there 
is  neither  love,  friendship,  nor  virtue,  in  the 
world. 


No.  193.]  Tuesday^  July  4,  1710. 

Q,iii  didicit  patrirnquid  debeat,  et  quid  amicis; 

Uiio  sit  ainore  parens,  quo  frater  ainanduset  liospes ; — • 
Kaddero  personaj  scit  convenientia  cuique. 

Ilor.  Ars  J’oet.  ver.  312. 

Tlie  poet,  who  with  nice  discernment  knows 
What  to  liis  country  and  his  friends  he  owes  ; 

How  various  nature  warms  the  human  breast, 

To  love  the  parent,  brother,  friend  or  guest, — 

He  surely  knows,  with  nice,  well-judging  art. 

The  strokes  peculiar  to  each  different  part.  Francis. 

Will's  Coffee-house.,  July  3. 

I HAVE  of  late  received  many  epistles,  where- 
in the  writers  treat  me  as  a mercenary  person, 
for  some  little  hints  concerning  matters  which, 
they  think,  I should  not  have  touched  upon  but 
for  sordid  considerations.  It  is  apparent,  that 
my  motive  could  not  be  of  that  kind  ; for  when 
a man  declares  himself  openly  on  one  side,  that 
party  will  take  no  more  notice  of  him,  because 
he  is  sure  ; and  the  set  of  men  whom  he  de- 
clares against,  for  the  same  reason,  are  violent 
against  him.  Thus  it  is  folly  in  a plain-dealer 
! to  expect,  that  either  his  friends  will  reward 
him,  or  his  enemies  forgive  him.  For  which 
reason,  I thought  it  was  the  shortest  way  to  im- 
partiality, to  put  myself  beyond  further  hopes  or 
fears,  by  declaring  myself  at  a time  when  the 
dispute  is  not  about  persons  and  parties,  but 
things  and  causes.  To  relieve  myself  from  the 
vexation  which  naturally  attends  such  reflec- 
tions, I came  hither  this  evening  to  give  my 
thoughts  quite  a new  turn,  and  converse  with 
men  of  pleasure  and  wit,  rather  than  those  of 
business  and  intrigue.  I had  hardly  entered 
the  room  when  I was  accosted  by  Mr.  Thomas 
Dogget,  who  desired  my  favour  in  relation  to 
the  play  which  was  to  be  acted  for  his  benefit 
on  Thursday.  He  pleased  me  in  saying  it  was 
‘ The  Old  Bachelor,’  in  which  comedy  there  is 
a necessary  circumstance  observed  by  the  au- 
thor, which  most  other  poets  either  overlook  or 
do  not  understand,  that  is  to  say,  the  distinction 
of  characters.  It  is  very  ordinary  with  writers 
to  indulge  a certain  modesty  of  believing  all 
men  as  witty  as  themselves,  and  making  all  the 
persons  of  the  play  speak  the  sentiments  of  the 
author,  without  any  manner  of  respect  to  the 
age,  fortune,  or  quality,  of  him  that  is  on  the 
stage.  Ladies  talk  like  rakes,  and  footmen 
make  similes : but  this  writer  knows  men ; 
which  makes  his  plays  reasonable  entertain- 
ments, while  the  scenes  of  most  others  are  like 
the  tunes  between  the  acts.  They  are  perhaps 
agreeable  sounds;  but  they  have  no  ideas  affixed 
to  them.  Dogget  thanked  me  for  my  visit  to 
him  in  the  winter  ; and,  after  his  comic  manner, 
spoke  his  request  with  so  arch  a leer,  that  I pro- 
mised the  droll  I would  speak  to  all  my  ac- 
quaintance to  be  at  his  play. 

Whatever  the  world  may  think  of  the  actors, 
whether  it  be  that  their  parts  have  an  effect 
on  their  lives,  or  whatever  it  is,  you  see  a won- 
derful benevolence  among  them  towards  the  in- 
terests and  necessities  of  each  other.  Dogget 
therefore  would  not  let  me  go,  without  deliver- 
ing me  a letter  from  poor  old  Downs,  the  promp- 
ter,  wherein  that  retainer  to  the  theatre  desires 
my  advice  and  assistance  in  a matter  of  concern 


334 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  194. 


to  him.  I have  sent  him  my  private  opinion 
for  his  conduct ; but  the  stage  and  state  affairs 
being  so  much  canvassed  by  parties  and  fac- 
tions, I shall  for  some  time  hereafter  take  leave 
of  subjects  which  relate  to  either  of  them ; and 
employ  my  cares  in  the  consideration  of  mat- 
ters, which  regard  that  part  of  mankind  who 
live  without  interesting  themselves  with  the 
troubles  or  pleasures  of  either.  However,  for  a 
mere  notion  of  the  present  posture  of  the  stage, 
I shall  give  you  the  letter  at  large,  as  follows  : 

July  1, 1710. 

‘Honoured  Sir, — Finding  by  divers  of  your 
late  papers,  that  you  are  a friend  to  the  profes- 
sion of  which  I was  many  years  an  unworthy 
member,  I the  rather  make  bold  to  crave  your 
advice  touching  a proposal  that  has  been  lately 
made  me  of  coming  again  into  business,  and 
the  sub-administration  of  stage  affairs.  I have, 
from  my  youth,  been  bred  up  behind  the  curtain, 
and  been  a prompter  from  the  time  of  the  Resto- 
ration. I have  seen  many  changes,  as  well  of 
scenes  as  of  actors  ; and  have  known  men  with- 
in my  remembrance  arrive  to  the  highest  digni- 
ties of  the  theatre,  who  made  their  entrance  in 
the  quality  of  mutes,  joint-stools,  flower-pots, 
and  tapestry  hangings.  It  cannot  be  unknown 
to  the  nobility  and  gentry,  that  a gentleman  of 
the  inns  of  court,  and  a deep  intriguer,  had  some 
time  since  worked  himself  into  the  sole  man- 
agement and  direction  of  the  theatre.  Nor  is  it 
less  notorious,  that  his  restless  ambition,  and 
subtle  machinations,  did  manifestly  tend  to  the 
extirpation  of  the  good  old  British  actors,  and 
the  introduction  of  foreign  pretenders  ; such  as 
Harlequins,  French  dancers,  and  Roman  sing- 
ers ; who,  though  they  impoverished  the  pro- 
prietors, and  imposed  on  the  audience,  were  for 
some  time  tolerated,  by  reason  of  his  dexterous 
insinuations,  which  prevailed  upon  a few  de- 
luded women,  especially  the  Vizard  Masks,*  to 
believe  that  the  stage  was  in  danger.  But  his 
schemes  were  soon  exposed  ; and  the  great  ones 
that  supported  him  withdrawing  their  favour, 
he  made  his  exit,  and  remained  for  a season  in 
obscurity.  During  this  retreat  the  Machiavilian 
was  not  idle  ; but  secretly  fomented  divisions, 
and  wrought  over  to  his  side  some  of  the  infe- 
rior actors,  reserving  a trap-door  to  himself,  to 
which  only  he  had  a key\  This  entrance  se- 
cured, this  cunning  person,  to  complete  his  com- 
pany, bethought  himself  of  calling  in  the  most 
eminent  strollers  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom. 
I have  seen  them  all  ranged  together  behind  the 
scenes  ; but  they  are  many  of  them  persons 
that  never  trod  the  stage  before,  and  so  very 
awkward  and  ungainly,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
believe  the  audience  will  bear  them.  He  was 
looking  over  his  catalogue  of  plays,  and  indeed 
picked  up  a good  tolerable  set  of  grave  faces  for 
counsellors,  to  appear  in  the  famous  scene  of 
“Venice  Preserved,”  when  the  danger  is  over  ; 
but  they  being  but  mere  outsides,  and  the  actors 
having  a great  mind  to  play  “ The  Tempest,” 
there  is  not  a man  of  them,  when  he  is  to  per- 


*  It  is  well  known  that  the  mask,  which  conferred  a 
certain  degree  of  invisibility,  and  concealed  many  immo- 
ralities, was  long  used  by  women  of  intrigue  and  plea- 
sure. 


form  any  thing  above  dumb  show,  is  capable  of 
acting  with  a good  grace  so  much  as  the  part 
of  Trincalo.  However,  the  master  persists  in 
his  design,  and  is  fitting  up  the  old  storm  ; but 
I am  afraid  he  will  not  be-  able  to  procure  able 
sailors  or  experienced  officers  for  love  or  money. 

‘ Besides  all  this,  when  he  comes  to  cast  the 
parts,  there  is  so  great  a confusion  amongst 
them  for  want  of  proper  actors,  that  for  my  part, 
I am  wholly  discouraged.  The  play  with  which 
they  design  to  open  is,  “ The  Duke  and  no 
Duke  ;”  and  they  are  so  put  to  it,  that  the  mas- 
ter himself  is  to  act  the  Conjurer,  and  they 
have  no  one  for  the  General  but  honest  George 
Powell. 

‘ Now,  sir,  they  being  so  much  at  a loss  for 
the  Dramatis  FersoncB ; viz.  tbe  persons  to 
enact,  and  the  whole  frame  of  the  house  being 
designed  to  be  altered,  I desire  your  opinion, 
whether  you  think  it  advisable  for  me  to  un- 
dertake to  prompt  them  ? For  though  I can 
clash  swords  when  they  represent  a battle,  and 
have  yet  lungs  enough  left  to  huzza  their  victo- 
ries,  I question,  if  I should  prompt  them  right, 
whether  they  would  act  accordingly.  I am 
your  honour’s  most  humble  servant, 

‘ J.  DOWNS. 

‘ P.  S.  Sir,  since  I writ  this,  I am  credibly 
informed,  that  they  design  a new  house  in  Lin- 
coln’s-inn-flelds,  near  the  popish  chapel,  to  be 
ready  by  Michaelmas  next ; which  indeed  is  but 
repairing  an  old  one  that  has  already  failed. 
You  know,  the  honest  man  who  kept  the  office 
is  gone  already.’ 


No.  194.]  Thursday,  July  6,  1710. 

Militat  omnis  amans.  Ovid.  Amor.  El.  ix.  ver.  1, 

The  toils  of  love  require  a warrior’s  art, 

And  every  lover  plays  a soldier’s  part.  R,  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apaiiment,  July  5. 

I WAS  this  morning  reading  the  tenth  canto 
in  the  fourth  book  of  Spencer,  in  w’hich  sir 
Scudamore  relates  the  progress  of  his  courtship 
to  Amoret  under  a very  beautiful  allegory, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  natural  and  unmixed 
of  any  in  that  most  excellent  author.  I shall 
transprose  it,  to  use  Mr.  Bayes’s  term,  for  the 
benefit  of  many  English  lovers,  who  have,  by 
frequent  letters,  desired  me  to  lay  dowm  some 
rules  for  the  conduct  of  their  virtuous  amours  ; 
and  shall  only  premise,  that  by  the  Shield  of 
Love  is  meant  a generous,  constant  passion  for 
the  person  beloved. 

‘ When  the  fame,’  says  he,  ‘ of  this  celebrated 
beauty  first  flew  abroad,  I w’ent  in  pursuit  of 
her  to  the  Temple  of  Love.  This  temple,’  con- 
tinues he,  ‘ bore  the  name  of  the  goddess  Venus, 
and  was  seated  in  a most  fruitful  island,  walled 
by  nature  against  all  invaders.  There  was  a 
single  bridge  that  led  into  the  island,  and  before 
it  a castle  garrisoned  by  twenty  knights.  Near 
the  castle  was  an  open  plain,  and  in  the  midst 
of  it  a pillar,  on  which  W’as  hung  the  Shield  of 
Love  ; and  underneath  it,  in  letters  of  gold,  was 
this  inscription : 


No.  194.] 


THE  TATLER. 


335 


‘ Happy  the  man  who  well  can  use  his  bliss ; 

Whose  ever  be  the  shield,  fair  Ainoret  be  his.’ 

‘ My  heart  panted  upon  reading-  the  inscrip- 
tion : I struck  upon  the  shield  with  my  spear. 
Immediately  issued  forth  a knight  well  mount- 
ed, and  completely  armed,  who,  without  speak- 
ing, ran  fiercely  at  me.  I received  him  as  well 
as  I could,  and  by  good  fortune  threw  him  out 
of  the  saddle.  I encountered  the  whole  twenty 
successively,  and  leaving  them  all  extended  on 
the  plain,  carried  off  the  shield  in  token  of  vic- 
tory. Having  thus  vanquished  ray  rivals,  I 
passed  on  without  impediment,  until  I came  to 
the  utmost  gate  of  the  bridge,  which  I found 
locked  and  barred.  I knocked  and  called;  but 
could  get  no  ans-wer.  At  last  I saw  one  on 
the  other  side  of  the  gate,  who  stood  peeping 
through  a small  crevice.  This  was  the  porter ; 
he  had  a double  face  resembling  a Janus,  and 
was  continually  looking  about  him,  as  if  he 
mistrusted  some  sudden  danger.  His  name,  as 
I afterwards  learned,  was  Doubt.  Overagainst 
him  sat  Delay,  who  entertained  passengers  with 
some  idle  story,  while  they  lost  such  opportuni- 
ties as  were  never  to  be  recovered.  As  soon  as 
the  porter  saw  my  shield,  he  opened  the  gate  ; 
but,  upon  my  entering.  Delay  caught  hold  of 
me,  and  would  fain  have  made  me  listen  to  her 
fooleries.  However,  I shook  her  off,  and  passed 
forward  until  I came  to  the  second  gate,  “ The 
Gate  of  Good  Desert,”  which  always  stood  wide 
open  ; but  in  the  porch  was  a hideous  giant,  that 
stopped  the  entrance  ; his  name  was  Danger. 
Many  warriors  of  good  reputation,  not  able  to 
bear  the  sternness  of  his  look,  went  back  again. 
Cowards  fled  at  the  first  sight  of  him ; except 
some  few,  who,  watching  their  opportunity, 
slipt  by  him  unobserved.  I prepared  to  assault 
him  ; but,  upon  the  first  sight  of  my  shield,  he 
immediately  gave  way.  Looking  back  upon 
him,  I found  his  hinder  parts  much  more  de- 
formed and  terrible  than  his  face ; Hatred, 
Murder,  Treason,  Envy,  and  Detraction,  lying 
in  ambush  behind  him,  to  fall  upon  the  heedless 
and  unwary. 

‘ I now  entered  the  “ Island  of  Love,”  which 
appeared  in  all  the  beauties  of  art  and  nature, 
and  feasted  every  sense  with  the  most  agreeable 
objects.  Amidst  a pleasing  variety  of  walks  and 
alleys,  shady  seats  and  flowery  banks,  sunny 
hills  and  gloomy  valleys,  were  thousands  of  lo- 
vers sitting,  or  walking  together  in  pairs,  and 
singing  hymns  to  the  deity  of  the  place. 

‘ I could  not  forbear  envying  this  happy  peo- 
ple, who  were  already  in  possession  of  all  they 
could  desire.  While  I went  forward  to  the  tem- 
ple, the  structure  was  beautiful  beyond  imagina- 
tion. The  gate  stood  open.  In  the  entrance 
sat  a most  amiable  woman  whose  name  was 
Concord. 

‘ On  either  side  of  her  stood  two  young  men, 
both  strongly  armed,  as  if  afraid  of  each  other. 
As  I afterwards  learned,  they  were  both  her 
sons,  but  begotten  of  her  by  two  different  fa- 
thers ; their  names  Love  and  Hatred. 

‘ The  lady  so  well  tempered  and  reconciled 
them  both,  that  she  forced  them  to  join  hands ; 
though  I could  not  but  observe,  that  Hatred 
turned  aside  his  face,  as  not  able  to  endure  the 
sight  of  his  younger  brother. 


‘ I at  length  entered  the  inmost  temple,  the 
roof  of  which  was  raised  upon  a hundred  mar- 
ble pillars,  decked  with  crowns,  chains  and  gar- 
lands. The  ground  was  strewed  with  flowers. 
A hundred  altars,  at  each  of  which  stood  a vir- 
gin-priestess clothed  in  white,  blazed  all  at  once 
with  the  sacrifice  of  lovers,  who  were  perpe- 
tually sending  up  their  vows  to  heaven  in  clouds 
of  incense. 

‘ In  the  midst  stood  the  goddess  herself  upon 
an  altar  whose  substance  was  neither  gold  nor 
stone,  but  infinitely  more  precious  than  either. 
About  her  neck  flew  numberless  flocks  of  little 
Loves,  Joys,  and  Graces  ; and  all  about  her  al- 
tar lay  scattered  heaps  of  lovers,  complaining  of 
the  disdain,  pride,  or  treachery  of  their  mis- 
tresses. One  among  the  rest,  no  longer  able  to 
contain  his  griefs,  broke  out  into  the  following 
prayer  : 

“ Venus,  queen  of  grace  and  beauty,  joy  of 
gods  and  men,  who,  with  a smile  becalrnest  the 
seas,  and  renewest  all  nature ; goddess,  whom 
all  the  different  species  in  the  universe  obey 
with  joy  and  pleasure,  grant  I may  at  last  ob- 
tain the  object  of  my  vows.” 

‘ The  impatient  lover  pronounced  this  with 
great  vehemence ; but  I,  in  a soft  murmur,  be 
sought  the  goddess  to  lend  me  her  assistance. 
While  I was  thus  praying,  I chanced  to  cast 
my  eye  on  a company  of  ladies,  who  were  as- 
sembled together  in  a corner  of  the  temple, 
waiting  for  the  anthem. 

‘ The  foremost  seemed  something  elder  and 
of  a more  composed  countenance  than  the  rest, 
who  all  appeared  to  be  under  her  direction.  Her 
name  was  Womanhood.  On  one  side  of  her  sat 
Shamefacedness,  with  blushes  rising  in  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  : on 
the  other  was  Cheerfulness,  with  a smiling  look, 
that  infused  a secret  pleasure  into  the  hearts  of 
all  that  saw  her.  With  these  sat  Modesty,  hold- 
ing her  hand  on  her  heart : Courtesy,  with  a 
graceful  aspect,  and  obliging  behaviour  : and 
the  two  sisters,  who  were  always  linked  to- 
gether, and  resembled  each  other.  Silence  and 
Obedience. 

Tims  sat  they  all  around  in  seemly  rate, 

And  in  the  midst  of  them  a "oodly  maid, 

Ev’n  in  the  lap  of  Womanhood  there  sate. 

The  which  was  all  in  lily  white  array’d  ; 

Where  silver  streams  among  the  linen  stray’d. 

Like  to  the  morn,  when  first  lier  shining  face, 

Hath  to  the  gloomy  world  itself  bewray’d  ; 

That  same  was  fairest  Amorite  in  place. 

Shining  with  beauty’s  light,  and  heavenly  virtue's  grace, 

‘ As  soon  as  I beheld  the  charming  Amoret, 
my  heart  throbbed  with  hopes.  I stepped  to 
her,  and  seized  her  hand  ; when  Womanhood 
immediately  rising  up,  sharply  rebuked  me  for 
offering  in  so  rude  a manner  to  lay  hold  on  a 
virgin.  I excused  myself  as  modestly  as  I 
could,  and  at  the  same  time  displayed  my  shield  : 
upon  which,  as  soon  as  she  beheld  the  god  em- 
blazoned with  his  bow  and  shafts,  she  was  struck 
mute,  and  instantly  retired. 

‘ I still  held  fast  the  fair  Amoret ; and,  turning 
my  eyes  towards  the  goddess  of  the  place,  saw 
that  she  favoured  my  pretensions  with  a smile, 
which  so  emboldened  me,  that  I carried  off  my 
prize. 

‘ The  maid,  sometimes  with  tears,  sometimes 


V . 


336 


THE  TATLER. 


with  smiles,  entreated  me  to  let  her  go  : but  I 
led  her  through  the  temple-gate,  where  the  god- 
dess Concord,  who  had  favoured  my  entrance, 
befriended  rny  retreat.’ 

This  allegory  is  so  natural,  that  it  explains 
itself.  The  persons  in  it  are  very  artfully  de- 
scribed, and  disposed  in  proper  places.  The 
posts  assigned  to  Doubt,  Delay,  and  Danger,  are 
admirable.  The  gate  of  Good  Desert  has  some- 
thing noble  and  instructive  in  it.  But  above  all, 
I am  most  pleased  with  the  beautiful  groupe  of 
figures  in  the  corner  of  the  temple.  Among 
these  Womanhood  is  drawn  like  what  the  phi- 
losophers call  a Universal  Nature,  and  is  at- 
tended with  beautiful  representatives  of  all  those 
virtues  that  are  the  ornaments  of  the  female 
sex,  considered  in  its  natural  perfection  and  in- 
nocence. 


No.  195.]  Saturday,  July  8,  1710. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  July  7. 

The  learned  world  are  very  much  offended  at 
many  of  my  ratiocinations,  and  have  but  a very 
mean  opinion  of  me  as  a politician.  The  reason 
of  this  is,  that  some  erroneously  conceive  a talent 
for  politics  to  consist  in  the  regard  to  a man’s  own 
interest;  but  I am  of  quite  another  mind,  and 
think  the  first  and  essential  quality  towards 
being  a statesman,  is  to  have  a public  spirit. 
One  of  the  gentlemen  who  are  out  of  humour 
with  me,  imputes  my  falling  into  a way  wherein 
I am  so  very  awkward,  to  a barrenness  of  in- 
vention ; and  has  the  charity  to  lay  new  matter 
before  me  for  the  future.  He  is  at  the  bottom 
my  friend ; but  is  at  a loss  to  know  whether  I 
am  a fool  or  a physician,  and  is  pleased  to  ex- 
postulate with  me  with  relation  to  the  latter.  He 
falls  heavy  upon  licentiates,  and  seems  to  point 
more  particularly  at  us  who  are  not  regularly  of 
the  faculty.  But  since  he  has  been  so  civil  to 
me,  as  to  meddle  only  with  those  who  are  em- 
ployed no  further  than  about  men’s  lives,  and 
not  reflected  upon  me  as  of  the  astrological  sect, 
who  concern  ourselves  about  lives  and  fortunes 
also,  I am  not  so  much  hurt  as  to  stifle  any  part 
of  his  fond  letter.* 

‘Sir, — I am  afraid  there  is  something  in  the 
suspicions  of  some  people,  that  you  begin  to  be 
short  of  matter  for  your  lucubrations.  Though 
several  of  them  now  and  then  did  appear  some- 
what dull  and  insipid  to  me,  I was  always  cha- 
ritably inclined  to  believe  the  fault  lay  in  my- 
self, and  that  I wanted  the  true  key  to  decypher 
your  mysteries  ; and  remember  your  advertise- 
ment upon  this  account.  But  since  I have  seen 
you  fall  into  an  unpardonable  error,  yea,  with  a 
relapse  ; I mean,  since  I have  seen  you  turn  po- 
litician in  the  present  unhappy  dissensions,  I 
have  begun  to  stagger,  and  could  not  choose  but 
lessen  the  great  value  I had  for  the  Censor  of 
our  isle.  How  is  it  possible  that  a man,  whom 
interest  did  naturally  lead  to  a constant  impar- 


* Written  probably  by  Prior  or  Swift,  while  they  had 
yet  some  hopes  of  reclaiming  Steele,  that  is,  of  prevail- 
ing upon  him  to  desert  the  whig-party,  as  they  them- 
selves had  just  done. 


[No.  195 

tiality  in  these  matters,  and  who  hath  wit 
enough  to  judge  that  his  opinion  was  not  like  to 
make  many  proselytes;  how  is  it  possible,  I say, 
that  a little  passion,  for  I have  still  too  good  an 
opinion  of  you  to  think  you  was  bribed  by  the 
staggering  party,  could  blind  you  so  far  as  to  of- 
fend the  very  better  half  of  the  nation,  and  to  les- 
sen off  so  much  the  number  of  your  friends  ? Mr. 
Morphew  will  not  have  cause  to  thank  you,  un- 
less you  give  over,  and  endeavour  to  regain  what 
you  have  lost.  There  are  still  a great  many 
themes  you  have  left  untouched  : such  as  the 
ill-managernent  of  matters  relating  to  law  and 
physic  ; the  setting  down  rules  for  knowing  the 
quacks  in  both  professions.  What  a large  field 
is  left  in  discovering  the  abuses  of  the  college, 
who  had  a charter  and  privileges  granted  them 
to  hinder  the  creeping  in  and  prevailing  of 
quacks  and  pretenders  ; and  yet  grant  licenses 
to  barbers,  and  write  letters  of  recommendation 
in  the  country  towns,  out  of  the  reach  of  their 
practice,  in  favour  of  mere  boys ; valuing  the 
health  and  lives  of  their  countrymen  no  farther 
than  they  get  money  by  them.  You  have  said 
very  little  or  nothing  about  the  dispensation  of 
justice  in  town  and  country,  where  clerks  are 
the  counsellors  to  their  masters. 

But  as  I cannot  expect  that  the  Censor  of 
Great  Britain  should  publish  a letter,  wherein 
he  is  censured  with  too  much  reason  himself; 
yet  I hope  you  will  be  the  better  for  it,  and  think 
upon  the  themes  I have  mentioned,  which  must 
certainly  be  of  greater  service  to  the  world, 
yourself  and  Mr.  Morphew,  than  to  let  us  know 
whether  you  are  a Whig  or  a Tory.  I am  still 
your  admirer  and  servant, 

CATO  JUNIOR.’ 

This  gentleman  and  I differ  about  the  words 
staggering  and  better  part ; but,  instead  of  an- 
swering to  the  particulars  of  this  epistle,  I shall 
only  acquaint  my  correspondent,  that  I am  at 
present  forming  my  thoughts  upon  the  foun- 
dation of  sir  Scudamore’s  progress  in  Spenser, 
which  has  led  me  from  all  other  amusements, 
to  consider  the  State  of  Love  in  this  island  ; and 
from  the  corruptions  in  the  government  of  that, 
to  deduce  the  chief  evils  of  life.  In  the  mean 
time  that  I am  thus  employed,  I have  given 
positive  orders  to  Don  Saltero  of  Chelsea,  the 
tooth-drawer,  and  doctor  Thomas  Smith,  the 
corn-cutter  of  King-street,  Westminster,  who 
have  the  modesty  to  confine  their  pretensions  to 
manual  operations,  to  bring  me  in,  with  all  con- 
venient speed,  complete  lists  of  all  who  are  but 
of  equal  learning  with  themselves,  and  yet  ad- 
minister physic  beyond  the  feet  and  gums. 
These  advices  I shall  reserve  for  my  future  lei- 
sure ; but  have  now  taken  a resolution  to  dedi- 
cate the  remaining  part  of  this  instant  July  to 
the  service  of  the  fair  sex,  and  have  almost 
finished  a scheme  for  settling  the  whole  remain- 
der of  that  sex  who  are  unmarried,  and  above 
the  age  of  twenty-six. 

In  order  to  this  good  and  public  service,  I 
shall  consider  the  passion  of  Love  in  its  full 
extent,  as  it  is  attended  both  with  joys  and  in- 
quietudes ; and  lay  down,  for  the  conduct  of  my 
lovers,  such  rules  as  shall  banish  the  cares,  and 
heighten  the  pleasures,  which  flow  from  tliat 


No.  196.] 


THE  TATLER. 


337 


amiable  Spring  of  life  and  happiness.  There  is 
no  less  than  absolute  necessity,  that  some  pro- 
vision be  made  to  take  off  the  dead  stock  of  wo- 
men in  city,  town,  and  country.  Let  there  hap- 
pen but  the  least  disorder  in  the  streets,  and  in 
an  instant  you  see  the  inequality  of  the  num- 
bers of  males  and  females.  Besides  that  the 
feminine  crowd  on  such  occasions  is  more  nu- 
merous in  the  open  way,  you  may  observe  them 
also  to  the  very  garrets,  huddled  together,  four 
at  least  at  a casement.  Add  to  this,  that  by  an 
exact  calculation  of  all  that  have  come  to  town 
by  stage-coach  or  wagon  for  this  twelvemonth 
past,  three  times  in  four  the  treated  persons  have 
been  males.  This  overstock  of  beauty,  for 
which  there  are  so  few  bidders,  calls  for  an  im- 
mediate supply  of  lovers  and  husbands  ; and  I 
am  the  studious  knight-errant,  who  have  suffered 
long  nocturnal  contemplations  to  find  out  me- 
thods for  the  relief  of  all  British  females,  who 
at  present  seem  to  be  devoted  to  involuntary 
virginity.  The  scheme,  upon  which  I design 
to  act,  I have  communicated  to  none  but  a beau- 
teous young  lady,  who  has  for  some  time  left 
the  town,  in  the  following  letter  ; 

To  Amanda,  in  Kent 

‘ Madam, — I send  with  this,  my  discourse  of 
ways  and  means  for  encouraging  marriage,  and 
re-peopling  the  island.  You  will  soon  observe, 
that,  according  to  these  rules,  the  mean  consi- 
derations, which  make  beauty  and  merit  cease 
to  be  the  objects  of  love  and  courtship,  will  be 
fully  exploded.  I have  unanswerably  proved, 
that  jointures  and  settlements  are  the  bane  of 
happiness  ; and  not  only  so,  but  the  ruin  even 
of  their  fortunes  who  enter  into  them.  I beg 
of  you  therefore  to  come  to  town  upon  the  re- 
ceipt of  this,  where,  I promise  you,  you  shall 
have  as  many  lovers  as  toasters  ; for  there  needed 
nothing  but  to  make  men’s  interests  fall  in  with 
their  inclinations,  to  render  you  the  most  courted 
of  your  sex.  As  many  as  love  you  will  now  be 
willing  to  marry  you.  Hasten  then,  and  be  the 
honourable  mistress  of  mankind.  Cassander, 
and  many  others,  stand  in  The  gate  of  good  de- 
sert to  receive  you. — I am.  Madam,  your  most 
obedient,  most  humble  servant, 

‘ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF.’ 


No.  196.]  Tuesday,  July  ll,  ll\0. 

Dulcis  inexperto  cultura  potentis  amici, 

Expertus  inetuit. Hor.  2 Ep.  xviii.  86. 

Untried,  how  sweet  a court  attendance  ! 

When  tried,  how  dreadful  the  dependance ! 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  10. 

The  intended  course  of  my  studies  was  altered 
this  evening  by  a visit  from  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, who  complained  to  me,  mentioning  one 
upon  whom  he  had  long  depended,  that  he  found 
his  labour  and  perseverance  in  his  patron’s  ser- 
vice and  interests  v.diolly  ineffectual ; and  he 
thought  now,  after  his  best  years  were  spent  in 
a professed  adherence  to  him  and  his  fortunes, 
he  should  in  the  end  be  forced  to  break  with 
2U 


him,  and  give  over  all  further  expectations  from 
him.  He  sighed  and  ended  his  discourse,  by 
saying,  ‘You,  Mr.  Censor,  some  time  ago,  gave 
us  your  thoughts  of  the  behaviour  of  great  men 
to  their  creditors.  This  sort  of  demand  upon 
them,  for  what  they  invite  men  to  expect,  is  a 
debt  of  honour  ; which,  according  to  custom, 
they  ought  to  be  most  careful  of  paying,  and 
would  be  a worthy  subject  for  a lucubration.’ 
Of  all  men  living,  I think,  I am  the  most 
proper  to  treat  of  this  matter ; because,  in  the 
character  and  employment  of  Censor,  I have 
had  encouragement  so  infinitely  above  my  de- 
sert, that  what  I say  cannot  possibly  be  supposed 
to  arise  from  peevishness,  or  any  disappoint- 
ment in  that  kind,  which  I myself  have  met 
with.  When  we  consider  Patrons  and  their 
Clients,  those  who  receive  addresses,  and  those 
who  are  addressed  to,  it  must  not  be  understood 
that  the  dependants  are  such  as  are  worthless  in 
their  natures,  abandoned  to  any  vice  or  dis- 
honour, or  such  as  without  a call  thrust  them- 
selves upon  men  in  power  ; nor  when  we  say 
Patrons,  do  we  mean  such  as  have  it  not  in  their 
power,  or  have  no  obligation,  to  assist  their 
friends  ; but  we  speak  of  such  leagues  where 
there  are  power  and  obligation  on  the  one  part, 
and  merit  and  expectation  on  the  other.  Were 
we  to  be  very  particular  on  this  subject,  I take 
it,  that  the  division  of  patron  and  client  may  in- 
clude a third  part  of  our  nation.  The  want  of 
merit  and  real  worth  wdll  strike  out  about  ninety- 
nine  in  the  hundred  of  these  ; and  want  of 
ability  in  the  patron,  will  dispose  of  as  many  of 
that  order.  He,  who,  out  of  mere  vanity  to  be 
applied  to,  will  take  up  another’s  time  and  for- 
tune in  his  service,  where  he  has  no  prospect  of 
returning  it,  is  as  much  more  unjust,  as  those 
who  took  up  my  friend  the  upholder's  goods 
without  paying  him  for  them  ; I say,  he  is  as 
much  more  unjust,  as  our  life  and  time  is  more 
valuable  than  our  goods  and  moveables.  Among 
many  whom  you  see  about  the  great,  there  is  a 
contented  well-pleased  set,  who  seem  to  like  the 
attendance  for  its  own  sake,  and  are  early  at  the 
abodes  of  the  powerful,  out  of  mere  fashion. 
This  sort  of  vanity  is  as  well  grounded  as  if  a 
man  should  lay  aside  his  own  plain  suit,  and 
dress  himself  up  in  a gay  livery  of  another. 

There  are  many  of  this  species  who  exclude 
others  of  just  expectations,  and  make  those  pro- 
per dependants  appear  impatient,  because  they 
are  not  so  cheerful  as  those  who  expect  nothing. 

I have  made  use  of  the  penny-post  for  the  in- 
struction of  these  voluntary  slaves,  and  informed 
them,  that  they  will  never  be  provided  for  ; but 
they  double  their  diligence  upon  admonition. 
Will  Afterday  has  told  his  friends,  that  he  w'as 
to  have  the  next  thing,  these  ten  years ; and 
Harry  Linger  has  been  fourteen,  within  a month 
of  a considerable  office.  However,  the  fantastic 
complaisance  which  is  paid  to  them,  may  blind 
the  great  from  seeing  themselves  in  a just  light; 
they  must  needs,  if  they  in  the  least  reflect,  at 
some  times,  have  a sense  of  the  injustice  they 
do  in  raising  in  others  a false  expectation.  But 
this  is  so  common  a practice  in  all  the  stages  of 
power,  that  there  are  not  more  cripples  come 
out  of  the  wars,  than  from  the  attendance  of 
patrons.  You  see  in  one  a settled  melancholy, 


338 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  197. 


in  another  a bridled  rage ; a third  has  lost  his 
memory,  and  a fourth  his  whole  constitution  and 
humour.  In  a word,  when  you  see  a particular 
cast  of  mind  or  body,  which  looks  a little  upon 
the  distracted,  you  may  be  sure  the  poor  gen- 
tleman  has  formerly  had  great  friends.  For 
this  reason,  I have  thought  it  a prudent  thing  to 
take  a nephew  of  mine  out  of  a lady’s  service, 
where  he  was  a page,  and  have  bound  him  to  a 
shoemaker. 

But  what,  of  all  the  humours  under  the  sun, 
is  the  most  pleasant  to  consider,  is,  that  you  see 
some  men  lay,  as  it  were,  a set  of  acquaintance 
by  them,  to  converse  with  when  they  are  out  of 
employment,  who  had  no  effect  of  their  power 
when  they  were  in.  Here  patrons  and  clients 
both  make  the  most  fantastical  figure  imagina- 
ble. Friendship  indeed  is  most  manifested  in 
adversity  ; but  I do  not  know  how  to  behave 
myself  to  a man,  who  thinks  me  his  friend  at 
no  other  time  but  tliat.  Dick  Reptile,  of  our 
club,  had  this  in  his  head  the  other  night,  when 
he  said,  ‘I  am  afraid  of  ill  news,  when  I am 
visited  by  any  of  my  old  friends.’  These  pa- 
trons are  a little  like  some  fine  gentlemen,  who 
spend  all  their  hours  of  gayety  with  their 
wenches,  but  when  they  fall  sick  will  let  no  one 
come  near  them  but  their  wives.  It  seems, 
truth  and  honour  are  companions  too  sober  for 
prosperity.  It  is  certainly  the  most  black  in- 
gratitude, to  accept  of  a man’s  best  endeavours 
to  be  pleasing  to  you,  and  return  it  with  indiffer- 
ence. 

I am  so  much  of  this  mind,  that  Dick  East- 
court  the  comedian,  for  coming  one  night  to  our 
club,  though  he  laughed  at  us  all  the  time  he 
was  there,  shall  have  our  company  at  his  play 
on  Thursday.  A man  of  talents  is  to  be  fa- 
voured, or  never  admitted.  Let  the  ordinary 
world  truck  for  money  and  wares  ; but  men  of 
spirit  and  conversation  should  in  every  kind  do 
others  as  much  pleasure  as  they  receive  from 
them.  But  men  are  so  taken  up  with  outward 
forms,  that  they  do  not  consider  their  actions ; 
else  how  should  it  be,  that  a man  should  deny 
that  to  the  entreaties,  and  almost  tears  of  an 
old  friend,  which  he  shall  solicit  a new  one  to 
accept  of?  I remember,  when  I first  came  out 
of  Staffordshire,  I had  an  intimacy  with  a man 
of  quality,  in  whose  gift  there  fell  a very  good 
employment.  All  the  town  cried,  ‘ 7’here’s  a 
thing  for  Mr.  Bickerstaff !’  when,  to  my  great 
astonishment,  I found  my  patron  had  been 
forced  upon  twenty  artifices  to  surprise  a man 
with  it,  who  never  thought  of  it : but  sure,  it  is 
a degree  of  murder  to  amuse  men  with  vain 
hopes.  If  a man  takes  away  another’s  life, 
where  is  the  difference,  whether  he  does  it  by 
taking  away  the  minutes  of  his  time,  or  the 
drops  of  his  blood  But  indeed,  such  as  have 
hearts  barren  of  kindness  are  served  accord- 
ingly by  those  whom  they  employ  ; and  pass 
their  lives  away  with  an  empty  show  of  civility 
for  love,  and  an  insipid  intercourse  of  a com- 
merce  in  which  their  affections  are  no  way  con- 
cerned. But,  on  the  other  side,  how  beautiful 
is  the  life  of  a patron  who  performs  his  duty  to 
his  inferiors  ? A worthy  merchant,  who  em- 
ploys a crowd  of  artificers  ? A great  lord,  w'ho 
is  generous  and  merciful  to  the  several  neces- 


sities of  his  tenants  ? A courtier,  who  uses  his 
credit  and  power  for  the  welfare  of  his  friends? 
These  have  in  their  several  stations  a quick  re- 
lish  of  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  doing  good.  In 
a word,  good  patrons  are  like  the  Guardian  An- 
gels of  Plato,  who  are  ever  busy,  though  un- 
seen,  in  the  care  of  their  wards  ; but  ill  patrons 
are  like  the  Deities  of  Epicurus,  supine,  indo- 
lent, and  unconcerned,  though  they  see  mortals 
in  storms  and  tempests,  even  while  they  are 
offering  incense  to  their  power. 


No.  197.]  Thursday,  July  13,  1710. 

Semper  ego  auditor  tantura  ? Juv,  Sat.  i.  1. 

Still  shall  I only  hear? Drydcn. 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  July  12. 

When  I came  hither  this  evening,  the  man  of 
the  house  delivered  me  a book  very  finely  bound. 
When  I received  it,  I overheard  one  of  the  boys 
whisper  another,  and  say,  ‘ it  was  a fine  thing 
to  be  a great  scholar  ! what  a pretty  book  that 
is  !’  It  has  indeed  a very  gay  outside,  and  is 
dedicated  to  me  by  a very  ingenious  gentleman, 
who  does  not  put  his  name  to  it.  The  title  of  it, 
for  the  work  is  in  Latin,  is,  ‘ Epistolarum  Ob- 
scurorum  Virorum,  ad  Dm.  M.  Ortuinum  Gra- 
tium,  Volumina  II.  &c.’  ‘ Epistles  of  the  ob- 

scure Writers  to  Ortuinus,  &c.’  The  purpose 
of  the  work  is  signified  in  the  dedication,  in  very 
elegant  language,  and  fine  raillery.  It  seems, 
this  is  a collection  of  letters  which  some  pro- 
found blockheads,  who  lived  before  our  times, 
have  written  in  honour  of  each  other,  and  for 
their  mutual  information  in  each  other’s  absur- 
dities. They  are  mostly  of  the  German  nation, 
whence,  from  time  to  time,  inundations  of  writ- 
ers have  flowed,  more  pernicious  to  the  learned 
world,  than  the  swarms  of  Goths  and  Vandals 
to  the  politic.  It  is,  methinks,  wonderful,  that 
fellow^s  could  be  awake,  and  utter  such  incohe- 
rent conceptions,  and  converse  with  great  gra- 
vity, like  learned  men,  without  the  least  taste  of 
knowledge  or  good  sense.  It  w’ould  have  been 
an  endless  labour  to  have  taken  any  other  method 
of  exposing  such  impertinences,  than  by  an  edi- 
tion of  their  own  works ; where  you  see  their 
follies,  according  to  the  ambition  of  such  virtuo- 
si, in  a most  correct  edition. 

Looking  over  these  accomplished  labours,  I 
could  not  but  reflect  upon  the  immense  load  of 
W'ritings  which  the  commonalty  of  scholars  have 
pushed  into  the  wmrld,  and  the  absurdity  of  pa- 
rents, who  educate  crowds  to  spend  their  time  in 
pursuit  of  such  cold  and  spiritless  endeavours  to 
appear  in  public.  It  seems  therefore  a fruitless 
labour,  to  attempt  the  correction  of  the  taste  of 
our  contemporaries  ; except  it  was  in  our  power 
to  burn  all  the  senseless  labours  of  our  ancestors. 
There  is  a secret  propensity  in  nature,  frcm 
generation  to  generation,  in  the  blockheads  of 
one  age  to  admire  those  of  another  ; and  men  of 
the  same  imperfections  are  as  great  admirers  of 
each  other,  as  those  of  the  same  abilities. 

This  great  mischief  of  voluminous  follies  pro- 
ceeds from  a misfortune  which  happens  in  all 
ages,  that  men  of  barren  geniuses,  but  fertile 


No.  198.] 


THE  TATLER. 


339 


imaginations,  are  bred  scholars.  This  may  at 
first  appear  a paradox ; but  when  we  consider 
the  talking  creatures  we  meet  in  public  places, 
it  will  no  longer  be  such.  Ralph  Shallow  is  a 
young  fellow,  that  has  not  by  nature  any  the 
least  propensity  to  strike  into  what  has  not  been 
observed  and  said,  every  day  of  his  life,  by  others  ; 
but  with  that  inability  of  speaking  any  thing 
that  is  uncommon,  he  has  a great  readiness  at 
what  he  can  speak  of,  and  his  imagination  runs 
into  all  the  different  views  of  the  subject  he 
treats  of,  in  a moment.  If  Ralph  had  learning 
added  to  the  common  chit-chat  of  the  town,  he 
would  have  been  a disputant  upon  all  topics  that 
ever  were  considered  by  men  of  his  own  genius. 
As  for  my  part,  I never  am  teased  by  any  empty 
town-fellow,  but  I bless  my  stars  that  he  was 
not  bred  a scholar.  This  addition,  we  must  con- 
sider, would  have  made  him  capable  of  main- 
taining his  follies.  His  being  in  the  wrong 
would  have  been  protected  by  suitable  argu- 
ments ; and  when  he  was  hedged  in  by  logical 
terms,  and  false  appearances,  you  must  have 
owned  yourself  convinced  before  you  could  then 
have  got  rid  of  him,  and  the  shame  of  his  tri- 
umph had  been  added  to  the  pain  of  his  imper- 
tinence. 

There  is  a sort  of  littleness  in  the  minds  of 
men  of  wrong  sense,  which  makes  them  much 
more  insufferable  than  mere  fools,  and  has  the 
further  inconvenience  of  being  attended  by  an 
endless  loquacity.  For  which  reason,  it  would 
be  a very  proper  work,  if  some  well-wisher  to 
human  society  would  consider  the  terms  upon 
which  people  meet  in  public  places,  in  order  to 
prevent  the  unseasonable  declamations  which 
we  meet  with  there.  I remember,  in  my  youth, 
it  was  a humour  at  the  university,  when  a fel- 
low pretended  to  be  more  eloquent  than  ordinary, 
and  had  formed  to  himself  a plot  to  gain  all  our 
admiration,  or  triumph  over  us  with  an  argu- 
ment, to  either  of  which  he  had  no  manner  of 
call ; I say,  in  either  of  these  cases,  it  was  the 
humour  to  shut  one  eye.  This  whimsical  way 
of  taking  notice  to  him  of  his  absurdity,  has 
prevented  many  a man  from  being  a coxcomb. 
If  amongst  us,  on  such  an  occasion,  each  man 
offered  a voluntary  rhetorician  some  snuff,  it 
would  probably  produce  the  same  effect.  As 
the  matter  now  stands,  whether  a man  will  or 
no,  he  is  obliged  to  be  informed  in  whatever  an- 
other pleases  to  entertain  him  with  ; though  the 
preceptor  makes  these  advances  out  of  vanity, 
and  not  to  instruct,  but  insult  him. 

There  is  no  man  will  allow  him  who  wants 
courage  to  be  called  a soldier  ; but  men,  who 
want  good  sense,  are  very  frequently  not  only 
allowed  to  be  scholars,  but  esteemed  for  being 
such.  At  the  same  time  it  must  be  granted, 
that  as  courage  is  the  natural  part  of  a soldier, 
so  is  a good  understanding  of  a scholar.  Such 
little  minds  as  these,  whose  productions  are  col- 
lected in  the  volume  to  which’ I have  the  honour 
to  be  patron,  are  the  instruments  for  artful  men 
to  work  with ; and  become  popular  with  the  un- 
thinking part  of  mankind.  In  courts,  they  make 
transparent  flatterers ; in  camps,  ostentatious 
bullies  ; in  colleges,  unintelligible  pedants  ; and 
their  faculties  are  used  accordingly  by  those  who 
lead  them. 


When  a man  who  wants  judgment  is  admitted 
into  the  conversation  of  reasonable  men,  he  sliall 
remember  such  improper  circumstances,  and 
draw  such  groundless  conclusions  from  their 
discourse,  and  that  with  such  colour  of  sense,  as 
would  divide  the  best  set  of  company  that  can 
be  got  together.  It  is  just  thus  with  a fool  who 
has  a familiarity  with  books  ; he  shall  quote  and 
recite  one  author  against  anotlier,  in  such  a 
manner  as  shall  puzzle  the  best  understanding 
to  refute  him  ; though  the  most  ordinary  capa- 
city may  observe  that  it  is  only  ignorance  that 
makes  the  intricacy.  All  the  true  use  of  what 
we  call  learning  is  to  ennoble  and  improve  our 
natural  faculties,  and  not  to  disguise  our  imper- 
fections. It  is  therefore  in  vain  for  folly  to  attempt 
to  conceal  itself,  by  the  refuge  of  learned  lan- 
guages. Literature  does  but  make  a man  more 
eminently  the  thing  which  nature  made  him  ; 
and  Polyglottes,  had  he  studied  less  than  he  has, 
and  writ  only  in  his  mother-tongue,  had  been 
known  only  in  Great  Britain  for  a pedant. 

Mr.  Bickerstaff  thanks  Dorinda,  and  will  both 
answer  her  letter  and  take  her  advice.* 


No.  198.]  Saturday,  July  15,  1710. 

duale  sit  id  quod  amas  celeri  circumspice  mente 

Et  tua  Ijpsuro  substralie  colla  jugo. 

Odd.  Rem.  Amor.  i.89. 

On  your  choice  deliberate,  nor  rashly  yield 

A willing  neck  to  Hymen’s  galling  yoke. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  14. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  C^ELIA. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  look  back  into  the  first 
years  of  this  young'lady,  whose  story  is  of  con- 
sequence only  as  her  life  has  lately  niet  with  pas- 
sages very  uncommon.  She  is  now  in  the  twen- 
tieth year  of  her  age,  and  owes  a strict,  but  cheer- 
ful  education,  to  the  care  of  an  aunt ; to  whom 
she  was  recommended  by  her  dying  father, 
whose  decease  was  hastened  by  an  inconsolable 
affliction  for  the  loss  of  her  mother.  As  Cselia  is 
the  offspring  of  the  most  generous  passion  that 
has  been  known  in  our  age,  she  is  adorned  with 
as  much  beauty  and  grace  as  the  most  celebrated 
of  her  sex  possess ; but  her  domestic  life,  mo- 
derate  fortune,  and  religious  education,  gave  her 
but  little  opportunity,  and  less  inclination,  to  be 
admired  in  public  assemblies.  Her  abode  has 
been  for  some  years  at  a convenient  distance 
from  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul’s;  where  her 
aunt  and  she  chose  to  reside  for  the  advantage 
of  that  rapturous  way  of  devotion,  whieh  gives 
ecstasy  to  the  pleasures  of  innocence,  and,  in 
some  measure,  is  the  immediate  possession  of 
those  heavenly  enjoyments  for  which  they  are 
addressed. 

As  you  may  trace  the  usual  thoughts  of  men 
in  their  countenances,  there  appeared  in  the  face 
of  Cselia  a cheerfulness,  the  constant  companion 
of  unaffected  virtue,  and  a gladness,  which  is  as 
inseparable  from  true  piety.  Her  every  look 


* As  no  mention  is  afterwards  made  of  Dorinda,  i’ 
does  not  appear  what  was  the  purport  of  her  letter  or 
advice. 


340 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  198. 


and  motion  spoke  the  peaceful,  mild,  resigning, 
humble  inhabitant,  that  animated  her  beauteous 
body.  Her  air  discovered  her  body  a mere  ma- 
chine of  her  mind,  and  not  that  her  thoughts 
were  employed  in  studying  graces  and  attrac- 
tions for  her  person.  Such  was  Caelia,  when 
she  was  first  seen  by  Palamede,  at  her  usual 
place  of  worship.  Palamede  is  a young  man  of 
two-and-twenty,  well  fashioned,  learned,  gen- 
teel, and  discreet ; the  son  and  heir  of  a gentle- 
man of  a very  great  estate,  and  himself  pos- 
sessed of  a plentiful  one  by  the  gift  of  an  uncle. 
He  became  enamoured  with  Cselia,  and  after 
having  learned  her  habitation,  had  address 
enough  to  communicate  his  passion  and  circum- 
stances with  such  an  air  of  good  sense  and  in- 
tegrity, as  soon  obtained  permission  to  visit  and 
profess  his  inclinations  towards  her.  Palamede’s 
present  fortune  and  future  expectations  were  no 
way  prejudicial  to  his  addresses;  but  after  the 
lovers  had  passed  some  time  in  the  agreeable 
entertainments  of  a successful  courtship,  Caelia 
one  day  took  occasion  to  interrupt  Palamede,  in 
the  midst  of  a very  pleasing  discourse  of  the 
happiness  he  promised  himself  in  so  accom- 
plished a companion ; and,  assuming  a serious 
air,  told  him,  there  w'as  another  heart  to  be  won 
before  he  gained  hers,  which  was  that  of  his 
father.  Palamede  seemed  much  disturbed  at 
the  overture  ; and  lamented  to  her,  that  his  fa- 
ther was  one  of  those  too  provident  parents,  who 
only  place  their  thoughts  upon  bringing  riches 
into  their  families  by  marriages,  and  are  wholly 
insensible  of  all  other  considerations.  But  the 
strictness  of  Caslia’s  rules  of  life  made  her  in- 
sist upon  this  demand  ; and  the  son,  at  a proper 
hour,  communicated  to  his  father  the  circum- 
stances of  his  love,  and  the  merit  of  the  object. 
The  next  day  the  father  made  her  a visit.  The 
beauty  of  her  person,  the  fame  of  her  virtue, 
and  a certain  irresistible  charm  in  her  whole 
behaviour,  on  so  tender  and  delicate  an  occa- 
sion, wrought  so  much  upon  him,  in  spite  of  all 
prepossessions,  that  he  hastened  the  marriage 
with  an  impatience  equal  to  that  of  his  son. 
Their  nuptials  w'^ere  celebrated  with  a privacy 
suitable  to  the  character  and  modesty  of  Caelia ; 
and  from  that  day,  until  a fatal  one  last  week, 
they  lived  together  with  all  the  joy  and  happi- 
ness which  attend  minds  entirely  united. 

It  should  have  been  intimated,  that  Pala- 
mede is  a student  of  the  Temple,  and  usually 
retired  thither  early  in  the  morning ; Caelia  still 
sleeping. 

It  happened,  a few  days  since,  that  she  fol- 
lowed him  thither  to  communicate  to  him  some- 
thing she  had  omitted,  in  her  redundant  fond- 
ness, to  speak  of  the  evening  before.  When  she 
came  to  his  apartment,  the  servant  there  told 
her,  she  was  coming  with  a letter  to  her.  While 
Caelia  in  an  inner  room  was  reading  an  apology 
from  her  husband,  ‘ That  he  had  been  suddenly 
taken  by  some  of  his  acquaintance  to  dine  at 
Brentford,  but  that  he  should  return  in  the  eve- 
ning,’  a country  girl,  decently  clad,  asked,  if 
those  were  not  the  chambers  of  Mr.  Palamede  ? 
She  was  answered,  they  were  ; but  that  he  was 
not  in  town.  The  stranger  asked,  when  he  was 
expected  at  home  ? The  servant  replied,  she 
would  go  in  and  ask  his  wufe.  The  young  woman 


repeated  the  word  wife,  and  fainted.  This  acci- 
dent raised  no  less  curiosity  than  amazement  in 
Caelia,  who  caused  her  to  be  removed  into  the 
inner  room.  Upon  proper  applications  to  revive 
her,  the  unhappy  young  creature  returned  to 
herself ; and  said  to  Caelia,  with  an  earnest  and 
beseeching  tone,  ‘ Are  you  really  Mr.  Pala- 
mede’s wife  ?’  Caelia  replies,  ‘ I hope  I do  not 
look  as  if  I were  any  other  in  the  condition  you 
see  me.’  The  stranger  answ^ered,  ‘ No,  madam, 
he  is  my  husband.’  At  the  same  instant,  she 
threw  a bundle  of  letters  into  Caelia’s  lap,  which 
confirmed  the  truth  of  what  she  asserted.  Theii 
mutual  innocence  and  sorrow  made  them  look 
at  each  other  as  partners  in  distress,  rather  than 
rivals  in  love.  The  superiority  of  Caelia’s  un- 
derstanding and  genius  gave  her  an  authority 
to  examine  into  this  adventure,  as  if  she  had 
been  offended  against,  and  the  other  the  delin- 
quent.  The  stranger  spoke  in  the  following 
manner : 

‘ Madam, — If  it  shall  please  you,  Mr.  Pala- 
mede, having  an  uncle  of  a good  estate  near 
Winchester,  was  bred  at  the  school  there,  to 
gain  the  more  his  good-will  by  being  in  his 
sight.  His  uncle  died,  and  left  him  the  estate 
w’hich  my  husband  now  has.  When  he  was  a 
mere  youth,  he  set  his  affections  on  me;  but 
when  he  could  not  gain  his  ends,  he  married  me; 
making  me  and  my  mother,  wdio  is  a farmer’s 
widow,  swear  w^e  wmuld  never  tell  it  upon  any 
account  wdiatsoever  ; for  that  it  w’ould  not  look 
well  for  him  to  marry  such  a one  as  me  ; besides, 
that  his  father  w’ould  cut  him  off  of  the  estate. 
I was  glad  to  have  him  in  an  honest  w’ay  ; and 
he  now  and  then  came  and  staid  a night  and 
aw'ay  at  our  house.  But  very  lately,  he  came 
dowja  to  see  us  with  a fine  young  gentleman, 
his  friend,  who  staid  behind  there  with  us,  pre- 
tending to  like  the  place,  for  the  summer : but 
ever  since  master  Palamede  went,  he  has  at- 
tempted to  abuse  me ; and  I ran  hither  to  ac- 
quaint him  with  it,  and  avoid  the  wicked  inten- 
tions of  his  false  friend.’ 

Caelia  had  no  more  room  for  doubt ; but  left 
her  rival  in  the  same  agonies  she  felt  herself. 
Palamede  returns  in  the  evening  ; and  finding 
his  wife  at  his  chambers,  learned  all  that  liad 
passed,  and  hastened  to  Caelia’s  lodgings. 

It  is  much  easier  to  imagine,  than  express,  the 
sentiments  of  either  the  criminal,  or  the  in- 
jured,  at  this  encounter. 

As  soon  as  Palamede  had  found  way  for 
speech,  he  confessed  his  marriage,  and  his 
placing  his  companion  on  purpose  to  vitiate  his 
wife,  that  he  might  break  through  a marriage 
made  in  his  nonage,  and  devote  his  riper  and 
knowing  years  to  Caelia.  She  made  him  no  an- 
swer ; but  retired  to  her  closet.  He  returned 
to  the  Temple,  where  he  soon  after  received 
from  her  the  following  letter  : 

I — You,  wilt)  this  morning  w'ere  the  best, 

are  now  the  worst  of  men  w'ho  breathe  vital  air. 

I am  at  once  overwhelmed  with  love,  hatred, 
rage,  and  disdain.  Can  infamy  and  innocence 
live  together  ? I feel  the  weight  of  the  one  too 
strong  for  the  comfort  of  the  other.  How  bitter, 
heaven  ! how  bitter  is  my  portion  ! How  much 
have  I to  say  I but  the  infant  w'hich  I bear  about 


No.  199.] 


THE  TATLER. 


341 


me  stirs  with  my  agitation.  I am,  Palamede, 
to  live  in  shame,  and  this  creature  be  heir  to  it. 
Farewell  for  ever  !’ 


No.  199.]  Tuesday,  July  18,  1710. 

When  we  revolve  in  our  thoughts  such  ca- 
tastrophes as  that  in  the  histoi-y  of  the  unhappy 
Caelia,  there  seems  to  be  something  so  hazard- 
ous in  the  changing  a single  state  of  life  into 
that  of  marriage,  that,  it  may  happen,  all  the 
precautions  imaginable  are  not  sufficient  to  de- 
fend a virgin  from  ruin  by  her  choice.  It  seems 
a wonderful  inconsistence  in  the  distribution  of 
public  justice,  that  a man  who  robs  a woman  of 
an  ear-ring  or  a jewel,  should  be  punished  with 
death  ; but  one,  who  by  false  arts  and  insinua- 
tions should  take  from  her,  her  very  self,  is  only 
to  suffer  disgrace.  This  excellent  young  wo- 
man has  nothing  to  consolate  herself  with,  but 
the  reflection  that  her  sufferings  are  not  the 
effect  of  any  guilt  or  misconduct ; and  has  for 
her  protection  the  influence  of  a Power,  which, 
amidst  the  unjust  reproach  of  all  mankind,  can 
give  not  only  patience,  but  pleasure,  to  inno- 
cence in  distress. 

As  the  person  who  is  the  criminal  against 
Caelia  cannot  be  sufficiently  punished  according 
to  our  present  law;  so  are  there  numberless 
unhappy  persons  without  remedy  according  to 
present  custom.  That  great  ill,  which  has  pre- 
vailed among  us  in  these  latter  ages,  is  the 
making  even  beauty  and  virtue  the  purchase  of 
money.  The  generality  of  parents,  and  some 
of  those  of  quality,  instead  of  looking  out  for 
introducing  health  of  constitution,  frankness 
of  spirit,  or  dignity  of  countenance  into  their 
families,  lay  out  all  their  thoughts  upon  finding 
out  matches  for  their  estates,  and  not  for  their 
children.  You  shall  have  one  form  such  a plot 
for  the  good  of  his  family,  that  there  shall  not 
be  six  men  in  England  capable  of  pretending 
to  his  daughter.  A second  shall  have  a son 
obliged,  out  of  mere  discretion,  for  fear  of  doing 
any  thing  below  himself,  to  follow  all  the  drabs 
in  town.  These  sage  parents  meet  ; and,  as 
there  is  no  pass,  no  courtship  between  the  young 
ones,  it  is  no  unpleasant  observation  to  behold 
how  they  proceed  to  treaty.  There  is  ever  in 
the  behaviour  of  each  something  that  denotes 
his  circumstance  ; and  honest  Coupler,  the  con- 
veyancer, says,  he  can  distinguish  upon  sight 
of  the  parties,  before  they  have  opened  any 
point  of  their  business,  which  of  the  two  has 
the  daughter  to  sell.’  Coupler  is  of  our  club,  and 
I have  frequently  heard  him  declaim  upon  this 
subject  and  assert,  ‘that  the  marriage-settle- 
ments, which  are  now  used,  have  grown  fashion- 
able even.within  his  memory.’ 

When  the  theatre,  in  some  late  reigns,  owed 
its  chief  support  to  those  scenes  which  were 
written  to  put  matrimony  out  of  countenance, 
and  render  that  state  terrible,  then  was  it  that 
pin-money  first  prevailed ; and  all  the  other 
articles  were  inserted  which  create  a diffidence, 
and  intimate  to  the  young  people,  that  they  are 
very  soon  to  be  in  a state  of  war  with  each 
other  ; though  this  had  seldom  happened,  ex- 
cept the  fear  of  it  had  been  expressed.  Coupler 


will  tell  you  also,  ‘ that  jointures  were  never 
frequent  until  the  age  before  his  own  ; but  the 
women  were  contented  with  the  third  part  of 
the  estate  the  law  allotted  them,  and  scorned  to 
engage  with  men  whom  they  thought  capable 
of  abusing  their  children.’  He  has  also  inform- 
ed me,  ‘ that  those  who  arc  the  oldest  benchers 
when  he  came  to  the  Temple,  told  him,  the  first 
marriage-settlement  of  considerable  length  was 
the  invention  of  an  old  sergeant ; who  took  the 
opportunity  of  two  testy  fathers,  who  were  ever 
squabbling,  to  bring  about  an  alliance  between 
their  children.  These  fellows  knew  each  other 
to  be  knaves  ; and  the  sergeant  took  hold  of 
their  mutual  diffidence,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
law,  to  extend  the  settlement  to  three  skins  of 
parchment.’ 

To  this  great  benefactor  to  the  profession,  is 
owing  the  present  price  current  of  lines  and 
words.  Thus  is  tenderness  thrown  out  of  the 
question,  and  the  great  care  is,  what  the  young 
couple  shall  do  when  they  come  to  hate  each 
other.  I do  not  question  but  from  this  one 
humour  of  settlements  might  very  fairly  be  de- 
duced, not  only  our  present  defection  in  point  of 
morals,  but  also  our  want  of  people.  This  has 
given  way  to  such  unreasonable  gallantries,  that 
a man  is  hardly  reproachable  that  deceives  an 
innocent  woman,  though  she  has  ever  so  much 
merit,  if  she  is  below  him  in  fortune.  The 
man  has  no  dishonour  following  his  treachery ; 
and  her  own  sex  are  so  debased  by  force  of  cus- 
tom, as  to  say  in  the  case  of  the  woman,  ‘ How 
could  she  expect  he  would  marry  her  ?’ 

By  this  means  the  good  offices,  the  pleasures 
and  graces  of  life,  are  not  put  into  the  balance. 
The  bridegroom  has  given  his  estate  out  of  him- 
self ; and  he  has  no  more  left  but  to  follow  the 
blind  decree  of  his  fate,  whether  he  shall  be 
succeeded  by  a sot  or  a man  of  merit  in  his  for- 
tune. On  the  other  side,  a fine  woman,  who 
has  also  a fortune,  is  set  up  by  way  of  auction  ; 
her  first  lover  has  ten  to  one  against  him.  The 
very  hour  after  he  has  opened  his  heart  and  his 
rent-roll,  he  is  made  no  other  use  of  but  to  raise 
her  price.  She  and  her  friends  lose  no  oppor- 
tunity of  publishing  it,  to  call  in  new  bidders. 
While  the  poor  lover  very  innocently  waits, 
until  the  plenipotentiaries  at  the  inns  of  court 
have  debated  about  the  alliance,  all  the  partizans 
of  the  lady  throw  difficulties  in  the  way,  until 
other  offers  come  in  ; and  the  man  who  came 
first  is  not  put  in  possession,  until  she  has  been 
refused  by  half  the  town.  If  an  abhorrence 
to  such  mercenary  proceedings  were  well  set- 
tled in  the  minds  of  my  fair  readers,  those  of 
merit  would  have  a way  opened  to  their  advance- 
ment ; nay,  those  who  abound  in  wealth  only 
would  in  reality  find  their  account  in  it.  It 
would  not  be  in  the  power  of  their  prude  ac- 
quaintance, their  waiters,  their  nurses,  cousins, 
and  whisperers,  to  persuade  them,  that  there 
are  not  above  twenty  men  in  a kingdom,  and 
those  such  as  perhaps  they  may  never  set  eyes 
on,  whom  they  can  think  of  with  discretion. 
As  the  case  stands  now,  let  any  one  consider, 
how  the  great  heiresses,  and  those  to  whom  they 
were  offered,  for  no  other  reason  but  that  they 
could  make  them  suitable  settlements,  live  to- 
gether. What  can  be  more  insipid,  if  not 
29* 


342 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  200. 


loathsome,  than  for  two  persons  to  be  at  the 
head  of  a crowd,  who  have  as  little  regard 
for  them  as  they  for  each  other  ; and  behold  one 
another  in  an  atfected  sense  of  prosperity,  with- 
out the  least  relish  of  that  exquisite  gladness 
at  meeting,  that  sweet  inquietude  at  part- 
ing, together  with  the  charms  of  voice,  look, 
gesture,  and  that  general  benevolence  between 
well-chosen  lovers,  which  makes  all  things 
please,  and  leaves  not  the  least  trifle  indif- 
ferent. 

But  I am  diverted  from  these  sketches  for 
future  essays,  in  behalf  of  my  numerous  clients 
of  the  fair  sex,  by  notice  sent  to  my  office  in 
Sheer-lane,  ‘ That  a blooming  widow  in  the 
third  year  of  her  widowhood,  and  twenty-sixth 
of  her  age,  designs  to  take  a colonel  of  twenty- 
eight.’  The  parties  request  I would  draw  up 
their  terms  of  coming  together,  as  having  a 
regard  to  my  opinion  against  long  and  diffident 
settlements ; and  I have  sent  them  the  following 
indenture : 

‘We,  John and  Mary , having 

estates  for  life,  resolve  to  take  each  other.  1 
John  will  venture  my  life  to  enrich  thee  Mary ; 
and  I Mary  will  consult  my  health  to  nurse  thee 
John.  To  which  we  have  interchangeably  set 
our  hands,  hearts,  and  seals,  this  17th  of  July, 
1710.’ 


No.  200.]  Thursday^  July  20,  1710. 

Fro?n  my  own  Apartment,  July  10. 

Having  devoted  the  greater  part  of  my  time 
to  the  service  of  the  fair  sex;  I must  ask  pardon 
of  my  men  correspondents,  if  I postpone  their 
commands,  when  I have  any  from  the  ladies 
which  lie  unanswered.  That  which  follows  is  of 
importance. 

‘ Sir, — You  cannot  think  it  strange  if  I,  who 
know  little  of  the  world,  apply  to  you  for  advice 
in  the  weighty  affair  of  matrimony  ; since  you 
yourself  have  often  declared  it  to  be  of  that  con- 
sequence as  to  require  the  utmost  deliberation. 
Without  further  preface,  therefore,  give  me  leave 
to  tell  you,  that  my  father  at  his  death  left  me  a 
fortune  sufficient  to  make  me  a match  for  any 
gentleman.  My  mother,  for  she  is  still  alive,  is 
very  pressing  wdth  me  to  marry ; and  I am  apt 
to  think,  to  gratify  her,  I shall  venture  upon  one 
of  two  gentlemen,  who  at  this  time  make  their 
addresses  to  me.  My  request  is,  that  you  would 
direct  me  in  my  choice ; which,  that  you  may  the 
better  do,  I shall  give  you  their  characters  ; and, 
to  avoid  confusion,  desire  you  to  call  them  by  the 
names  of  Philander  and  Silvius.  Philan^kar  is 
young,  and  has  a good  estate ; Silvius  is  as  young, 
and  has  a better.  The  former  has  had  a liberal 
education,  has  seen  the  town,  is  retired  from 
thence  to  his  estate  in  the  country,  is  a man  of 
few  words,  and  much  given  to  books.  The  latter 
was  brought  up  under  his  father’s  eye,  who  gave 
him  just  learning  enough  to  enable  him  to  keep 
his  accounts  ; but  made  him  withal  very  expert 
in  country  business,  such  as  ploughing,  sowing, 
buying,  selling,  and  the  like.  They  are  both 
very  sober  men,  neither  of  their  persons  is  dis- 
agreeable, nor  did  I know  which  to  prefer  until  I 


had  heard  them  discourse ; when  the  con  versa- 
tion  of  Philander  so  much  prevailed,  as  to  give 
him  the  advantage  with  me,  in  all  other  respects. 
My  mother  pleads  strongly  for  Silvius  ; and 
uses  these  arguments  : That  he  not  only  has  the 
larger  estate  at  present,  but  by  his  good  hus- 
bandry and  management  increases  it  daily  : that 
his  little  knowledge  in  ether  affairs  will  make 
him  easy  and  tractable  ; whereas,  according  to 
her,  men  of  letters  know  too  much  to  make  good 
husbands.  To  part  of  this,  I imagine,  I answer 
effectually,  by  saying,  Philander’s  estate  is  large 
enough;  that  they  who  think  two  thousand 
pounds  a year  sufficient,  make  no  difference  be- 
tween that  and  three.  I easily  believe  him  less 
conversant  in  those  affairs,  the  knowledge  of 
which  she  so  much  commends  in  Silvius  ; but  I 
think  them  neither  so  necessary,  or  becoming  a 
gentleman,  as  the  accomplishments  of  Philan- 
der. It  is  no  great  character  of  a man  to  say, 
He  rides  in  his  coach  and  six,  and  understands 
as  much  as  he  who  follows  the  plough.  Add  to 
this,  that  the  conversation  of  these  sort  of  men 
seems  so  disagreeable  to  me,  that  though  they 
make  good  bailiffs,  I can  hardly  be  persuaded 
they  can  be  good  companions.  It  is  possible  I 
may  seem  to  have  odd  notions,  when  I say,  I am 
not  fond  of  a man  only  for  being  of,  what  is 
called,  a thriving  temper.  To  conclude,  I own 
I am  at  a loss  to  conceive,  how  good  sense  should 
make  a man  an  ill  husband,  or  conversing  with 
books  less  complaisant.  C^LIA.’ 

The  resolution  which  this  lady  is  going  to 
take,  she  may  very  well  say,  is  founded  on  rea- 
son : for,  after  the  necessities  of  life  are  served, 
there  is  no  manner  of  competition  between  a 
marw  of  a liberal  education  and  an  illiterate. 
Men  are  not  altered  by  their  circumstances,  but 
as  they  give  them  opportunities  of  exerting  what 
they  are  in  themselves  ; and  a powerful  clown 
is  a tyrant  in  the  most  ugly  form  he  can  pos- 
sibly appear.  There  lies  a seeming  objection  in 
the  thoughtful  manner  of  Philander : but  let 
her  consider,  which  she  shall  oftener  have  oc- 
casion to  wish,  that  Philander  would  speak,  or 
Silvius  hold  his  tongue. 

The  train  of  my  discourse  is  prevented  by 
the  urgent  haste  of  another  correspondent. 

July  14. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — This  comes  to  you  from 
one  of  those  virgins  of  twenty-five  years  old  and 
upwards,  that  you,  like  a patron  of  the  dis- 
tressed, promised  to  provide  for  ; who  makes  it 
her  humble  request,  that  no  occasional  stories  or 
subjects  may,  as  they  have  for  three  or  four  of 
your  last  days,  prevent  your  publishing  the 
scheme  you  have  communicated  to  Amanda; 
for  every  day  and  hour  is  of  the  greatest  con- 
sequence to  damsels  of  so  advanced  an  age. 
Be  quick  then,  if  you  intend  to  do  any  service 
for  your  admirer,  DIANA  FORECAST.’ 

In  this  important  affair,  I have  not  neglected 
the  proposals  of  others.  Among  them  is  the 
following  sketch  of  a lottery  for  persons.  The 
author  of  it  has  proposed  very  ample  encourage- 
ment, not  only  to  myself,  but  also  to  Charles 
Lillie  and  John  Morphew.  If  the  matter  bears, 
I shall  not  be  unjust  to  his  merit : I only  desire 
to  enlarge  his  plan ; for  which  purpose  I lay  it 


No.  201.] 


THE  TATLER. 


343 


before  the  town,  as  well  for  the  improvement  as 
the  encouragement  of  it. 

The  amicable  contribution  for  raising  the  for- 
tunes of  ten  young  ladies. 

‘ Imprimis,  It  is  proposed  to  raise  one  hun- 
dred thousand  crowns  by  way  of  lots,  which  will 
advance  for  each  lady  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred pounds ; which  sum,  together  with  one  of 
the  ladies,  the  gentleman  that  shall  be  so  happy 
as  to  draw  a prize,  provided  they  both  like,  will 
be  entitled  to,  under  such  restrictions  hereafter 
mentioned.  And  in  case  they  do  not  like,  then 
either  party  that  refuses,  shall  be  entitled  to  one 
thousand  pounds  only,  and  the  remainder  to  him 
or  her  that  shall  be  willing  to  marry,  the  man 
being  first  to  declare  his  mind.  But  it  is  pro- 
vided, that  if  both  parties  shall  consent  to  have 
one  another,  the  gentleman  shall,  before  he  re- 
ceives the  money  thus  raised,  settle  one  thou- 
sand pounds  of  the  same  in  substantial  hands 
(who  shall  be  as  trustees  for  the  said  ladies,)  and 
shall  have  the  whole  and  sole  disposal  of  it  for 
her  use  only. 

‘ Note  : Each  party  shall  have  three  months’ 
time  to  consider,  after  an  interview  had,  which 
shall  be  within  ten  days  after  the  lots  are  drawn. 

‘ Note  also,  the  name  and  place  of  abode  of 
the  prize,  shall  be  placed  on  a proper  ticket. 

‘ Item,  they  shall  be  ladies  that  have  had  a 
liberal  education,  between  fifteen  and  twenty- 
three  ; all  genteel,  witty,  and  of  unblameable 
characters. 

‘ The  money  to  be  raised,  shall  be  kept  in  an 
iron  box  ; and  when  there  shall  be  two  thousand 
subscriptions,  which  amount  to  five  hundred 
pounds,  it  shall  be  taken  out  and  put  into  <i  gold- 
smith's hand,  and  the  note  made  payable  to  the 
proper  lady,  or  her  assigns,  with  a clause  therein 
to  hinder  her  from  receiving  it,  until  the  for- 
tunate person  that  draws  her  shall  first  sign  the 
note,  and  so  on  until  the  whole  sum  is  subscribed 
for;  and  as  soon  as  one  hundred  thousand  sub- 
scriptions are  completed,  and  two  hundred 
crowns  more  to  pay  the  charges,  the  lottery 
shall  be  drawn  at  a proper  place,  to  be  appointed 
a fortnight  before  the  drawing. 

'‘Note,  Mr.  Bickerstaff  objects  to  the  mar- 
riageable years  here  mentioned  ; and  is  of  opi- 
nion, they  should  not  commence  until  after 
twenty-three.  But  he  appeals  to  the  learned, 
both  of  War  wick-lane  and  Bishopsgate-street,* 
on  this  subject.’ 


No.  201.]  Saturday,  July  22,  1710. 

White's  Chocolate-house,  July  21. 

It  has  been  often  asserted  in  these  papers,  that 
the  great  source  of  our  wrong  pursuits  is  the 
impertinent  manner  with  which  we  treat  women 
both  in  the  common  and  important  circumstan- 
ces of  life.  In  vain  do  we  say,  the  whole  sex 
would  run  into  England,  while  the  privileges, 
which  are  allowed  them,  do  no  way  balance  the 


The  College  of  Physicians  met  at  Warwick-lane, 
and  the  Royal  Society  at  Gresliam-college  in  Bishops- 
gate-street. 


inconveniences  arising  from  those  very  immu- 
nities. Our  women  have  very  much  indulged 
to  them  in  the  participation  of  our  fortunes  and 
our  liberty ; but  the  errors  they  commit  in  the 
use  of  either,  are  by  no  means  so  impartially 
considered,  as  the  false  steps  which  are  made 
by  men.  In  the  commerce  of  lovers,  the  man 
makes  the  address,  assails,  and  betrays  ; and  yet 
stands  in  the  same  degree  of  acceptance,  as  he 
was  in  before  he  committed  that  treachery.  The 
woman,  for  no  other  crime  but  believing  one 
whom  she  thought  loved  her,  is  treated  with 
shyness  and  indifference  at  the  best,  and  com- 
monly with  reproach  and  scorn.  He  that  is  past 
the  power  of  beauty,  may  talk  of  this  matter 
with  the  same  unconcern,  as  of  any  other  sub- 
ject : therefore  I shall  take  upon  me  to  consider 
the  sex,  as  they  live  within  rules,  and  as  they 
transgress  them.  The  ordinary  class  of  the 
good  or  the  ill  have  very  little  inffuence  upon 
the  actions  of  others ; but  the  eminent,  in  either 
kind,  are  those  who  lead  the  world  below.  The 
ill  are  employed  in  communicating  scandal,  in- 
famy, and  disease  like  furies ; the  good  distri- 
bute benevolence,  friendship,  and  health,  like 
angels.  The  ill  are  damped  with  pain  and  an- 
guish at  the  sight  of  all  that  is  laudable,  lovely, 
or  happy.  The  virtuous  are  touched  with  com- 
miseration towards  the  guilty,  the  disagreeable, 
and  the  wretched.  There  are  those  who  betray 
the  innocent  of  their  own  sex,  and  solicit  the 
lewd  of  ours.  There  are  those  who  have  aban- 
doned the  very  memory,  not  only  of  innocence, 
but  shame.  There  are  those  who  never  for- 
gave, nor  could  ever  bear  being  forgiven.  There 
are  those  also  who  visit  the  beds  of  the  sick,  lull 
the  cares  of  the  sorrowful,  and  double  the  joys 
of  the  joyful.  Such  is  the  destroying  Jiend,  such 
the  guardian  angel,  woman. 

The  way  to  have  a greater  number  of  the 
amiable  part  of  womankind,  and  lessen  the 
crowd  of  the  other  sort,  is  to  contribute  what 
we  can  to  the  success  of  well-grounded  passions; 
and  therefore  I comply  with  the  request  of  an 
enamoured  man,  in  inserting  the  following 
billet : 

‘ Madam, — Mr.  Bickerstaff  you  always  read, 
though  me  you  will  never  hear.  I am  obliged 
therefore  to  his  compassion  for  the  opportunity 
of  imploring  yours — I sigh  for  the  most  accom- 
plished of  her  sex.  That  is  so  just  a distinction 
of  her,  to  whom  I write,  that  the  owning  I think 
so  is  no  distinction  of  me,  who  write.  Your 
good  qualities  are  peculiar  to  you  ; my  admi- 
ration is  common  with  thousands.  I shall  be 
present  when  you  read  this  ; but  fear  every  wo- 
man will  take  it  for  her  character,  sooner  than 
she  who  deserves  it.’ 

If  the  next  letter,  which  presents  itself]  should 
come  from  the  mistress  of  this  modest  lover,  and 
I make  them  break  through  the  oppression  of 
their  passions,  I shall  expect  gloves  at  their  nup- 
tials. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — You,  that  are  a philoso- 
pher, know  very  well  the  make  cf  the  mind  of 
women,  and  can  best  instruct  me  in  the  con- 
duct of  an  affair  which  highly  concerns  me.  I 
j never  can  admit  my  lover  to  speak  to  me  of 
1 love  ; yet  think  him  impertinent  when  he  offers 


344 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  202. 


to  talk  of  any  thing  else.  What  shall  I do  with 
a man  that  always  believes  me  ? It  is  a strange 
thing,  this  distance  in  men  of  sense  ! why  do 
not  they  always  urge  their  fate  ? If  we  are 
sincere  in  our  severity,  you  lose  nothing  by  at- 
tempting. If  we  are  hypocrites,  you  certainly 
succeed.’ 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  21. 

Before  I withdraw  from  business  for  the 
night,  it  is  my  custom  to  receive  all  addresses 
to  me,  that  others  may  go  to  rest  as  well  as 
myself,  at  least  as  far  as  I can  contribute  to  it. 
When  I called  to  know  if  any  would  speak  with 
me,  I was  informed  that  Mr.  Mills,  the  player, 
desired  to  be  admitted.  He  was  so  ; ayjid  with 
much  modesty  acquainted  me,  as  he  did  other 
people  of  note,  ‘ that  Hamlet  was  to  be  acted  on 
Wednesday  next  for  his  benefit.’  I had  long 
wanted  to  speak  with  this  person  ; because  I 
thought  I could  admonish  him  of  many  things, 
which  would  tend  to  his  improvement.  In  the 
general  I observed  to  him,  that  though  action 
was  his  business,  the  way  to  that  action  was 
not  to  study  gesture ; for  the  behaviour  would 
follow  the  sentiments  of  the  mind. 

Action  to  the  player  is  what  speech  is  to  an 
orator.  If  the  matter  be  well  conceived,  words 
will  flow  with  ease : and  if  the  actor  is  well 
possessed  of  the  nature  of  his  part,  a proper 
action  will  necessarily  follow.  He  informed 
me,  that  Wilks  was  to  act  Hamlet : I desired 
him  to  request  of  him  in  my  name,  that  he 
would  wholly  forget  Mr.  Betterton  ; for  that  he 
failed  in  no  part  of  Othello,  but  where  he  had 
him  in  view.  An  actor’s  forming  himself  by 
the  carriage  of  another,  is  like  the  trick  among 
the  widows,  who  lament  their  husbands  as  their 
neighbours  did  theirs,  and  not  according  to  their 
own  sentiments  of  the  deceased. 

There  is  a fault  also  in  the  audience,  which 
interrupts  their  satisfaction  very  much  ; that  is, 
the  figuring  to  themselves  the  actor  in  some 
part  wherein  they  formerly  particularly  liked 
him,  and  not  attending  to  the  part  he  is  at  that 
time  performing.  Thus,  whatever  Wilks,  who 
is  the  strictest  follower  of  nature,  is  acting,  the 
vulgar  spectators  turn  their  thoughts  upon  Sir 
Harry  Wildair. 

When  I had  indulged  the  loquacity  of  an  old 
man  for  some  time,  in  such  loose  hints,  I took 
my  leave  of  Mr.  Mills  ; and  was  told,  Mr.  El- 
Hot  of  Saint  .Tames’s  coffee-house  would  speak 
with  me.  His  business  was  to  desire  I would, 
as  I am  an  astrologer,  let  him  know  beforehand, 
who  were  to  have  the  benefit  tickets  in  the  en- 
suing lottery  ; which  knowledge,  he  was  of 
opinion,  he  could  turn  to  great  account,  as  he 
was  concerned  in  news. 

I granted  his  request,  upon  an  oath  of  secrecy, 
that  he  would  only  make  his  own  use  of  it,  and 
not  let  it  be  publicly  known  until  after  they 
were  drawn.  I had  not  done  speaking,  when 
he  produced  to  me  a plan*  which  he  had  formed 
of  keeping  books,  with  the  names  of  all  such 
adventurers,  and  the  numbers  of  their  tickets, 
as  should  come  to  him  ; in  order  to  give  an 
hourly  account  of  what  tickets  shall  come  up 
during  the  whole  time  of  the  lottery,  the  draw- 
ing of  which  is  to  begin  on  Wednesday  next.  I 


liked  his  method  of  disguising  the  secret  I had 
told  him  ; and  pronounced  him  a thriving  man, 
who  could  so  well  watch  the  motion  of  things, 
and  profit  by  a prevailing  humour  and  impa- 
tience so  aptly,  as  to  make  his  honest  industry 
agreeable  to  his  customers,  as  it  is  to  be  the 
messenger  of  their  good  fortune. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

From  the  Trumpet  in  Sheer-lane,  July  20. 

Ordered,  that  for  the  improvement  of  the 
pleasures  of  society,  a member  of  this  house, 
one  of  the  most  wakeful  of  the  soporific  assem- 
bly beyond  Smithfield-bars,  and  one  of  the  order 
of  story-tellers  in  Holborn,  may  meet  and  ex- 
change stale  matter,  and  report  the  same  to 
their  principals. 

N.  B.  No  man  is  to  tell  above  one  story  in  the 
same  evening  ; but  has  liberty  to  tell  the  same 
the  night  following. 

Mr.  Bickerstaff  desires  his  love-correspondents 
to  vary  the  names  they  shall  assume  in  their 
future  letters  j for  that  he  is  overstocked  with 
Philanders. 


No.  202.]  Tuesday,  July  25,  1710. 

Est  hie 

Est  Ulubris,  animus  si  te  non  deficit  aequus. 

Hor.  Ep.  xi.  ver.  ult. 

True  happiness  is  to  no  spot  confined : 

If  you  preserve  a firm  and  equal  mind, 

’Tis  here,  ’tis  there,  and  every  where. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  24. 

This  afternoon  I went  to  visit  a gentleman  of 
my  acquaintance  at  Mile-End  ; and  passing 
through  Stepney  church-yard,  I could  not  for- 
bear entertaining  myself  with  the  inscriptions 
on  the  tombs  and  graves.  Among  others,  I ob- 
served one  with  this  notable  memorial : 

‘ Here  lies  the  body  of  T.  B' 

This  fantastical  desire  of  being  remembered 
only  by  the  two  first  letters  of  a name,  led  me 
into  the  contemplation  of  the  vanity  and  im- 
perfect attainments  of  ambition  in  general. 
When  I run  back  in  my  imagination  all  the 
men  whom  I have  ever  known  and  conversed 
with  in  my  whole  life,  there  are  but  very  few 
who  have  not  used  their  faculties  in  the  pursuit 
of  what  it  is  impossible  to  acquire  ; or  left  the 
possession  of  what  they  might  have  been,  at 
their  setting  out,  masters,  to  search  for  it  where 
it  was  out  of  their  reach.  In  this  thought,  it 
was  not  possible  to  forget  the  instance  of  Pyr- 
rhus, who  proposing  to  himself,  in  discourse  with 
a philosopher,  one,  and  another,  and  another  con- 
quest, was  asked,  what  he  W’ould  do  after  all 
that  ? ‘ Then,’  says  the  king,  ‘ we  will  make 

merry.’  He  was  well  answered,  ‘ What  hinders 
your  doing  that  in  the  condition  you  are  al- 
ready ?’  The  restless  desire  of  exerting  them- 
selves above  the  common  level  of  mankind,  is 
not  to  be  resisted  in  some  tempers  ; and  minds 
of  this  make  may  be  observed  in  every  condition 
of  life.  Where  such  m-en  do  not  make  to  them- 
selves, or  meet  with  employment,  the  soil  of 


No.  202.] 


THE  TATLER. 


345 


their  constitution  runs  into  tares  and  weeds. 
An  old  friend  of  mine,  who  lost  a major’s  post 
forty  years  ago,  and  quitted,  has  ever  since 
studied  maps,  encampments,  retreats,  and  eoun- 
termarehes  ; with  no  other  design  but  to  feed 
his  spleen  and  ill-huinour,  and  furnish  himself 
with  matter  for  arguing  against  all  the  success- 
ful actions  of  others.  He  that,  at  his  first  setting 
out  in  the  world,  was  the  gayest  man  in  our  re- 
giment ; ventured  his  life  with  alacrity,  and 
enjoyed  it  with  satisfaction  ; encouraged  men 
below  him,  and  was  courted  by  men  above  him, 
has  been  ever  since  the  most  froward  creature 
breathing.  His  warm  complexion  spends  itself 
now  only  in  a general  spirit  of  contradiction  : 
for  which  he  watches  all  occasions,  and  is  in  his 
conversation  still  upon  Gentry,  treats  all  men 
like  enemies,  with  every  other  impertinence  of 
a speculative  warrior. 

He  that  observes  in  himself  this  natural  in- 
quietude, should  take  all  imaginable  care  to  put 
his  mind  in  some  metliod  of  gratification  ; or 
he  will  soon  find  himself  grow  into  the  con- 
dition of  this  disappointed  major.  Instead  of 
courting  proper  occasions  to  rise  above  others, 
he  will  be  ever  studious  of  pulling  others  down 
to  him  : it  being  the  common  refuge  of  disap- 
pointed ambition,  to  ease  themselves  by  detrac- 
tion. It  would  be  no  great  argument  against 
ambition,  that  there  are  such  mortal  things  in 
the  disappointment  of  it  ; but  it  certainly  is  a 
forcible  exception,  that  there  can  be  no  solid 
happiness  in  the  success  of  it.  If  we  value 
popular  praise,  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  meanest 
of  the  people  to  disturb  us  by  calumny.  If  the 
fame  of  being  happy,  we  cannot  look  into  a 
village,  but  we  see  crowds  in  actual  possession 
of  what  we  seek  only  the  appearance.  To  this 
may  be  added,  that  there  is  I know  not  what 
malignity  in  the  minds  of  ordinary  men,  to 
oppose  you  in  what  they  see  you  fond  of ; and 
it  is  a certain  exception  against  a man’s  receiv- 
ing applause,  that  he  visibly  courts  it.  How- 
ever, this  is  not  only  the  passion  of  great  and 
undertaking  spirits  ; but  you  see  it  in  the  lives 
of  such  as,  one  would  believe,  were  far  enough 
removed  from  the  ways  of  ambition.  The  rural 
esquires  of  this  nation  even  eat  and  drink  out 
of  vanity.  A vain-glorious  fox-hunter  shall 
entertain  half  a county,  for  the  ostentation  of 
his  beef  and  beer,  without  the  least  affection 
for  any  of  the  crowd  about  him.  He  feeds 
them,  because  he  thinks  it  a superiority  over 
them  that  he  does  so ; and  they  devour  him, 
because  they  know  he  treats  them  out  of  inso- 
lence. This,  indeed,  is  ambition  in  grotesque  ; 
but  may  figure  to  us  the  condition  of  politer 
men,  whose  only  pursuit  is  glory.  When  the 
superior  acts  out  of  a principle  of  vanity,  the 
dependant  will  be  sure  to  allow  it  him  ; because 
he  knows  it  destructive  of  tlie  very  applause 
which  is  courted  by  the  man  who  favours  him, 
and  consequently  makes  him  nearer  himself. 

But  as  every  man  living  has  more  or  less  of 
this  incentive,  which  makes  men  impatient  of 
an  inactive  condition,  and  urges  men  to  attempt 
what  may  tend  to  their  reputation,  it  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  they  should  form  to  themselves 
an  ambition,  which  is  in  every  man’s  power  to 
gratify.  This  ambition  would  be  independent. 


and  would  consist  only  in  acting  what,  to  a 
man’s  own  mind,  appears  most  great  and  lau- 
dable. It  is  a pursuit  in  the  power  of  every 
man,  and  is  only  a regular  prosecution  of  what 
he  himself  approves.  It  is  what  can  be  inter- 
rupted by  no  outward  accidents ; for  no  man 
can  be  robbed  of  his  good  intention.  One  of 
our  society  of  the  Trwnpet,*  therefore,  started 
last  night  a notion,  which  I thought  had  reason 
in  it.  ‘ It  is,  rnethinks,’  said  he,  ‘ an  unreason- 
able thing,  that  heroic  virtue  should,  as  it  seems 
to  be  at  present,  confined  to  a certain  order 
of  men,  and  be  attainable  by  none  but  those 
whom  fortune  has  elevated  to  the  most  con- 
spicuous stations.  I would  have  every  thing 
to  be  esteemed  as  heroic,  which  is  great  and  un- 
common in  the  circumstances  of  the  man  who 
performs  it.’  Thus  there  would  be  no  virtue  in 
human  life,  which  every  one  of  the  species 
would  not  have  a pretence  to  arrive  at,  and  an 
ardency  to  exert.  Since  fortune  is  not  in  our 
power,  let  us  be  as  little  as  possible  in  hers. 
Why  should  it  be  necessary  that  a man  should 
be  rich,  to  be  generous  ? If  we  measured  by 
the  quality  and  not  the  quantity  of  things,  the 
particulars  which  accompany  an  action  is  what 
should  denominate  it  mean  or  great.  The  high- 
est station  of  human  life  is  to  be  attained  by 
eaeh  man  that  pretends  to  it : for  every  m-an 
can  be  as  valiant,  as  generous,  as  wise,  and  as 
merciful,  as  the  faculties  and  opportunities 
which  he  has  from  heaven  and  fortune  will  per- 
mit. He  that  can  say  to  himself,  ‘ I do  as  much 
good,  and  am  as  virtuous  as  my  most  earnest 
endeavours  will  allow  me,’  whatever  is  his  sta- 
tion in  the  world,  is  to  himself  possessed  of  the 
highest  honour.  If  ambition  is  not  thus  turned, 
it  is  no  other  tliau  a continual  succession  of 
anxiety  and  vexation.  But  when  it  has  this 
cast,  it  invigorates  the  mind  ; and  the  conscious- 
ness of  its  own  worth  is  a reward,  which  is  not 
in  the  power  of  envy,  reproach,  or  detraction,  to 
take  from  it.  Thus,  the  seat  of  solid  honour  is 
in  a man’s  own  bosom  ; and  no  one  can  want 
support  who  is  in  possession  of  an  honest  con- 
science, but  he  who  would  suffer  the  reproaches 
of  it  for  other  greatness. 

P.  S.  I was  going  on  in  my  philosophy,  when 
notice  was  brought  me,  that  there  was  a great 
crowd  in  my  anti-chamber,  who  expected  au- 
dience. When  they  were  admitted,  I found 
they  ail  met  at  my  lodgings,  each  coming  upon 
the  same  errand,  to  know  whether  they  were 
of  the  fortunate  in  the  lottery,  which  is  now 
ready  to  be  drawn.  I was  much  at  a loss  how 
to  extricate  myself  from  their  importunity ; 
but  observing  the  assembly  made  up  of  both 
sexes,  I signified  to  them,  that  in  this  case  it 
would  appear  Fortune  is  not  blind,  for  all  the 
lots  would  fall  upon  the  wisest  and  the  fairest. 
This  gave  so  general  a satisfaction,  that  the 
room  v/as  soon  emptied,  and  the  company  re- 
tired with  the  best  air,  and  the  most  pleasing 
grace  I had  an}’’  where  observed.  Mr.  Elliot 
of  St.  James’s  coffee-house  now  stood  alone  be- 
fore me,  and  signified  to  me,  he  had  now  not 
only  prepared  his  books,  but  had  received  a 
very  great  subscription  already.  His  design 


* The  public  house  in  Sheer-lane. 


346 


THE  TATLER. 


was,  to  advertise  his  subscribers  at  their  re- 
spective places  of  abode,  within  an  hour  after 
tJieir  number  is  drawn,  whether  it  was  a blank 
or  benefit,  if  the  adventurer  lives  within  the 
bills  of  mortality ; if  he  dwells  in  the  country, 
'by  the  next  post.*  I encouraged  the  man  in 
his  industry,  and  told  him  the  ready  path  to 
good  fortune  was  to  believe  there  was  no  such 
thing. 


No.  203.]  Thursday,  June  27,  1710. 

Ut  tu  fortunam,  sic  nos  te,  Celse,  feremus. 

Hor.  1 Ep.  viii.  ver.  ult. 

As  Celsus  bsars  this  change  of  fortune, 

So  will  his  friends  bear  him. — R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  2S. 

It  is  natural  for  the  imaginations  of  men, 
who  lead  their  lives  in  too  solitary  a manner, 
to  prey  upon  themselves,  and  form  from  their 
own  conceptions,  beings  and  things  which  have 
no  place  in  nature.  This  often  makes  an  adept 
as  much  at  a loss,  when  he  comes  into  the 
world,  as  a mere  savage.  To  avoid  therefore 
that  ineptitude  for  society,  which  is  frequently 
the  fault  of  us  scholars,  and  has,  to  men  of  un- 
derstanding and  breeding,  something  much 
more  shocking  and  untractable  than  rusticity 
itself;  I take  care  to  visit  all  public  solemni- 
ties ; and  go  into  assemblies  as  often  as  my 
studies  will  permit.  This  being  therefore  the 
first  day  of  the  drawing  of  the  lottery,  I did 
not  neglect  spending  a considerable  time  in 
the  crowd:  but  as  much  a philosopher  as  I pre- 
tend  to  be,  I could  not  but  look  with  a sort  of 
veneration  upon  the  two  boys  who  received  the 
tickets  from  the  wheels,  as  the  impartial  and 
equal  dispensers  of  the  fortunes  which  were  to 
be  distributed  among  the  crowd,  who  all  stood 
expecting  the  same  chance.  It  seems  at  first 
thought  very  wonderful,  that  one  passion  should 
so  universally  have  the  pre-eminence  of  another 
in  the  possession  of  men’s  minds,  as  that  in 
this  case  all  in  general  have  a secret  hope  of  the 
great  ticket : and  yet  fear  in  another  instance, 
as  in  going  into  a battle,  shall  have  so  little  in- 
fluence, as  that,  though  each  man  believes  there 
will  be  many  thousands  slain,  each  is  confident 
he  himself  shall  escape.  This  certainly  pro- 
ceeds from  our  vanity  ; for  every  man  sees 
abundance  in  himself  that  deserves  reward,  and 
nothing  which  should  meet  with  mortification. 
But  of  all  the  adventurers  that  filled  the  hall, 
there  was  one  who  stood  by  me,  who  I could 
not  but  fancy  expected  the  thousand  pounds  per 
annum,  as  a mere  justice  to  his  parts  and  in- 
dustry. He  had  his  pencil  and  table-book  ; and 
was,  at  the  drawing  of  each  lot,  counting  how 
much  a man  with  seven  tickets  was  now  nearer 
the  great  prize,  by  the  striking  out  another,  and 
another  competitor.  This  man  was  of  the 
most  particular  constitution  I had  ever  observed ; 
his  passions  were  so  active,  that  he  worked  in 
the  utmost  stretch  of  hope  and  fear.  When  one 

* Hence  the  origin  of  registering  tickets  ; and  proba- 
bly of  insuring,  since  carried  to  so  pernicious  an  ex- 
cess. 


[No.  203. 

rival  fell  before  him,  you  might  see  a short 
gleam  of  triumph  in  his  countenance;  which 
immediately  vanished  at  the  approach  of  an- 
other. What  added  to  the  particularity  of  this 
man,  was,  that  he  every  moment  cast  a look 
either  upon  the  commissioners,  the  wheels,  or 
the  boys.  I gently  whispered  him,  and  asked, 
‘ when  he  thought  the  thousand  pounds  would 
come  up?’  ‘Pugh,’  says  he,  ‘ who  knows  that?’ 
And  then  looks  upon  a little  list  of  his  own 
tickets,  which  were  pretty  high  in  their  num- 
bers, and  said  it  would  not  come  this  ten  days. 
This  fellow  will  have  a good  chance,  though  not 
that  which  he  has  put  his  heart  on.  The  man 
is  mechanically  turned,  and  made  for  getting. 
The  simplicity  and  eagerness  which  he  is  in, 
argues  an  attention  to  his  point ; though  what 
he  is  labouring  at  does  not  in  the  least  contribute 
to  it.  Were  it  not  for  such  honest  fellows  as 
these,  the  men  who  govern  the  rest  of  their 
species  would  have  no  tools  to  work  with : for 
the  outward  show  of  the  world  is  carried  on  by 
sueh  as  cannot  find  out  that  they  are  doing 
nothing.  1 left  my  man  with  great  reluctance, 
seeing  the  care  he  took  to  observe  the  whole 
conduct  of  the  persons  concerned,  and  compute 
the  inequality  of  the  chances  wdth  his  own 
hands  and  eyes.  ‘ Dear  sir,’  said  I,  ‘they  must 
rise  early  that  cheat  you.’  ‘Ay,’  said  he,  ‘there 
is  nothing  like  a man’s  minding  his  business 
himself.’  ‘ It  is  very  true,’  said  I ; ‘ the  master’s 
eye  makes  the  horse  fat.’ 

As  much  the  greater  number  are  to  go  •with- 
out prizes,  it  is  hut  very  expedient  to  turn  our 
lecture  to  the  forming  just  sentiments  on  the 
subject  of  fortune.  One  said  this  morning, 
‘that  the  chief  lot,  he  was  confident,  would  fall 
upon  some  puppy ;’  but  this  gentleman  is  one  of 
those  wrong  tempers,  who  approve  only  the  un- 
happy, and  have  a natural  prejudice  to  the  for- 
tunate. But,  as  it  is  certain  that  there  is  a great 
meanness  in  being  attached  to  a man  purely  for 
his  fortune  ; there  is  no  less  a meanness  in  dis- 
liking him  for  his  happiness.  It  is  the  same 
perversene.<=s  under  different  colours  ; and  both 
these  resentments  arise  from  mere  pride. 

True  greatness  of  mind  consists  in  valuing 
men  apart  from  their  circumstances,  or  ac- 
cording to  their  behaviour  in  them.  Wealth  is 
a distinction  only  in  traffic;  but  it  must  not  be 
allowed  as  a recommendation  in  any  other  par- 
ticular, but  only  just  as  it  is  applied.  It  was 
very  prettily  said,  ‘ That  we  may  learn  the  little 
value  of  fortune  by  the  persons  on  whom  heaven 
is  pleased  to  bestow  it.’  However,  there  is  not 
a harder  part  in  human  life,  than  becoming 
wealth  and  greatness.  He  must  be  very  well 
stocked  with  merit,  who  is  not  willing  to  draw 
some  superiority  over  his  friends  from  his  for- 
tune ; for  it  is  not  every  man  that  can  entertain 
with  the  air  of  a guest,  and  do  good  offices  with 
the  mien  of  one  that  receives  them. 

I must  confess,  I cannot  conceive  liow  a man 
can  place  himself  in  a figure  wherein  he  can  so 
much  enjey  his  own  soul,  and,  that  greatest  of 
pleasures,  the  just  approbation  of  his  own  ac- 
tions, as  an  adventurer  on  this  occasion,  to  sit 
and  see  the  lots  go  off  without  hope  or  fear  ; 
perfectly  unconcerned  as  to  himself,  but  taking 
part  in  the  good  fortune  of  others. 


THE  TATLER. 


347 


No.  204.] 

I will  believe  there  are  happy  tempers  in  be- 
ing, to  whom  all  the  good  that  arrives  to  any  of 
their  fellow  creatures  gives  a pleasure.  These 
live  in  a course  of  lasting  and  substantial  hap- 
piness, and  have  the  satisfaction  to  see  all  men 
endeavour  to  gratify  them.  This  state  of  mind 
not  only  lets  a man  into  certain  enjoyments,  but 
relieves  him  from  as  certain  anxieties.  If  you 
will  not  rejoice  with  happy  men,  you  must  re- 
pine at  them.  Dick  Reptile  alluded  to  this 
when  he  said,  ‘ he  would  hate  no  man,  out  of 
pure  idleness.’  As  for  my  own  part,  I look  at 
Fortune  quite  in  another  view  than  the  rest  of 
the  world  ; and,  by  my  knowledge  in  futurity, 
tremble  at  the  approaching  prize,  which  I see 
coming  to  a young  lady  for  whom  I have  much 
tenderness ; and  have  therefore  writ  to  her  the 
following  letter,  to  be  sent  by  Mr.  Elliot,  with 
the  notice  of  her  ticket. 

‘Madam, — You  receive,  at  the  instant  this  comes 
to  your  hands,  an  account  of  your  having,  what 
you  only  wanted,  fortune  ; and  to  admonish  you, 
that  you  may  not  now  want  every  thing  else. 
You  had  yesterday  wit,  virtue,  beauty ; but  you 
never  heard  of  them  until  to-day.  They  say 
Fortune  is  blind  ; but  you  will  find  she  has 
opened  the  eyes  of  all  your  beholders.  I be- 
seech you,  madam,  make  use  of  the  advantages 
of  having  been  educated  without  flattery.  If 
you  can  still  be  Chloe,  Fortune  has  indeed  been 
kind  to  you  ; if  you  are  altered,  she  has  it  not 
in  her  power  to  give  you  an  equivalent.’ 

Grecian  Coffee-house,  July  26. 

Some  time  ago  a virtuoso,  my  very  good 
friend,  sent  me  a plan  of  a covered  summer- 
house ; which  a little  after  was  rallied  by  an- 
other of  my  correspondents.  I cannot  there- 
fore defer  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  making 
his  defence  to  the  learned,  in  his  own  words. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire. 

July  15,  1710. 

‘ Sir, — I have  been  this  summer  upon  a ramlde, 
to  visit  several  friends  and  relations;  which  is  the 
reason  I have  left  you,  and  our  ingenious  un- 
known friend  of  South  Wales,  so  long  in  your 
error  concerning  the  grass-plots  in  iny  green- 
house. I will  not  give  you  the  particulars  of 
my  gardener’s  conduct  in  the  management  of 
my  covered  garden;  but  content  myself  with 
letting  you  know,  that  my  little  fields  within 
doors,  though  by  their  novelty  they  appear  too 
extravagant  to  you  to  subsist  even  in  a regular 
imagination,  are  in  the  effect  things  that  require 
no  conjuration.  Your  correspondent  may  de- 
pend upon  it,  that  under  a sashed  roof,  which 
lets  in  the  sun  at  all  times,  and  the  air  as  often 
as  is  convenient,  he  may  have  grass-plots  in 
the  greatest  perfection,  if  he  will  be  at  the 
pains  to  water,  mow,  and  roll  tliem.  Grass  and 
herbs  in  general,  the  less  they  are  exposed  to 
the  sun  and  winds,  the  livelier  is  their  verdure. 
They  require  only  warmth  and  moisture ; and 
if  you  were  to  see  my  plots,  your  eye  w’ould  soon 
confess,  that  the  bowling-green  at  Marybone 
wears  not  half  so  bright  a livery. 

‘ The  motto,  with  which  the  gentleman  has 
been  pleased  to  furnish  you,  is  so  very  proper. 


and  pleases  me  so  well,  that  I design  to  have  it 
set  upon  the  front  of  my  green-house  in  letters 
of  gold.  I am.  Sir,  &c.’ 


No.  204.]  Saturday,  July  29,  1710. 

Gaudent  pricnomine  molles 

Auriculae. J/or.  2 Sat.  v.  32. 

He  with  rapture  hears 

A title  tingling  in  his  tender  ears.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  28. 

Many  are  the  inconveniences  which  happen 
from  the  improper  manner  of  address  in  com- 
mon speech,  between  persons  of  the  same  or  of 
different  quality.  Among  these  errors,  there  is 
none  greater  than  that  of  the  impertinent  use 
of  Title,  and  a paraphrastical  way  of  saying. 
You.  I had  the  curiosity  the  other  day  to  fol- 
low a crowd  of  people  near  Billingsgate,  who 
were  conducting  a passionate  woman,  that  sold 
fish,  to  a magistrate,  in  order  to  explain  some 
words,  which  were  ill  taken  by  one  of  her  own 
quality  and  profession  in  the  public  market. 
When  she  came  to  make  her  defence,  she  was 
so  very  full  of,  ‘His  Worship,’  and  of,  ‘If  it 
should  please  his  Honour,’  that  we  could,  for 
some  time,  hardly  hear  any  other  apology  she 
made  for  herself,  than  tliat  of  atoning  for  the 
ill  language  she  had  been  accused  of  towards 
her  neighbour,  by  the  great  civilities  she  paid 
to  her  judge.  But  this  extravagance  in  her 
sense  of  doing  honour  was  no  more  to  be  won- 
dered at,  than  that  her  7nany  rings  on  each 
finger  were  wmrn  as  instances  of  finery  and 
dress.  The  vulgar  may  thus  heap  and  huddle 
terms  of  respect,  and  nothing  better  be  expect- 
ed from  them  ; but  for  people  of  rank  to  repeat 
appellatives  insignificantly,  is  a folly  not  to 
be  endured,  neither  v/ith  regard  to  our  time,  or 
our  understanding.  It  is  below  the  dignity  of 
speech  to  extend  it  with  more  words  or  phrases 
than  are  necessary  to  explain  ourselves  with 
elegance:  and  it  is,  methinks,  an  instance  of 
ignorance,  if  not  of  servitude,  to  be  redundant 
in  such  expressions. 

I waited  upon  a man  of  quality  some  morn- 
ings ago.  lie  happened  to  be  dressing  ; and 
his  shoe-maker  fitting  him,  told  him,  ‘that  if  his 
Lordship  would  please  to  tread  hard,  or  that  if 
his  Lordship  would  stamp  a little,  his  Lordship 
wmuld  find  his  Lordship’s  shoe  will  sit  as 
easy  as  any  piece  of  wmrk  his  Lordship  should 
see"  in  England.’  As  soon  as  my  lord  was 
dressed,  a gentleman  approached  him  with  a 
very  good  air,  and  told  him,  ‘ he  liad  an  affair 
which  had  long  depended  in  the  lower  courts; 
w’hich,  through  the  inadvertency  of  his  ances- 
tors on  the  one  side,  and  the  ill  arts  of  their 
adversaries  on  the  other,  could  not  possibly  be 
settled  according  to  the  rules  of  the  lo’wer 
courts  ; that,  therefore,  he  designed  to  bring  his 
cause  before  the  House  of  Lords  next  session, 
wdiere  he  should  be  glad  if  his  Lordship  should 
happen  to  be  present ; for  he  doubted  not  but  liis 
cause  would  be  approved  by  all  men  of  justice 
and  honour.’  In  this  place  the  word  Lordship 
was  gracefully  inserted  ; because  it  was  applied 
to  him  in  that  circumstance  w'herein  his  quality 


348 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  205. 


was  the  occasion  of  the  discourse,  and  wherein 
it  was  most  useful  to  the  one,  and  most  honour- 
able to  the  other. 

This  way  is  so  far  from  being  disrespectful 
to  the  honour  of  nobles,  that  it  is  an  expe- 
dient for  using  them  with  greater  deference.  I 
would  not  put  Lordship  to  a man’s  hat,  gloves, 
wig,  or  cane  ; but  to  desire  his  Lordship’s 
favour,  his  Lordship’s  judgment,  or  his  Lord- 
ship’s patronage,  is  a manner  of  speaking,  which 
expresses  an  alliance  between  his  quality  and 
his  merit.  It  is  this  knowledge,  which  distin- 
guished the  discourse  of  the  shoe-maker  from  i 
that  of  the  gentleman.  Tlie  highest  point  of  1 
good-breeding,  if  any  one  can  hit  it,  is  to  show  I 
a very  nice  regard  to  your  own  dignity,  and,  1 
with  that  in  your  heart,  express  your  value  for 
the  man  above  you. 

But  the  silly  humour  to  the  contrary  has 
so  much  prevailed,  that  the  slavish  addition  of 
title  enervates  discourse,  and  renders  the  appli- 
cation of  it  almost  ridiculous.  We  writers  of 
diurnals  are  nearer  in  our  style  to  that  of  com- 
mon talk  than  any  other  writers,  by  which 
means  we  use  words  of  respect  sometimes  very 
unfortunately.  The  Postman,  who  is  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  of  our  fraternity,  fell  into  this 
misfortune  yesterday  in  his  paragraph  from 
Berlin  of  the  twenty-sixth  of  July.  ‘Count 
Wartembourg,’  says  he,  ‘great  chamberlain, 
and  chief  minister  of  this  court,  who  on  Mon-  ! 
day  last  accompanied  the  king  of  Prussia  to 
Oranienburg,  was  taken  so  very  ill,  that  on 
Wednesd.ay  his  life  was  despaired  of ; and  we 
had  a report,  that  his  Excellency  w.as  dead.’  ! 

I humbly  presume  that  it  flatters  the  narra-  j 
tion,  to  say  his  Excellency  in  a case  which  is 
common  to  all  men  ; except  you  would  infer 
what  is  not  to  be  inferred,  to  wit,  that  the  ! 
author  designed  to  say,  ‘ all  wherein  he  excelled 
others  was  departed  from  him.’ 

Were  distinctions  used  according  to  the  rules 
of  reason  and  sense,  those  additions  to  men’s 
names  would  be,  as  they  were  first  intended, ' 
significant  of  their  worth,  and  not  their  persons  ; I 
so  that  in  some  cases  it  might  be  proper  to  say,  I 
‘ The  Man  is  dead  ; but  his  Excellency  will  j 
never  die.’  It  is,  methinks,  very  unjust  to 
laugh  at  a Quaker,  because  he  has  taken  up  a ' 
resolution  to  treat  you  witli  a word,  the  most  I 
expressive  of  complaisance  that  can  be  thought 
of,  and  with  an  air  of  good  nature  and  charity 
calls  you  Friend.  I say,  it  is  very  unjust  to 
rally  him  for  this  term  to  a stranger,  when  you 
yourself,  in  all  your  phrases  of  distinction,  con- 
found phrases  of  honour  into  no  use  at  all. 

Tom  Courtly,  who  is  the  pink  of  courtesy,  is 
an  instance  of  how  little  moment  an  undistin- 
guishing application  of  sounds  of  honour  are  to 
those  who  understand  themselves.  Tom  never 
fails  of  paying  his  obeisance  to  every  man  he 
sees,  who  has  title  or  office  to  make  him  con- 
spicuous ; but  his  deference  is  wholly  given  to 
outward  considerations.  I,  who  know  him,  can 
tell  him  within  half  an  acre,  how  much  land 
one  man  has  more  than  another,  by  Tom’s  bow 
to  him.  Title  is  all  he  knows  of  honour,  and 
civility  of  friendship  : for  this  reason,  because 
he  cares  for  no  man  living,  he  is  religiously 
strict  in  performing,  what  he  calls,  his  respects 


to  you.  To  this  end  he  is  very  learned  in  pedi- 
gree ; and  will  abate  something  in  the  ceremony 
of  his  approaches  to  a man,  if  he  is  in  any 
doubt  about  the  bearing  of  his  coat  of  arms. 
What  is  the  most  pleasant  of  all  his  character 
is,  that  he  acts  with  a sort  of  integrity  in  these 
impertinences  ; and  though  he  would  not  do 
any  solid  kindness,  he  is  wonderfully  just  and 
careful  not  to  wrong  his  quality.  But  as  in- 
tegrity is  very  scarce  in  the  world,  I cannot  for- 
bear having  respect  for  the  impertinent : it  is 
some  virtue  to  be  bound  by  any  thing.  Tom 
and  I are  upon  very  good  terms,  for  the  respect 
he  has  for  the  house  of  Bickerstaff.  Though 
one  cannot  but  laugh  at  his  serious  considera- 
tion of  things  so  little  essential,  one  must  have 
a value  even  for  a frivolous  good  conscience. 


No.  205.]  Tuesday,  August  I,  1710. 

N()n-ioi,  sS’  KrxiTiv  otrji  -3-Xeov  ij/tio-u  Trav7oc 

Kxt  oo-ov  tv  Tt  y.xi  xr<?o^tK'j}  ovtixg. 

Hesiod.  Oper.  el  Dier.  ver.  20. 

Fools  ! not  to  know  how  far  an  humble  lot 

Exceeds  abundance  by  injustice  got ; 

How  health  and  temperance  bless  the  rustic  swain, 

While  luxury  destroys  her  pampered  train. 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  July  31. 

Nature  has  implanted  in  us  two  very  strong 
desires ; hunger,  for  the  preservation  of  the 
individuals  ; and  lust,  for  the  support  of  the 
species  ; or,  to  speak  more  intelligibly,  the 
former  to  continue  our  own  persons,  and  the 
latter  to  introduce  others  into  the  world.  Ac- 
cording as  men  behave  themselves  with  regard 
to  these  appetites,  they  are  above  or  below  the 
beasts  of  the  field,  which  are  incited  by  them 
without  choice  or  reflection.  But  reasonable 
creatures  correct  these  incentives,  and  improve 
them  into  elegant  motives  of  friendship  and 
society.  It  is  chiefly  from  this  homely  founda- 
tion, that  we  are  under  the  necessity  of  seeking 
for  the  agreeable  companion,  and  the  honoura- 
ble mistress.  By  this  cultivation  of  art  and 
reason,  our  wants  are  made  pleasures  ; and  the 
gratification  of  our  desires,  under  proper  re- 
strictions, a work  no  way  below  our  noblest 
faculties.  The  wisest  man  may  maintain  his 
character,  and  yet  consider  in  what  manner  he 
shall  best  entertain  his  friend  or  divert  his  mis- 
tress. Nay,  it  is  so  far  from  being  a deroga- 
tion to  him,  that  he  can  in  no  instances  show  so 
true  a taste  of  his  life,  or  his  fortune.  What  con- 
cerns one  of  the  above-mentioned  appetites,  as 
it  is  elevated  into  love,  I shall  have  abundant 
occasion  to  discourse  of,  before  I have  provided 
for  the  numberless  crowd  of  damsels  I have 
proposed  to  take  care  of.  The  subject  therefore 
of  the  present  paper  shall  be  that  part  of  society, 
which  owes  its  beginning  to  tlie  common  neces- 
sity of  Hunger.  When  this  is  considered  as 
the  support  of  our  being,  we  may  take  in  under 
the  same  head  Thirst  also  ; otherwise,  when  we 
are  pursuing  the  glutton,  the  drunkard  may 
make  his  escape.  The  true  choice  of  our  diet, 
and  our  companions  at  it,  seems  to  consist  in  that 
which  contributes  most  to  cheerfulness  and 


No.  205.] 


THE  TATLER. 


349 


refreshment : and  these  certainly  are  best  con- 
sulted by  simplicity  in  the  food,  and  sincerity 
in  the  company.  By  this  rule  are,  in  the  first 
place,  excluded  from  pretence  to  happiness  all 
meals  of  state  and  ceremony,  which  are  per- 
formed in  dumb-show,  and  greedy  sullenness. 
At  the  boards  of  the  great,  they  say,  you  shall 
have  a number  attending  with  as  good  habits 
and  countenances  as  the  guests,  which  only  cir- 
cumstance must  destroy  the  whole  pleasure  of 
the  repast : for  if  such  attendants  are  introduced 
for  the  dignity  of  their  appearance,  modest 
minds  are  shocked  by  considering  them  as  spec- 
tators ; or  else  look  upon  them  as  equals,  for 
whose  servitude  they  are  in  a kind  of  suffering. 
It  may  be  here  added,  that  the  sumptuous  side- 
board, to  an  ingenuous  eye,  has  often  more  the 
air  of  an  altar  than  a table.  The  next  absurd 
way  of  enjoying  ourselves  at  meals  is,  where 
the  bottle  is  plied  without  being  called  for, 
where  humour  takes  place  of  appetite,  and  the 
good  company  are  too  dull,  or  too  merry,  to 
know  any  enjoyment  in  their  senses. 

Though  this  part  of  time  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  sustain  life,  it  must  be  also  considered, 
that  life  itself  is  to  the  endless  being  of  man  but 
what  a meal  is  to  this  life,  not  valuable  for  itself, 
but  for  the  purposes  of  it.  If  there  be  any 
truth  in  this,  the  expense  of  many  hours  this 
way  is  somewhat  unaccountable  : and  placing 
much  thought  either  in  too  great  sumptuousness 
and  elegance  in  this  matter,  or  wallowing  in 
noise  and  riot  at  it,  are  both,  though  not  equally, 
unaccountable.  I have  often  considered  these 
different  people  with  very  great  attention,  and 
always  speak  of  them  with  the  distinction  of 
the  Eaters  and  the  Swallowers.  The  Eaters 
sacrifice  all  their  senses  and  understanding  to 
this  appetite.  The  Swallowers  hurry  them- 
selves out  of  both,  without  pleasing  this  or  any 
other  appetite  at  all.  The  latter  are  improved 
brutes,  the  former,  degenerated  men.^  I have 
sometimes  thought  it  would  not  be  improper  to 
add  to  my  dead  and  living  men,  persons  in  an 
intermediate  state  of  humanity,  under  the  ap- 
pellation of  Dozers.  The  Dozers  are  a sect, 
who,  instead  of  keeping  their  appetites  in  sub- 
jection, live  in  subjection  to  them  ; nay,  they 
are  so  truly  slaves  to  them,  that  they  keep  at  too 
great  a distance  ever  to  come  into  their  pre- 
sence. Within  my  own  acquaintance,  I know 
those  that  I dare  say  have  forgot  that  they  ever 
were  hungry,  and  are  no  less  utter  strangers  to 
thirst  and  weariness ; who  are  beholden  to  sau- 
ces for  their  food,  and  to  their  food  for  their 
weariness. 

I have  often  wondered,  considering  the  ex- 
cellent and  choice  spirits  that  we  have  among 
our  divines,  that  they  do  not  think  of  putting 
vicious  habits  into  a more  contemptible  and  un- 
lovely figure  than  they  do  at  present.  So  many 
men  of  wit  and  spirit  as  there  are  in  sacred 
orders,  have  it  in  their  power  to  make  the  fa- 
shion of  their  side.  The  leaders  in  human  so- 
ciety are  more  effectually  prevailed  upon  this 
way  than  can  easily  be  imagined.  I have  more 
than  one  in  my  thoughts  at  this  time,  capable 
of  doing  this  against  all  the  opposition  of  the 
most  witty,  as  well  as  the  most  voluptuous. 
I’here  may  possibly  be  more  acceptable  sub- 


jects ; but  sure  there  are  none  more  useful.  It 
is  visible,  that  though  men’s  fortunes,  circum- 
stances, and  pleasures,  give  them  prepossessions 
too  strong  to  regard  any  mention  either  of  pun- 
ishments or  rewards,  they  will  listen  to  what 
makes  them  inconsiderable  or  mean  in  the  ima- 
ginations of  others,  and,  by  degrees,  in  their 
own. 

It  is  certain  such  topics  are  to  be  touched 
upon,  in  the  light  we  mean,  only  by  men  of 
the  most  consummate  prudence,  as  well  as  ex- 
cellent wit : for  these  discourses  are  to  be  made, 
if  made,  to  run  into  example,  before  such  as 
have  their  thoughts  more  intent  upon  the  pro- 
priety, than  the  reason  of  the  discourse.  What 
indeed  leads  me  into  this  way  of  thinking  is, 
that  the  last  thing  I read  was  a sermon  of  the 
learned  doctor  South,  upon  ‘ The  ways  of  plea- 
santness.’ This  admirable  discourse  was  made 
at  court,  where  the  preacher  was  too  wise  a man 
not  to  believe,  the  greatest  argument  in  that 
place  against  the  pleasures  then  in  vogue,  must 
be,  that  they  lost  greater  pleasures  by  prose- 
cuting the  course  they  were  in.  The  charming 
discourse  has  in  it  whatever  wit  and  wisdom 
can  put  together.  This  gentleman  has  a talent 
of  making  all  his  faculties  bear  to  the  great  end 
of  his  hallowed  profession.  Happy  genius ! he 
is  the  better  man  for  being  a wit.  The  best 
way  to  praise  this  author  is  to  quote  him  ; and 
I think  I may  defy  any  man  to  say  a greater 
thing  of  him,  or  his  ability,  than  that  there  are 
no  paragraphs  in  the  whole  discourse  I speak. 
of  below  these  which  follow. 

After  having  recommended  the  satisfaction 
of  the  mind,  and  the  pleasure  of  conscience,  he 
proceeds : 

‘ An  ennobling  property  of  it  is,  that  it  is  such 
a pleasure  as  never  satiates  or  wearies ; for  it 
properly  affects  the  spirit ; and  a spirit  feels  no- 
weariness, as  being  privileged  from  the  causes- 
of  it.  But  can  the  epicure  say  so  of  any  of 
the  pleasures  that  he  so  much  dotes  upon  ? Do 
they  not  expire  while  they  satisfy ; and,  after  a 
few  minutes  refreshment,  determine  in  loathing 
and  unquietness  ? How  short  is  the  interval  be- 
tween a pleasure  and  a burden  ! How  undiscern- 
ible  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other  ! Plea- 
sure dwells  no  longer  upon  the  appetite  than  the 
necessities  of  nature,  which  are  quickly  and 
easily  provided  for ; and  then  all  that  follows  is 
a load  and  an  oppression.  Every  morsel  to  a 
satisfied  Hunger,  is  only  a new  labour  to  a tired 
digestion.  Every  draught  to  him  that  has 
quenched  his  thirst,  is  but  a further  quenching 
of  nature,  and  a provision  for  rheum  and  dis- 
eases, a drowning  of  the  quickness  and  activity 
of  the  spirits. 

‘ He  that  prolongs  his  meals,  and  sacrifices 
his  time,  as  well  as  his  other  conveniences,  to 
his  luxury,  how  quickly  does  he  outset  his  plea- 
sure ! And  then,  how  is  all  the  following  time 
bestowed  upon  ceremony  and  surfeit!  until  at 
length,  after  a long  fatigue  of  eating,  and  drink- 
ing, and  babbling,  he  concludes  the  great  work 
of  dining  genteelly,  and  so  makes  a shift  to  rise 
from  table,  that  he  njay  lie  down  upon  his  bed ; 
where,  after  he  has  slept  himself  into  some  use 
of  himself,  by  much  ado  he  staggers  to  his  table 
again,  and  there  acts  over  the  same  brutish 
3U 


350 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  206. 


scene : so  that  he  passes  his  whole  life  in  a dozed 
condition,  between  sleeping  and  waking,  with  a 
kind  of  drowsiness  and  confusion  upon  his 
senses,  which,  what  pleasure  it  can  be,  is  hard 
to  conceive.  All  that  is  of  it  dwells  upon  the  tip 
of  his  tongue,  and  within  the  compass  of  his 
palate.  A worthy  prize  for  a man  to  purchase 
with  the  loss  of  his  time,  his  reason,  and  him- 
self!’ 


No.  206.]  Thursday,  August  3,  1710. 

Metiri  se  quemque  suo  modulo  ac  pede  verum  est. 

Hor.  1 Ep.  vii.  ver.  ult. 

All  should  be  confined 

Within  the  bounds,  which  nature  hath  assigned. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  2. 

The  general  purposes  of  men  in  the  conduct 
of  their  lives,  I mean  with  relation  to  this  life 
only,  end  in  gaining  either  the  affection  or  the 
esteem  of  those  with  whom  they  converse.  Es- 
teem makes  a man  powerful  in  business,  and 
affection  desirable  in  conversation  ; which  is 
certainly  the  reason  that  very  agreeable  men 
fail  of  their  point  in  the  world,  and  those  who 
are  by  no  means  such,  arrive  at  it  with  much 
ease.  If  it  be  visible  in  a man’s  carriage  that 
he  has  a strong  passion  to  please,  no  one  is  much 
at  a loss  how  to  keep  measures  with  him  ; be- 
cause there  is  always  a balance  in  people’s  hands 
to  make  up  with  him,  by  giving  him  what  he 
still  wants  in  exchange  for  what  you  think  fit 
to  deny  him.  Such  a person  asks  with  diffi- 
dence, and  ever  leaves  room  for  denial  by  that 
softness  of  his  complexion.  At  the  same  time 
he  himself  is  capable  of  denying  nothing,  even 
what  he  is  not  able  to  perform.  The  other  sort 
of  man  who  courts  esteem,  having  a quite  dif- 
ferent view,  has  as  different  a behaviour ; and 
acts  as  much  by  the  dictates  of  his  reason  as 
the  other  does  by  the  impulse  of  his  inclination. 
You  must  pay  for  every  thing  you  have  of  him. 
He  considers  mankind  as  a people  in  commerce, 
and  never  gives  out  of  himself  what  he  is  sure 
will  not  come  in  with  interest  from  another.  All 
his  words  and  actions  tend  to  the  advancement 
of  his  reputation  and  his  fortune,  towards  which 
he  makes  hourly  progress,  because  he  lavishes 
no  part  of  his  good-will  upon  such  as  do  not 
make  some  advances  to  merit  it.  The  man  who 
values  affection,  sometimes  becomes  popular;  he 
who  aims  at  esteem,  seldom  fails  of  growing 
rich. 

Thus  far  we  have  looked  at  these  different 
men,  as  persons  who  endeavoured  to  be  valued 
and  beloved  from  design  or  ambition  ; but  they 
appear  quite  in  another  figure,  when  you  ob- 
serve the  men  who  are  agreeable  and  venerable 
from  the  force  of  their  natural  inclinations.  We 
affect  the  company  of  him  who  has  least  regard 
of  himself  in  his  carriage,  who  throws  himself 
into  unguarded  gayety,  voluntary  mirth,  and 
general  good  humour  ; who  has  nothing  in  his 
head  but  the  present  hour,  and  seems  to  have  all 
his  interest  and  passions  gratified,  if  every  man 
else  in  the  room  is  as  unconcerned  as  himself. 
This  man  usually  has  no  quality  or  character 


among  his  companions ; let  him  be  born  of  whom 
he  will,  have  what  great  qualities  he  please  ; let 
him  be  capable  of  assuming  for  a moment  what 
figure  he  pleases,  he  still  dwells  in  the  imagina- 
tion of  all  who  know  him  but  as  Jack  such-a- 
one.  This  makes  Jack  brighten  up  the  room 
wherever  he  enters,  and  change  the  severity  of 
the  company  into  that  gayety  and  good  humour, 
into  which  his  conversation  generally  leads 
them.  It  is  not  unpleasant  to  observe  even  this 
sort  of  creature,  go  out  of  his  character,  to 
check  himself  sometimes  for  his  familiarities, 
and  pretend  so  awkwardly  at  procuring  to  him- 
self more  esteem  than  he  finds  he  meets  with. 

I W'as  the  other  day  walking  with  Jack  Gainly 
towards  Lincoln’s-inn-walks  : we  met  a fellow 
who  is  a lower  officer  wffiere  Jack  is  in  the  di- 
rection.  Jack  cries  to  him,  ‘ So,  how  is  it,  Mr. 

?’  He  answers,  ‘ Mr.  Gainly,  I am  glad  to 

see  you  well.’  This  expression  of  equality  gave 
my  friend  a pang,  which  appeared  in  the  flush 
of  his  countenance.  ‘Pr’ythee  Jack,’  says  I, 
‘ do  not  be  angry  at  the  man ; for  do  what  you 
will,  the  man  can  only  love  you ; be  contented 
with  the  image  the  man  has  of  thee  ; for  if  thou 
aimest  at  any  other,  it  must  be  hatred  or  con- 
tempt.’  I went  on,  and  told  him,  ‘ Look  you, 
Jack,  I have  heard  thee  sometimes  talk  like  an 
oracle  for  half  an  hour,  with  the  sentiments  of 
a Roman,  the  closeness  of  a schoolman,  and  the 
integrity  of  a divine;  but  then.  Jack,  while  I 
admired  thee,  it  was  upon  topics  which  did  not 
concern  thyself;  and  where  the  greatness  of 
the  subject,  added  to  thy  being  personally  un- 
concerned in  it,  created  all  that  was  great  in 
thy  discourse.’  I did  not  mind  his  being  a little 
out  of  humour ; but  comforted  him,  by  giving 
him  several  instances  of  men  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, who  had  no  one  quality  in  any  eminence, 
that  were  much  more  esteemed  than  he  was 
with  very  many : ‘ but  the  thing  is,  if  your  cha- 
racter is  to  give  pleasure,  men  will  consider  you 
only  in  that  light,  and  not  in  those  acts  which 
turn  to  esteem  and  veneration.’ 

When  I think  of  Jack  Gainly,  I cannot  but 
reflect  also  upon  his  sister  Gatty.  She  is  young, 
witty,  pleasant,  innocent.  This  is  her  natural 
character ; but  when  she  observes  any  one  ad- 
mired for  what  they  call  a fine  woman,  she  is 
all  the  next  day  womanly,  prudent,  observing, 
and  virtuous.  She  is  every  moment  asked  in 
her  prudential  behaviour,  whether  she  is  not 
well  ? Upon  which  she  as  often  answers  in  a 
fret,  ‘ Do  people  think  one  must  be  always  romp- 
ing, always  a Jack-pudding  ?’  I never  fail  to 
inquire  of  her,  if  my  lady  such-a-one,  that  awful 
beauty,  was  not  at  the  play  last  night  ? She 
knows  the  connection  between  that  question  and 
her  change  of  humour,  and  says,  ‘ It  would  be 
very  well  if  some  people  would  examine  into 
themselves,  as  much  as  they  do  into  others.’ 
Or,  ‘Sure,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  ri- 
diculous as  an  amorous  old  man.’ 

As  I was  saying,  there  is  a class  which  every 
man  is  in  by  his  post  in  nature,  from  which  it 
is  impossible  for  him  to  withdraw  to  another, 
and  become  it.  Therefore  it  is  necessary  that 
each  should  be  contented  with  it,  and  not  en- 
deavour at  any  progress  out  of  that  tract.  To 
follow  nature  is  the  only  agreeable  course. 


No.  20T.] 


THE  TATLER. 


351 


which  is  what  I would  fain  inculcate  to  those 
jarring  companions,  Flavia  and  Lucia.  They 
are  mother  and  daughter.  Flavia,  who  is  the 
mamma,  has  all  the  charms  and  desires  of  youth 
still  about  her,  and  is  not  much  turned  of  thirty. 
Lucia  is  blooming  and  amorous,  and  but  a little 
above  fifteen.  The  mother  looks  very  much 
younger  than  she  is,  the  girl  very  much  older. 
If  it  were  possible  to  fix  the  girl  to  her  sick  bed, 
and  preserve  the  portion,  the  use  of  which  the 
mother  partakes,  the  good  widow  Flavia  would 
certainly  do  it.  But  for  fear  of  Lucia’s  escape, 
the  mother  is  forced  to  be  constantly  attended 
with  a rival  tliat  explains  her  age,  and  draws 
off  the  eyes  of  her  admirers.  The  jest  is,  they 
can  never  be  together  in  strangers’  company, 
but  Lucy  is  eternally  reprimanded  for  something 
very  particular  in  her  behaviour  ; for  which  she 
has  the  malice  to  say,  ‘ she  hopes  she  shall  al- 
ways obey  her  parents.’  She  carried  her  pas- 
sion of  jealousy  to  that  height  the  other  day, 
that,  coming  suddenly  into  the  room,  and  sur- 
prising colonel  Lofty  speaking  rapture  on  one 
knee  to  her  mother,  she  clapped  down  by  him, 
and  asked  her  blessing. 

I do  not  know  whether  it  is  so  proper  to  tell 
family  occurrences  of  this  nature  ; but  we  every 
day  see  the  same  thing  happen  in  public  con- 
versation of  the  world.  Men  cannot  be  con- 
tented with  what  is  laudable,  but  they  must 
have  all  that  is  laudable.  This  affectation  is  what 
decoys  the  familiar  man  into  pretences  to  take 
state  upon  him,  and  the  contrary  character  to 
the  folly  of  aiming  at  being  winning  and  com- 
plaisant. But  in  these  cases  men  may  easily 
lay  aside  what  they  are,  but  can  never  arrive  at 
what  they  are  not. 

As  to  the  pursuits  after  affection  and  esteem, 
the  fair  sex  are  happy  in  this  particular,  that 
with  them  the  one  is  much  more  nearly  related 
to  the  other  than  in  men.  The  love  of  a wo- 
man is  inseparable  from  some  esteem  of  her  ; 
and  as  she  is  naturally  the  object  of  affection, 
the  woman  who  has  your  esteem  has  also  some 
degree  of  your  love.  A man  that  dotes  on  a 
woman  for  her  beauty,  will  wliisper  his  friend, 

‘ that  creature  has  a great  deal  of  wit  when  you 
are  well  acquainted  with  her.’  And  if  you  ex- 
amine the  bottom  of  your  esteem  for  a woman, 
you  will  find  you  have  a greater  opinion  of  her 
beauty  than  any  body  else.  As  to  us  men,  I 
design  to  pass  most  of  my  time  with  the  face- 
tious Harry  Bickerstaff;  but  William  Bicker- 
staff,  the  most  prudent  man  of  our  family,  shall 
be  my  executor. 


No.  207.]  Saturday^  August  5,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  4. 

Having  yesterday  morning  received  a paper 
of  Latin  verses,  written  with  much  elegance  in 
honour  of  these  rny  papers,  and  being  informed 
at  the  same  time,  that  they  were  composed  by 
a youth  under  age,  I read  them  with  much  de- 
light, as  an  instance  of  his  improvement.  There 
is  not  a greater  pleasure  to  old  age,  than  seeing 
young  people  entertain  themselves  in  such  a 
manner  as  that  we  can  partake  of  their  enjoy- 


ments. On  sueh  occasions  we  flatter  ourselves, 
that  we  are  not  quite  laid  aside  in  the  world  ; 
but  that  we  are  either  used  with  gratitude  for 
what  we  were,  or  honoured  for  what  we  are. 
A well-inclined  young  man,  and  whose  good 
breeding  is  founded  upon  the  principles  of  na- 
ture and  virtue,  must  needs  take  delight  in  be- 
ing agreeable  to  his  elders,  as  we  are  truly  de- 
lighted when  we  are  not  the  jest  of  them. 
When  I say  this,  I must  confess  I cannot  but 
think  it  a very  lamentable  thing,  that  there 
should  be  a necessity  for  making  that  a rule  of 
life,  which  should  be,  methinks,  a mere  instinct 
of  nature.  If  reflection  upon  a man  in  poverty, 
whom  we  once  knew  in  riches,  is  an  argument 
of  commiseration  with  generous  minds ; sure 
old  age,  which  is  a decay  from  that  vigour 
which  the  young  possess,  and  must  certainly,  if 
not  prevented  against  their  will,  arrive  at,  should 
be  more  forcibly  the  object  of  that  reverence 
which  honest  spirits  are  inclined  to,  from  a 
sense  of  being  themselves  liable  to  what  they 
observe  has  already  overtaken  others. 

My  three  nephews,  whom,  in  June  last  was 
twelvemonth,  I disposed  of  according  to  their 
several  capacities  and  inclinations;  the  first  to 
the  university,  the  second  to  a merchant,  and 
the  third  to  a woman  of  quality  as  her  page,  by 
my  invitation  dined  with  me  to-day.  It  is  my 
custom  often,  when  I have  a mind  to  give  my- 
self a more  than  ordinary  cheerfulness,  to  invite 
a certain  young  gentlewoman  of  our  neighbour- 
hood to  make  one  of  the  company.  She  did  me 
that  favour  this  day.  The  presence  of  a beauti- 
ful woman  of  honour,  to  minds  which  are  not 
trivially  disposed,  displays  an  alacrity  which  is 
not  to  be  communicated  by  any  other  object. 
It  was  not  unpleasant  to  me,  to  look  into  her 
thoughts  of  the  company  she  was  in.  She 
smiled  at  the  party  of  pleasure  I had  thought 
of  for  her,  which  was  composed  of  an  old  man 
and  three  boys.  My  scholar,  my  citizen,  and 
myself,  were  very  soon  neglected ; and  the 
young  courtier,  by  the  bow  he  made  to  her  at 
her  entrance,  engaged  her  observation  without 
a rival.  I observed  the  Oxonian  not  a little  dis- 
composed at  this  preference,  while  the  trader 
kept  his  eye  upon  his  uncle.  My  nephew  Will 
had  a thousand  secret  resolutions  to  break  in 
upon  the  discourse  of  his  younger  brother,  who 
gave  my  fair  companion  a full  account  of  the 
fashion,  and  what  was  reckoned  most  becoming 
to  this  complexion,  and  what  sort  of  habit  ap- 
peared best  upon  the  other  shape.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  acquaint  her,  who  of  quality  was  well 
or  sick  within  the  bills  of  mortality,  and  named 
very  familiarly  all  his  lady’s  acquaintance,  not 
forgetting  her  very  words  when  he  spoke  of 
their  characters.  Besides  all  this,  he  had  a road 
of  flattery  ; and  upon  her  enquiring,  what  sort 
of  woman  lady  Lovely  was  in  her  person, 

‘ Really,  madam,’  says  the  Jackanapes,  ‘ she  is 
exactly  of  your  height  and  shape  ; but  as  you 
are  fair,  she  is  a brown  woman.’  There  was 
no  enduring  that  this  fop  should  outshine  us  all 
at  this  unmerciful  rate ; therefore  I thought  fit 
to  talk  to  my  young  scholar  concerning  his 
studies  ; and  because  I would  throw  his  learn- 
ing into  present  service,  I desired  him  to  repeat 
to  me  the  translation  he  had  made  of  some  ten- 


352 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  208. 


der  verses  in  Theocritus.  He  did  so,  with  an 
air  of  elegance  peculiar  to  the  college  to  which  I 
sent  him.  I made  some  exceptions  to  the  turn 
of  the  phrases ; which  he  defended  with  much 
modesty,  as  believing  in  that  place  the  matter 
was  rather  to  consult  the  softness  of  a swain’s 
passion,  than  the  strength  of  his  expressions. 
It  soon  appeared,  that  Will  had  outstripped  his 
brother  in  the  opinion  of  our  young  lady.  A 
little  poetry,  to  one  who  is  bred  a scholar,  has  the 
same  effect  that  a good  carriage  of  his  person 
has  on  one  who  is  to  live  in  courts.  The  favour 
of  women  is  so  natural  a passion,  that  I envied 
both  the  boys  their  success  in  the  approbation  of 
my  guest;  and  I thought  the  only  person  in- 
vulnerable was  my  young  trader.  During  the 
whole  meal,  I could  observe  in  the  children  a 
mutual  contempt  and  scorn  of  each  other,  arising 
from  tlieir  different  way  of  life  and  education, 
and  took  that  occasion  to  advertise  them  of  such 
growing  distastes;  which  might  mislead  them 
in  their  future  life,  and  disappoint  their  friends, 
as  well  as  themselves,  of  the  advantages  which 
might  be  expected  from  the  diversity  of  their 
professions  and  interests. 

The  prejudices  which  are  growing  up  be- 
tween these  brothers  from  the  different  ways 
of  education,  are  what  create  the  most  fatal 
misunderstandings  in  life.  But  all  distinctions 
of  disparagement,  merely  from  our  circum- 
stances, are  such  as  will  not  bear  the  examina- 
tion of  reason.  The  courtier,  the  trader,  and 
the  scholar,  should  all  have  an  equal  pretension 
to  the  denomination  of  a gentleman.  That 
tradesman  who  deals  with  me  in  a commodity 
which  I do  not  understand,  with  uprightness, 
has  much  more  right  to  that  character,  than  the 
courtier  that  gives  me  false  hopes,  or  the  scholar 
who  laughs  at  my  ignorance. 

The  appellation  of  gentleman  is  never  to  be 
affixed  to  a man’s  circumstances,  but  to  his 
behaviour  in  them.  For  this  reason  I shall 
ever,  as  far  as  I am  able,  give  my  nephews  such 
impressions  as  shall  make  them  value  them- 
selves rather  as  they  are  useful  to  others,  than 
as  they  are  conscious  of  merit  in  themselves. 
There  are  no  qualities  for  which  we  ought  to 
pretend  to  the  esteem  of  others,  but  such  as 
render  us  serviceable  to  them  : for  ‘ free  men 
have  no  superiors  but  benefactors.’  I was  go- 
ing on  like  a true  old  fellow  to  this  purpose  to 
my  guests  when  I received  the  following  epistle  : 

‘ Sir, — I have  yours,  with  notice  of  a benefit 
ticket  of  four  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  both 
inclosed  by  Mr.  Elliot,  who  had  my  numbers  for 
that  purpose.  Your  philosophic  advice  came 
very  seasonably  to  me,  with  that  good  fortune : 
but  I must  be  so  sincere  with  you  as  to  acknow- 
ledge, I owe  my  present  moderation  more  to  my 
own  folly  than  your  wisdom.  You  will  think 
this  strange  until  I inform  you,  that  I had  fixed 
rny  thoughts  upon  the  thousand  pounds  a year, 
and  had,  with  that  expectation,  laid  down  so 
many  agreeable  plans  for  my  behaviour  towards 
my  new  lovers  and  old  friends,  that  I have  re- 
ceived this  favour  of  fortune  with  an  air  of  dis- 
appointment. This  is  interpreted,  by  all  who 
know  not  the  springs  of  my  heart,  as  a wonder- 


ful piece  of  humility.  I hope  my  present  state 
of  mind  will  grow  into  that ; but  I confess  my 
conduct  to  be  now  owing  to  another  cause. — 
However,  I know  you  will  approve  my  taking 
hold  even  of  imperfections  to  find  my  way  to- 
wards virtue,  which  is  so  feeble  in  us  at  the 
best,  that  we  are  often  beholden  to  our  faults  for 
the  first  appearances  of  it. 

‘ I am.  Sir, 

‘ Your  most  humble  servant, 

‘ CHLOE.’ 


No.  208.]  Tuesday,  August  8,  1710. 

Si  dixeris  cestuo,  sudat. Juv.  Sat.  iii.  103. 

If  you  complain  of  heat. 

They  rub  th’  unsweating  brow,  and  swear  they  sweat. 

Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  7. 

An  old  acquaintance,  who  met  me  this  morn- 
ing, seemed  overjoyed  to  see  me,  and  told  me 
I looked  as  well  as  he  had  known  me  to  do  these 
forty  years  : ‘ but,’  continued  he,  ‘ not  quite  the 
man  you  were,  when  we  visited  together  at 
lady  Brightly’s.  Oh  1 Isaac,  those  days  are 
over.  Do  you  think  there  are  any  such  fine 
creatures  now  living  as  we  then  conversed  with?’ 
He  went  on  with  a thousand  incoherent  cir- 
cumstances, which,  in  his  imagination,  must 
needs  please  me;  but  they  had  the  quite  con- 
trary effect.  The  flattery  with  which  he  began, 
in  telling  me  how  well  I wore,  was  not  dis- 
agreeable;  but  his  indiscreet  mention  of  a 
set  of  acquaintance  we  had  outlived,  recalled 
ten  thousand  things  to  my  memory,  which  made 
me  reflect  upon  my  present  condition  with  re- 
gret. Had  he  indeed  been  so  kind  as,  after  a 
long  absence,  to  felicitate  me  upon  an  indolent 
and  easy  old  age  ; and  mentioned  how  much  he 
and  I had  to  thank  for,  who  at  our  time  of  day 
could  walk  firmly,  eat  heartily,  and  converse 
cheerfully,  he  had  kept  up  my  pleasure  in  my- 
self. But  of  all  mankind,  there  are  none  so 
shocking  as  these  injudicious  civil  people.  They 
ordinarily  begin  upon  something  that  they 
know  must  be  a satisfaction  ; but  then,  for  fear 
of  the  imputation  of  flattery,  they  follow  it  with 
the  last  thing  in  the  world  of  which  you  would 
be  reminded.  It  is  tliis  that  perplexes  civil 
persons.  The  reason  that  there  is  such  a general 
outcry  among  us  against  flatterers  is,  that  there 
are  so  few  very  good  ones.  It  is  the  nicest  art 
in  this  life,  and  is  a part  of  eloquence  which 
does  not  want  the  preparation  that  is  necessary 
to  all  other  parts  of  it,  that  your  audience  should 
be  your  well-wishers  ; for  praise  from  an  enemy 
is  the  most  pleasing  of  all  commendations. 

It  is  generally  to  be  observed,  that  the  person 
most  agreeable  to  a man/or  a consfoTicy,  is  he  that 
has  no  shining  qualities,  but  is  a certain  degree 
above  great  imperfections  ; whom  he  can  live 
with  as  his  inferior,  and  who  will  either  overlook, 
or  not  observe  his  little  defects.  Such  an  easy 
companion  as  this,  either  now  and  then  throws 
out  a little  flattery,  or  lets  a man  silently  flatter 
himself  in  his  superiority  to  him.  If  you  take 


No.  208.] 


THE  TATLER. 


353 


notice,  there  is  hardly  a rich  man  in  the  world, 
who  has  not  such  a led  friend  of  small  consider- 
ation, who  is  a darling  for  his  insignificancy. 
It  is  a great  ease  to  have  one  in  our  own  shape 
a species  below  us,  and  who,  without  being  listed 
in  our  service,  is  by  nature  of  our  retinue.  These 
dependants  are  of  excellent  use  on  a rainy  day, 
or  when  a man  has  not  a mind  to  dress  ; or  to 
exclude  solitude,  when  one  has  neither  a mind 
to  that  or  to  company.  There  are  of  this  good- 
natured  order,  who  are  so  kind  as  to  divide 
themselves,  and  do  these  good  offices  to  many. 
Five  or  six  of  them  visit  a whole  quarter  of  the 
town,  and  exclude  the  spleen,  without  fees,  from 
the  families  they  frequent.  If  they  do  not  pre- 
scribe physic,  they  can  be  company  when  you 
take  it.  Very  great  benefactors  to  the  rich,  or 
those  whom  they  call  people  at  their  ease,  are 
your  persons  of  no  consequence.  I have  known 
some  of  them,  by  tlie  help  of  a little  cunning, 
make  delicious  flatterers.  They  know  the  course 
of  the  town,  and  the  general  characters  of  per- 
sons ; by  this  means,  they  will  sometimes  tell 
the  most  agreeable  falsehoods  imaginable.  They 
will  acquaint  you,  that  such-a-one  of  a quite  eon- 
trary  party  said,  ‘ That  though  you  were  en- 
gaged in  different  interests,  yet  he  had  the  great- 
est respect  for  your  good  sense  and  address.’ 
When  one  of  these  has  a little  cunning,  he  passes 
his  time  in  the  utmost  satisfaction  to  himself 
and  his  friends ; for  his  position  is  never  to  re- 
port or  speak  a displeasing  thing  to  his  friend. 
As  for  letting  him  go  on  in  an  error,  he  knows, 
advice  against  them  is  the  office  of  persons  of 
greater  talents  and  less  discretion. 

The  Latin  word  for  a flatterer,  assentaior,  im- 
plies no  more  than  a person  that  barely  consents; 
and  indeed  such-a-one,  if  a man  were  able  to 
purchase  or  maintain  him,  cannot  be  bought  too 
dear.  Such-a-one  never  contradicts  you  ; but 
gains  upon  you,  not  by  a fulsome  way  of  com- 
mending you  in  broad  terms,  but  liking  whatever 
you  propose  or  utter;  at  the  same  time,  is  ready 
to  beg  your  pardon,  and  gainsay  you,  if  you 
chance  to  speak  ill  of  yourself.  An  old  lady  is 
very  seldom  without  such  a companion  as  this, 
who  can  recite  the  names  of  ail  her  lovers,  and 
the  matches  refused  by  her  in  the  days  when 
she  minded  such  vanities,  as  she  is  jAeased  to 
call  them,  though  she  so  much  approves  the 
mention  of  them.  It  is  to  be  noted,  that  a wo- 
man’s  flatterer  is  generally  elder  than  herself; 
her  years  serving  at  once  to  recommend  her 
patroness’s  age,  and  to  add  weight  to  her  com- 
plaisance in  all  other  particulars. 

We  gentlemen  of  small  fortunes  are  extremely 
necessitous  in  this  particular.  I have  indeed 
one  who  smokes  with  me  often  ; but  his  parts 
are  so  low,  that  all  the  incense  he  does  me  is  to 
fill  his  pipe  with  me,  and  to  be  out  at  just  as 
many  whiffs  as  I take.  This  is  all  the  praise  or 
assent  that  he  is  capable  of;  yet  there  are  more 
hours  when  I would  rather  be  in  his  company 
than  in  that  of  the  brightest  man  I know.  It 
would  be  a hard  matter  to  give  an  account  of 
this  inclination  to  be  flattered  ; but  if  we  go  to 
the  bottom  of  it,  we  shall  find,  that  the  pleasure 
2 Y 


in  it  is  something  like  that  of  receiving  money 
which  we  lay  out.  Every  man  thinks  he  has 
an  estate  of  reputation,  and  is  glad  to  see  one 
that  will  bring  any  of  it  home  to  him.  It  is  no 
matter  how  dirty  a bag  it  is  conveyed  to  him  in, 
or  by  how  clownish  a messenger,  so  the  money 
be  good.  All  that  we  want  to  be  pleased  with 
flattery,  is  to  believe  that  the  man  is  sincere  who 
gives  it  us.  It  is  by  this  one  accident,  that  ab- 
surd creatures  often  outrun  the  most  skilful  in 
this  art.  Their  want  of  ability  is  here  an  ad- 
vantage ; and  their  bluntness,  as  it  is  the  seem- 
ing effect  of  sincerity,  is  the  best  cover  to  ar- 
tifice. 

Terence  introduces  a flatterer  talking  to  a 
coxcomb,  whom  he  cheats  out  of  a livelihood  ; 
and  a third  person  on  the  stage  makes  on  him 
this  pleasant  remark,  ‘This  fellow  has  an  art  of 
making  fools  madmen.’  Hie  love  of  flattery  is, 
indeed,  sometimes  the  weakness  of  a great  mind; 
but  you  see  it  also  in  persons,  who  otherwise 
discover  no  manner  of  relish  of  any  thing  above 
mere  sensuality.  These  latter  it  sometimes  im- 
proves ; but  always  debases  the  former.  A fool 
is  in  himself  the  object  of  pity,  until  he  is  flat- 
tered. By  the  force  of  that,  his  stupidity  is 
raised  into  affectation,  and  he  becomes  of  dig- 
nity enough  to  be  ridiculous.  I remember  a 
droll,  that  upon  one’s  saying,  ‘ The  times  are  so 
ticklish,  that  there  must  great  care  be  taken 
what  one  says  in  conversation;  answered  with 
an  air  of  surliness  and  honesty,  ‘ If  people  will 
be  free,  let  them  be  so  in  the  manner  that  I am, 
who  never  abuse  a man  but  to  his  face.’  He  had 
no  reputation  for  saying  dangerous  truths  ; there- 
fore when  it  was  repeated,  ‘You  abuse  a man 
but  to  his  face  ?’  ‘ Yes,’  says  he,  ‘ I flatter  him.’ 

It  is  indeed  the  greatest  of  injuries  to  flatter 
any  but  the  unhappy,  or  such  as  are  displeased 
with  themselves  for  some  infirmity.  In  this 
latter  case,  we  have  a member  of  our  club,  who, 
when  Sir  Jeftery  falls  asleep,  wakens  him  with 
snoring.  This  makes  Sir  Jeffery  hold  up  for 
some  moments  the  longer,  to  see  there  are  men 
younger  than  himself  among  us,  who  are  more 
lethargic  than  he  is. 

Wlien  flattery  is  practised  upon  any  other 
consideration,  it  is  the  most  abject  thing  in  na- 
ture ; nay,  I cannot  think  of  any  character  be- 
low the  flatterer,  except  he  that  envies  him.  You 
meet  with  fellows  prepared  to  be  as  mean  as 
possible  in  their  condescensions  and  expressions; 
but  tiiey  want  persons  and  talents  to  rise  up  to 
such  a baseness.  As  a coxcomb  is  a fool  of 
parts,  so  is  a flatterer  a knave  of  parts. 

The  best  of  this  order,  that  I know,  is  one 
who  disguises  it  under  a spirit  of  contradiction 
or  reproof.  He  told  an  arrant  driveller  the  other 
da}'^,  that  he  did  not  care  for  being  in  company 
with  him,  because  he  heard  he  turned  his  absent 
friends  into  ridicule.  And  upon  lady  Autumn’s 
disputing  with  him  about  something  that  hap- 
pened at  the  Revolution,  he  replied  with  a very 
angry  tone,  ‘Pray,  madam,  give  me  leave  to 
know  more  of  a thing  in  which  I was  actually 
concerned,  than  you  who  were  then  in  your 
nurse’s  arms.’ 


30^ 


354 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  209. 


No.  209.]  Saturday^  August  10,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  9. 

A NOBLE  painter,  who  has  an  ambition  to  draw 
a history  piece,  has  desired  me  to  give  him  a 
subject,  on  which  he  may  show  the  utmost  force 
of  his  art  and  genius.  For  this  purpose,  I have 
pitched  upon  that  remarkable  incident  between 
Alexander  the  Great  and  his  physician.  This 
prince,  in  the  midst  of  his  conquests  in  Persia, 
was  seized  by  a violent  fever  ; and,  according  to 
the  account  we  have  of  his  vast  mind,  his 
thoughts  were  inol^  employed  about  his  recovery 
as  it  regarded  the  war,  than  as  it  concerned  his 
own  life.  He  professed,  a slow  method  was 
worse  tlian  death  to  him  ; because  it  was,  what 
he  more  dreaded,  an  interruption  of  his  glory. 
He  desired  a dangerous,  so  it  might  be  a speedy 
remedy.  During  this  impatience  of  the  king, 
it  is  well  known  that  Darius  had  offered  an  im- 
mense sum  to  any  one  who  should  take  away  his 
life.  But  Philippas,  the  most  esteemed  and  most 
knowing  of  his  physicians,  promised,  that  within 
three  days’  time,  he  would  prepare  a medicine 
for  him,  which  would  restore  him  more  expe- 
ditiously than  could  be  imagined.  Immediately 
after  this  engagement,  Alexander  receives  a let- 
ter from  the  most  considerable  of  his  captains, 
with  intelligence  that  Darius  had  bribed  Phi- 
lippus  to  poison  him.  Every  circumstance  ima- 
ginable favoured  this  suspicion  ; but  this  mo- 
narch, who  did  nothing  but  in  an  extraordinary 
manner,  concealed  the  letter  ; and  while  the 
medicine  was  preparing,  spent  all  his  thoughts 
upon  his  behaviour  in  this  important  incident. 
From  his  long  soliloquy,  he  came  to  this  reso- 
lution : ‘ Alexander  must  not  lie  here  alive  to  be 
oppressed  by  his  enemy.  I will  not  believe  my 
physician  guilty  ; or,  I will  perish  rather  by  his 
guilt,  than  iny  own  diffidence.’ 

At  the  appointed  hour,  Philippus  enters  with 
the  potion.  One  cannot  but  form  to  one’s  self 
on  this  occasion,  the  encounter  of  their  eyes,  the 
resolution  in  those  of  the  patient,  and  the  bene- 
volence in  the  countenance  of  the  physician. 
The  hero  raised  himself  in  his  bed,  and,  holding 
the  letter  in  one  hand,  and  the  potion  in  the 
other,  drank  the  medicine.  It  will  exercise  my 
friend’s  pencil  and  brain  to  place  this  action  in 
its  proper  beauty.  A prince  observing  the  fea- 
tures of  a suspected  traitor,  after  having  drunk 
the  poison  he  offered  him,  is  a circumstance  so 
full  of  passion,  that  it  will  require  the  highest 
strength  of  his  imagination  to  conceive  it,  much 
more  to  express  it.  But  as  painting  is  eloquence 
and  poetry  in  mechanism,  I shall  raise  his  ideas, 
by  reading  with  him  the  finest  draughts  of  the 
passions  concerned  in  this  circumstance,  from 
the  most  excellent  poets  and  orators.  The  con- 
fidence which  Alexander  assumes  from  the  air 
of  Philippus’s  face  as  he  is  reading  his  accusa- 
tion, and  the  generous  disdain  which  is  to  rise 
in  the  features  of  a falsely  accused  man,  are 
principally  to  be  regarded.  In  this  particular, 
he  must  heighten  his  thoughts,  by  reflecting, 
that  he  is  not  drawing  only  an  innocent  man 
traduced,  but  a man  zealously  affected  to  his  per- 
son and  safety,  full  of  resentment  for  being 
thought  false.  How  shall  we  contrive  to  express 


the  highest  admiration,  mingled  with  disdain  ? 
How  shall  we  in  strokes  of  a pencil  say,  what 
Philippus  did  to  his  prince  on  this  occasion  ? 
‘ Sir,  my  life  never  depended  on  yours  more  than 
it  does  now.  Without  knowing  this  secret,  I 
prepared  the  potion,  which  you  have  taken,  as 
what  concerned  Philippus  no  less  than  Alexan- 
der ; and  there  is  nothing  new  in  this  adven- 
ture,  but  that  it  makes  me  still  more  admire  the 
generosity  and  confidence  of  my  master.’  Alex- 
ander took  him  by  the  hand,  and  said,  ‘ Pliilip- 
pus,  I am  confident  you  had  rather  I had  any 
other  way  to  have  manifested  the  faith  I have  in 
you,  than  a case  which  so  nearly  concerns  me  : 
and  in  gratitude  I now  assure  you,  I am  anxious 
for  the  effect  of  your  medicine,  more  for  your 
sake  than  my  own.’ 

iVIy  painter  is  employed  by  a man  of  sense 
and  wealth  to  furnish  him  a gallery  ; and  I 
shall  join  with  my  friend  in  the  designing  part. 
It  is  the  great  use  of  pictures,  to  raise  in  our 
minds  either  agreeable  ideas  of  our  absent 
friends,  or  liigh  images  of  eminent  personages. 
But  the  latter  design  is,  metliinks,  carried  on  in 
a very  improper  way  ; for  to  fill  a roo*m  full  of 
battle  pieces,  pompous  histories  of  sieges,  and  a 
tall  hero  alone  in  a crowd  of  insignificant  figures 
about  him,  is  of  no  consequence  to  private  men. 
But  to  place  before  our  eyes  great  and  illus- 
trious men  in  those  parts  and  circumstances  of 
life,  wherein  their  behaviour  may  have  an  effect 
upon  our  minds  ; as  being  such  as  W'c  partake 
with  them  merely  as  they  were  men  ; such  as 
these,  I say,  may  be  just  and  useful  ornaments 
of  an  elegant  apartment.  In  this  collection 
therefore  that  we  are  making,  we  will  not  have 
the  battles,  but  the  sentiments  of  Alexander. 
The  affair  we  were  just  now  speaking  of  has 
circumstances  of  the  highest  nature ; and  yet 
their  grandeur  has  little  to  do  with  his  fortune. 
If,  by  observing  such  a piece,  as  that  of  his  tak- 
ing a bowl  of  poison  with  so  much  magnanimity, 
a man,  the  next  time  he  has  a fit  of  the  spleen, 
is  less  forw'ard  to  his  friend  or  his  servants,  thus 
far  is  some  improvement. 

I have  frequently  thought,  that  if  we  had 
many  draughts  w’hich  were  historical  of  certain 
passions,  and  had  the  true  figure  of  the  great 
men  w'e  see  transported  by  them,  it  would  be 
of  the  most  solid  advantage  imaginable.  To 
consider  this  mighty  man  on  one  occasion,  ad- 
ministering to  the  wants  of  a poor  soldier  be- 
numbed with  cold,  with  the  greatest  humanity; 
at  another  barbarously  stabbing  a faithful  officer ; 
at  one  time,  so  generously  chaste  and  virtuous 
as  to  give  his  captive  Statira  her  liberty  ; at  an- 
other, burning  a towm  at  the  instigation  of  Thais. 
These  changes  in  the  same  person  are  what 
w’ould  be  more  beneficial  lessons  of  morality, 
than  the  several  revolutions  in  a great  man’s 
fortune.  There  are  but  one  or  two  in  an  age, 
to  w'hom  the  pompous  incidents  of  his  life  can 
be  exemplary ; but  I,  or  any  man,  may  be  as 
sick,  as  good-natured,  as  compassionate,  and  as 
angry,  as  Alexander  the  Great.  My  purpose  in 
all  this  chat  is,  that  so  excellent  a furniture  may 
not  for  the  future  have  so  romantic  a turn,  but 
allude  to  incidents  which  come  within  the  for- 
tunes of  the  ordinary  race  of  men.  I do  not 
know  but  it  is  by  the  force  of  this  senseless 


THE  TATLER. 


355 


No.  210.] 

custom,  that  people  are  drawn  in  postures  they 
would  not  for  half  tliey  are  worth  be  surprised 
in.  The  unparalleled  fierceness  of  some  rural 
esquires  drawn  in  red,  or  in  armour,  who  never 
dreamed  to  destroy  any  thing-  above  a fox,  is  a 
common  and  ordinary  offence  of  this  kind.  But 
I shall  give  an  account  of  our  whole  gallery  on 
another  occasion. 


No.  210.]  Saturday,  August  12,  1710. 

Sheer-lane,  August  10. 

I DID  myself  the  honour  this  day  to  make  a 
visit  to  a lady  of  quality,  who  is  one  of  those 
that  are  ever  railing  at  the  vices  of  the  age,  but 
mean  only  one  vice,  because  it  is  the  only  vice 
they  are  not  guilty  of.  She  went  so  far  as  to 
fall  foul  on  a young  woman,  who  has  had  impu- 
tations ; but  whether  they  were  just  or  not,  no 
one  knows  but  herself.  However  that  is,  she 
is  in  her  present  behaviour  modest,  humble, 
pious  and  discreet.  I thought  it  became  me  to 
bring  this  censorious  lady  to  reason,  and  let 
her  see  she  was  a much  more  vicious  woman 
than  the  person  she  spoke  of. 

‘ Madam,’  said  I,  ‘ you  are  very  severe  to  this 
poor  young  woman,  for  a trespass  which  I be- 
lieve Heaven  has  forgiven  her,  and  for  which 
you  see,  she  is  for  ever  out  of  countenance.’ 
‘Nay,  Mr.  Bickerstaff,’  she  interrupted,  ‘if you 
at  this  time  of  day  contradict  people  of  virtue, 

and  stand  up  for  ill  women’ ‘No,  no,  madam,’ 

said  I,  ‘ not  so  fast ; she  is  reclaimed,  and  I fear 
you  never  will  be.  Nay,  nay,  madam,  do  not 
be  in  a passion ; but  let  me  tell  you  what  you 
are.  Y ou  are  indeed  as  good  as  your  neighbours  ; 
but  that  is  being  very  bad.  You  are  a woman 
at  the  head  of  a family,  and  lead  a perfect  town- 
lady’s  life.  You  go  on  your  own  way,  and  con- 
sult nothing  but  your  glass.  What  imperfec- 
tions indeed  you  see  there,  you  immediately 
mend  as  fast  as  you  can.  You  may  do  the 
same  by  the  faults  I tell  you  of ; for  they  are 
much  more  in  your  power  to  correct. 

‘ You  are  to  know,  then,  that  you  visiting 
ladies  that  carry  }mur  virtue  from  house  to  house 
with  so  much  prattle  in  each  other’s  applause, 
and  triumph  over  other  people’s  faults,  I grant 
you,  have  but  the  speculation  of  vice  in  your 
own  conversations  ; but  promote  the  practice  of 
it  in  all  others  you  have  to  do  wfith. 

‘ As  for  you,  madam,  your  time  passes  away 
in  dressing,  eating,  sleeping,  and  praying. — 
When  you  rise  in  a morning,  I grant  you  an 
hour  spent  very  w'ell ; but  you  come  out  to  dress 
in  so  froward  a humour,  that  the  poor  girl  who 
attends  you,  curses  her  very  being  in  that  she  is 
our  servant,  for  the  peevish  things  you  say  to 
cr.  When  this  poor  creature  is  put  into  a way, 
that  good  or  evil  are  regarded  but  as  they  re- 
lieve her  from  the  hours  she  has  and  must  pass 
■with  you  ; the  next  you  have  to  do  with  is  your 
coachman  and  footmen.  They  convey  your  la- 
dyship to  church.  While  you  are  praying  there 
they  are  cursing,  swearing,  and  drinking  in  an 
ale-house.  During  the  time  also  which  your 
ladyship  sets  apart  for  heaven,  you  are  to  know, 
that  your  cook  is  sweating  and  fretting  in  pre- 


paration for  your  dinner.  Soon  after  your  meal 
you  make  visits,  and  the  whole  world  that  be- 
longs to  you  speaks  all  the  ill  of  you  which  you 
are  repeating  of  others.  You  see,  madam, 
whatever  way  you  go,  all  about  you  are  in  a 
very  broad  one.  The  morality  of  these  people 
it  is  your  proper  business  to  inquire  into;  and 
until  you  reform  them,  you  had  best  let  your 
equals  alone  ; otherwise,  if  I allow  you,  you  are 
not  vicious,  you  must  allow  me  you  are  not 
virtuous.’ 

I took  my  leave,  and  received  at  my  coming 
home  the  following  letter  : 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I have  lived  a pure  and 
undefiled  virgin  these  twenty -seven  years  ; and 
I assure  you,  it  is  with  great  grief  and  sorrow 
of  heart  I tell  you,  that  I become  weary  and  im- 
patient of  the  derision  of  the  gigglers  of  our 
sex  ; who  call  me  old  maid,  and  tell  me,  I shall 
lead  apes.  If  you  are  truly  a patron  of  the 
distressed,  and  an  adept  in  astrology,  you  will 
advise  whether  I shall,  or  ought  to  be  prevailed 
upon  by  the  impertinences  of  my  own  sex,  to 
give  w^ay  to  the  importunities  of  yours.  I as- 
sure you,  I am  surrounded  with  both,  though 
at  present  a forlorn.  I am,  «fec.’ 

I must  defer  my  answer  to  this  lady  out  of  a 
point  of  chronology.  She  says,  she  has  been 
twenty-seven  years  a maid ; but  I fear,  accord- 
ing to  a common  error,  she  dates  her  virginity 
from  her  birth,  which  is  a vei*y  erroneous  me- 
thod ; for  a woman  of  twenty  is  no  more  to  be 
thought  chaste  so  many  years,  than  a man  of 
that  age  can  be  said  to  have  been  so  long  valiant. 
We  must  not  allow  people  the  favour  of  a virtue, 
until  they  have  been  under  the  temptation  to 
the  contrary.  A woman  is  not  a maid  until  her 
birth-day,  as  we  call  it,  of  her  fifteenth  year. 
My  plaintiff  is  therefore  desired  to  inform  me 
whether  she  is  at  present  in  her  twenty-eighth 
or  forty-third  year,  and  she  shall  be  despatched 
accordingly. 

St.  James's  Coffee-house,  August  11. 

A merchant  came  hither  this  morning,  and 
read  a letter  from  a correspondent  of  his  at 
Milan.  It  was  dated  the  7lh  instant,  N.  S. 
The  following  is  an  abstract  of  it ; On  the  25th 
of  the  last  month,  five  thousand  men  were  on 
their  march  in  the  Lampourdan,  under  the 
co.mmand  of  general  Wesell,  having  received 
orders  from  his  catholic  majesty  to  join  him  in 
his  camp  wuth  all  possible  expedition.  The 
dnke  of  Anjou  soon  liad  intelligence  of  their 
motion,  and  took  a resolution  to  decamp,  in  or- 
der  to  intercept  them  within  a day’s  march  of 
our  army.  The  king  of  Spain  w-as  apprehen- 
sive  the  enemy  might  make  such  a movement, 
and  commanded  general  Stanhope  with  a body 
of  horse,  consisting  of  fourteen  squadrons,  to 
observe  their  course,  and  prevent  their  passage 
over  the  rivers  Segra  and  Noguera,  between 
Lerida  and  Balaguer.  It  happened  to  be  the 
first  day  that  officer  had  appeared  abroad  after 
a dangerous  and  violent  fever ; but  he  received 
the  king’s  commands  on  this  occasion  with  a 
joy  which  surmounted  his  present  weakness, 
and  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  last  month  came 


356 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  211. 


lip  with  the  enemy  on  the  plains  of  Balaguer. 
The  duke  of  Anjou’s  rear-guard,  consisting  of 
twenty-six  squadrons,  that  general  sent  intel- 
ligence of  their  posture  to  the  king,  and  desired 
his  majesty’s  orders  to  attack  them.  During 
the  time  which  he  waited  for  his*  instructions, 
he  made  his  disposition  for  the  charge,  which 
was  to  divide  themselves  into  three  bodies  ; one 
to  be  commanded  by  himself  in  the  centre,  a 
body  on  the  right  by  count  Maurice  of  Nassau, 
and  the  third  on  the  left  by  the  earl  of  Roch- 
ford.  Upon  the  receipt  of  his  majesty’s  di- 
rection to  attack  the  enemy,  the  general  him- 
self charged  with  the  utmost  vigour  and  reso- 
lution, while  the  earl  of  Rochford  and  count 
Maurice  extended  themselves  on  his  right  and 
left,  to  prevent  the  advantage  the  enemy  might 
make  of  the  superiority  of  their  numbers. 
What  appears  to  have  misled  the  enemy’s  gen- 
eral in  this  affair  was,  that  it  was  not  supposed 
practicable  that  the  confederates  would  attack 
him  till  they  had  received  a reinforcement. 
For  this  reason,  he  pursued  his  march  without 
facing  about  till  we  were  actually  coming  on 
to  engagement.  General  Stanhope’s  disposition 
made  it  impracticable  to  do  it  at  that  time ; 
count  Maurice  and  the  earl  of  Rochford  at- 
tacking them  in  the  instant  in  which  they 
were  forming  themselves.  The  charge  was 
made  with  the  greatest  gallantry,  and  the  ene- 
my very  soon  put  into  so  great  disorder,  that 
their  whole  cavalry  were  commanded  to  sup- 
port their  rear-guard.  Upon  the  advance  of 
this  reinforcement,  all  the  horse  of  the  king  of 
Spain  were  come  up  to  sustain  general  Stanhope, 
insomuch,  that  the  battle  improved  to  a general 
engagement  of  the  cavalry  of  both  armies. 
After  a warm  dispute  for  some  time,  it  ended  in 
the  utter  defeat  of  all  the  duke  of  Anjou’s 
horse.  Upon  the  despatch  of  these  advices, 
that  prince  was  retiring  towards  Lerida.  We 
have  no  account  of  any  considerable  loss  on  our 
side,  except  that  both  these  heroic  youths,  the 
earl  of  Rochford  and  count  Nassau,  fell  in  this 
action.  They  were,  you  know,  both  sons  of 
persons  who  had  a great  place  in  the  confidence 
of  your  late  king  William  ; and  I doubt  not 
but  their  deaths  will  endear  their  families, 
which  were  enobled  by  him,  in  your  nation. 
General  Stanhope  has  been  reported  by  the 
enemy  dead  of  his  wounds  ; but  he  received 
only  a slight  contusion  on  the  shoulder. 

P.  S.  We  acknowledge  you  here  a mighty 
brave  people ; but  you  are  said  to  love  quarrel- 
ling so  well,  that  you  cannot  be  quiet  at  home. 
The  favourers  of  the  house  of  Bourbon  among 
us  affirm,  that  this  Stanhope,  who  could,  as  it 
were,  get  out  of  his  sick-bed  to  fight  against 
their  king  of  Spain,  must  be  of  the  antimonar- 
chical  party. 


No.  211.]  Tuesday^  August  15,  1710. 

Necqueo  monstrare,  et  sentio  tantum. 

Juv.  Sat,  vii.  56. 

What  I can  fancy  but  can  ne'sr  e.xpress. 

Drydcn.  ' 


Sunday,  August  13. 

If  there  were  no  other  consequences  of  it, 
but  barely  that  human  creatures  on  this  day  as- 
semble  themselves  before  their  Creator,  without 
regard  to  their  usual  employments,  their  minds 
at  leisure  from  the  cares  of  this  life,  and  their 
bodies  adorned  with  the  best  attire  they  can  be- 
stow on  them  ; I say,  were  this  mere  outward 
celebration  of  a sabbath  all  that  is  expected  from 
men,  even  that  w^ere  a laudable  distinction,  and 
a purpose  w’orthy  the  human  nature.  But  when 
there  is  added  to  it  the  sublime  pleasure  of  de- 
votion, our  being  is  exalted  above  itself ; and  he 
who  spends  a seventh  day  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  next  life,  will  not  easily  fall  into  the  cor 
ruptions  of  this  in  the  other  six.  They,  who 
never  admit  thoughts  of  this  kind  into  their  ima- 
ginations, lose  higlier  and  sweeter  satisfactions 
than  can  be  raised  by  any  other  entertainment. 
The  most  illiterate  man  who  is  touched  with 
devotion,  and  uses  frequent  exercises  of  it,  con- 
tracts a certain  greatness  of  mind,  mingled  with 
a noble  simplicity,  that  raises  him  above  those 
of  the  same  condition  ; and  there  is  an  indelible 
mark  of  goodness  in  those  who  sincerely  possess 
it.  It  is  hardly  possible  it  should  be  otherwise  ; 
for  the  fervours  of  a pious  mind  will  naturally 
contract  such  an  earnestness  and  attention  to- 
wards a better  being,  as  will  make  the  ordinary 
passages  of  life  go  off  with  a becoming  indiffer- 
ence. By  this,  a man  in  the  lowest  condition, 
will  not  appear  mean,  or,  in  the  most  splendid 
fortune,  insolent. 

As  to  all  the  intricacies  and  vicissitudes,  un- 
der which  men  are  ordinarily  entangled  with 
the  utmost  sorrow  and  passion,  one  who  is  de- 
voted to  heaven,  when  he  falls  into  such  difficul- 
ties, is  led  by  a clue  through  a labyrinth.  As 
to  this  world,  he  does  not  pretend  to  skill  in  the 
mazes  of  it ; but  fixes  his  thoughts  upon  one 
certainty,  that  he  shall  soon  be  out  of  it.  And 
we  may  ask  very  boldly,  what  can  be  a more 
sure  consolation  than  to  have  a hope  in  death  ? 
When  men  are  arrived  at  thinking  of  their  very 
dissolution  with  pleasure,  how  few  things  are 
there  that  can  be  terrible  to  them  ! Certainly, 
nothing  can  be  dreadful  to  such  spirits,  but  what 
would  make  death  terrible  to  them,  falsehood 
towards  man,  or  impiety  towards  heaven.  To 
such  as  these,  as  there  are  certainly  many  such, 
the  gratification  of  innocent  pleasures  are  dou- 
bled, even  with  reflections  upon  their  imper- 
fection. The  disappointments  which  naturally 
attend  the  great  promises  we  make  ourselves  in 
expected  enjoyments,  strike  no  damp  upon  such 
men,  but  only  quicken  their  hopes  of  soon  know- 
ing  joys  which  are  too  pure  to  admit  of  allay  or 
satiety. 

It  is  thought,  among  the  politer  sort  of  man- 
kind, an  imperfection  to  want  a relish  of  any  of 
those  things  which  refine  our  lives.  This  is  the 
foundation  of  the  acceptance  which  eloquence, 
music,  and  poetry  make  in  the  world  ; and  I 
know  not  why  devotion,  considered  merely  as 
an  exaltation  of  our  happiness,  should  not  at 
least  be  so  far  regarded  as  to  be  considered.  It 
is  possible  the  very  inquiry  would  lead  men  into 
such  thoughts  and  gratifications  as  they  did  not 
expect  to  meet  witli  in  this  place.  Many  a good 


THE  TATLER. 


357 


No.  212.] 

acquaintance  has  been  lost  from  a general  pre- 
possession in  his  disfavour,  and  a severe  aspect 
has  often  hid  under  it  a very  agreeable  com- 
panion. 

There  are  no  distinguishing  qualities  among 
men  to  which  there  are  not  false  pretenders  ; 
but  though  none  is  more  pretended  to  than  that 
of  devotion,  there  are  perhaps  fewer  successful 
impostors  in  this  kind  than  any  other.  There 
is  something  so  natively  great  and  good  in  a 
person  that  is  truly  devout,  that  an  awkward 
man  may  as  well  pretend  to  be  genteel,  as  a 
hypocrite  to  be  pious.  The  constraint  in  words 
and  actions  are  equally  visible  in  both  cases  ; 
and  any  thing  set  up  in  their  room,  does  but  re- 
move the  endeavourers  farther  off  from  their 
pretensions.  But,  however  the  sense  of  true 
piety  is  abated,  there  is  no  other  motive  of  ac- 
tion that  can  carry  us  through  all  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  life  with  alacrity  and  resolution.  But 
piety,  like  philosophy,  when  it  is  superficial, does 
but  make  men  appear  the  worse  for  it ; and  a 
principle  that  is  but  half  received,  does  but  dis- 
tract, instead  of  guiding  our  behaviour.  When 
I reflect  upon  the  unequal  conduct  of  Lotius,  I 
see  many  things  that  run  directly  counter  to  his 
interest;  therefore  I cannot  attribute  his  labours 
for  the  public  good,  to  ambition.  When  I con- 
sider his  disregard  to  his  fortune,  I cannot  es- 
teem him  covetous.  How  then  can  I reconcile 
his  neglect  of  himself,  and  his  zeal  for  others? 
I have  long  suspected  liim  to  be  a ‘ little  pious 
but  no  man  ever  hid  his  vice  with  greater  cau- 
tion than  he  does  his  virtue.  It  was  the  praise 
of  a great  Roman,  ‘ that  he  had  rather  be,  than 
appear  good.’  But  such  is  the  weakness  of 
Lotius,  that  I dare  say,  he  had  rather  be  es- 
teemed irreligious  than  devout.  By  I know  not 
what  impatience  of  raillery,  he  is  wonderfull}’^ 
fearful  of  being  thought  too  great  a believer.  A 
hundred  little  devices  are  mode  use  of  to  hide  a 
time  of  private  devotion  ; and  he  will  allow  you 
any  suspicion  of  his  being  ill  employed,  so  you 
do  not  tax  him  with  being  well.  But  alas ! how 
mean  is  such  a behaviour  ? To  boast  of  virtue, 
is  a most  ridiculous  way  of  disappointing  the 
merit  of  it,  but  not  so  pitiful  as  that  of  being 
ashamed  of  it.  How  unhappy  is  the  wretch, 
who  makes  the  most  absolute  and  independent 
motive  of  action  the  cause  of  perplexity  and  in- 
constancy ! How  different  a figure  does  Cseli- 
colo*  make  with  all  wlio  know  him  ! His  great 
and  superior  mind,  frequently  exalted  by  the 
raptures  of  heavenly  meditation,  is  to  all  his 
friends  of  the  same  use,  as  if  an  angel  were  to 
appear  at  the  decision  of  their  disputes.  They 
very  well  understand,  he  is  as  much  disinter- 
ested and  unbiassed  as  such  a being.  He  consi- 
ders all  applications  made  to  him,  as  those  ad- 
dresses will  affect  his  own  application  to  heaven. 
All  his  determinations  are  delivered  with  a beau- 
tiful humility  ; and  he  pronounces  his  decisions 
with  the  air  of  one  who  is  more  frequently  a sup- 
plicant than  a judge. 


* This  appears  to  be  one  of  Steele’s  political  papers,  in 
which  his  principal  design  seems  to  have  been,  to  con- 
trast the  character  of  Mr.  Harley,  afterwards  lord  Ox- 
ford, the  treasurer  then  in  office,  with  that  of  lord  Go- 
dolphin,  who  was  his  lordship’s  immediate  predecessor. 


Thus  humble,  and  thus  great,  is  the  man  who 
is  moved  by  piety,  and  exalted  by  devotion.  But 
behold  this  recommended  by  the  masterly  hand 
of  a great  divine  I have  heretofore  made  bold 
with. 

‘ It  is  such  a pleasure  as  can  never  cloy  or 
overwork  the  mind ; a delight  that  grows  and 
improves  under  thought  and  reflection  ; and 
while  it  exercises,  does  also  endear  itself  to  the 
mind.  All  pleasures  that  affect  the  body  must 
needs  weary,  because  they  transport ; and  all 
transportation  is  a violence ; and  no  violence 
can  be  lasting  ; but  determines  upon  the  falling 
of  the  spirits,  which  are  not  able  to  keep  up  that 
height  of  motion  that  the  pleasure  of  the  senses 
raises  them  to.  And  therefore  how  inevitably 
does  an  immoderate  laughter  end  in  a sigh, 
which  is  only  nature’s  recovering  itself  after  a 
force  done  to  it  : but  the  religious  pleasure  of  a 
well-disposed  mind  moves  gently,  and  therefore 
constantly.  It  does  not  affect  by  rapture  and  ec- 
stacy,  but  is  like  the  pleasure  of  health,  greater 
and  stronger  than  those  that  call  up  the  senses 
with  grosser  and  more  affecting  impressions. 
No  man’s  body  is  as  strong  as  his  appetites ; 
but  Heaven  has  corrected  the  boundlessness  of 
his  voluptuous  desires  by  stinting  his  strength, 
and  contracting  his  capacities. — The  pleasure 
of  the  religious  man  is  an  easy  and  a portable 
pleasure,  such  a one  as  he  carries  about  in  his 
bosom,  without  alarming  either  the  eye  or  the 
envy  of  the  world.  A man  putting  all  his  plea- 
sures into  this  one,  is  like  a traveller  putting  all 
his  goods  into  one  jewel ; the  value  is.the  same, 
and  the  convenience  greater.’ 


No.  212.]  Thursday,  August  17,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  16. 

I HAVE  had  much  importunity  to  answer  the 
following  letter : 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Reading  over  a volume 
of  yours,  I find  the  words  simplex  munditiis 
mentioned  as  a description  of  a very  well-dressed 
woman.  I beg  of  you,  for  the  sake  of  the  sex, 
to  explain  these  terms.  I cannot  comprehend 
what  my  brother  means  wflten  he  tells  me,  they 
signify  my  own  name,  which  is.  Sir,  your  hum- 
ble servant,  PLAIN  ENGLISH.’ 

I think  the  lady’s  brother  has  given  us  a very 
good  idea  of  that  elegant  expression  ; it  being 
the  greatest  beauty  of  speech  to  be  close  and  in- 
telligible. To  this  end,  nothing  is  to  be  more 
carefully  consulted  than  plainness.  In  a lady’s 
attire,  this  is  the  single  excellence  ; for  to  be, 
what  some  people  call,  fine,  is  the  same  vice  in 
that  case,  as  to  be  florid,  is  in  writing  or  speak- 
ing. I have  studied  and  writ  on  this  important 
subject,  until  I almost  despair  of  making  a re- 
formation in  the  females  of  this  island  ; where 
we  have  more  beauty  than  in  any  spot  in  the 
universe,  if  we  did  not  disguise  it  by  false  gar- 
niture, and  detract  from  it  by  impertinent  im- 
provements. I have  by  me  a treatise  concerning 
pinners,  which,  I have  some  hopes,  will  contri- 
bute to  the  amendment  of  the  present  head- 
dresses, to  which  I have  solid  and  unanswerable 


358 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  213. 


objections.  But  most  of  the  errors  in  that,  and 
other  particulars  of  adorning  the  head,  are  crept 
into  the  world  from  the  ignorance  of  modern 
tirewomen ; for  it  is  come  to  that  pass,  that  an 
awkward  creature  in  the  first  year  of  her  ap- 
prenticeship, that  can  hardly  stick  a pin,  shall 
take  upon  her  to  dress  a woman  of  the  first  qual- 
ity. However,  it  is  certain,  that  there  requires 
in  a good  tirewoman,  a perfect  skill  in  optics ; 
for  all  the  force  of  ornament  is  to  contribute  to 
the  intention  of  the  eyes.  Thus  she,  who  has 
a mind  to  took  killing,  must  arm  her  face  ac- 
cordingly, and  not  leave  her  eyes  and  cheeks 
undressed.  There  is  Araminta,  who  is  so  sen- 
sible of  this,  tliat  she  never  will  see  even  her 
own  husband,  without  a hood*  on.  Can  any  one 
living  bear  to  see  Miss  Gruel,  lean  as  she  is, 
with  her  hair  tied  back  af^er  the  modern  way  ? 
But  such  is  the  folly  of  our  ladies,  that  because 
one  who  is  a beauty,  out  of  ostentation  of  her 
being  such,  takes  care  to  wear  something  that 
she  knows  cannot  be  of  any  consequence  to  her 
complexion  ; I say,  our  women  run  on  so  heed- 
lessly in -the  fashion,  that  though  it  is  the  inter- 
est  of  some  to  hide  as  much  of  their  faces  as 
possible,  yet  because  a leading  toast  appeared 
with  a backward  head-dress,  the  rest  shall  follow 
the  mode,  without  observing  that  the  author  of 
the  fashion  assumed  it  because  it  could  become 
no  one  but  herself. 

Flavia  is  ever  well-dressed,  and  always  the 
genteelest  woman  you  meet : but  the  make  of 
her  mind  very  much  contributes  to  the  orna- 
ment of  her  body.  She  has  the  greatest  sim- 
plicity of  manners  of  any  of  her  sex.  This 
makes  every  thing  look  native  about  her,  and 
her  clothes  are  so  exactly  fitted,  that  they  ap- 
pear, as  it  were,  part  of  her  person.  Every  one 
that  sees  her  knows  her  to  be  of  quality ; but 
her  distinction  is  owing  to  her  manner,  and  not 
to  her  habit.  Her  beauty  is  full  of  attraction, 
but  not  of  allurement.  There  is  such  a com- 
posure in  her  looks,  and  propriety  in  her  dress, 
that  you  would  think  it  impossible  she  should 
change  the  garb,  you  one  day  see  her  in,  fjr 
any  thing  so  becoming,  until  you  next  day  see 
her  in  another.  There  is  no  other  mystery  in 
this,  but  that  however  she  is  apparelled,  she  is 
herself  the  same  ; for  there  is  so  immediate  a 
relation  between  our  thoughts  and  gestures,  that 
a woman  must  think  well  to  look  well. 

But  this  weighty  subject  I must  put  off  for 
some  other  matters,  in  which  my  correspondents 
are  urgent  for  answers  ; which  I shall  do  where 
I can,  and  appeal  to  the  judgment  of  others 
where  I cannot. 

August  15,  1710. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Taking  the  air  the  other 
day  on  horseback  in  the  green  lane  that  leads  to 
Southgate,  I discovered  coming  towards  me  a 
person  well  mounted  in  a mask  ; and  I accord- 
ingly expected,  as  any  one  would,  to  have 
been  robbed.t  But  when  we  came  up  with 


* Hoods  of  various  kinds  began  to  come  into  fashion 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II 
t In  the  process  of  a few  succeeding  years,  so  much 
injury  was  done  in  various  ways,  by  disorderly  persons 
disguised  with  masks,  crapes,  and  blackened  faces,  that 


each  other,  the  spark,  to  my  greater  surprise, 
very  peaceably  gave  me  the  way  ; which  made 
me  take  courage  enough  to  ask  him,  if  he  mas- 
queraded, or  how  ? He  made  me  no  answer, 
but  still  continued  incognito.  This  was  certain- 
ly an  ass,  in  a lion’s  skin  ; a harmless  bull-beg- 
gar, who  delights  to  fright  innocent  people,  and 
set  them  a galloping.  I bethought  myself  of 
putting  as  good  a jest  upon  him,  and  had  turned 
my  horse,  with  a design  to  pursue  him  to  Lon- 
^don,  and  get  him  apprehended  on  suspicion  of 
being  a highwayman  : but  when  I reflected, 
that  it  was  the  proper  office  of  the  magistrate  to 
punish  only  knaves,  and  that  we  had  a Censor 
of  Great  Britain  for  people  of  another  denomi- 
nation,  I immediately  determined  to  prosecute 
him  in  your  court  only.  This  unjustifiable 
frolic  I take  to  be_  neither  wit  nor  humour, 
therefore  hope  you  will  do  me,  and  as  many 
others  as  were  that  day  frighted,  justice. — I am. 
Sir,  your  friend  and  servant, 

‘ J.  L.’ 

‘ Sir, — The  gentleman  begs  your  pardon,  and 
frighted  you  out  of  fear  of  frighting  3’ou ; for 
he  is  just  come  out  of  the  small  pox.’ 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Your  distinction  con- 
cerning  the  time  of  commencing  virgins  is  al- 
lowed to  be  just.  I write  you  my  thanks  for  it, 
in  the  twenty-eighth  year  of  my  life,  and  twelfth 
of  my  virginity.  But  I am  to  ask  you  another 
question  : may  a woman  be  said  to  live  any 
more  years  a maid,  than  she  continues  to  be 
courted  ? I am,  &.C.’ 

August  15,  1710. 

‘ Sir, — I observe  that  the  Postman  of  Satur- 
day last,  giving  an  account  of  the  action  in 
Spain,  has  this  elegant  turn  of  expression ; ge- 
neral Stanhope,  who  in  the  whole  action  ex- 
pressed as  much  bravery  as  conduct,  received  a 
contusion  in  his  right  shoulder.  I should  be 
glad  to  know,  whether  this  cautious  politician 
means  to  commend  or  to  rally  him,  by  saying, 
‘He  expressed  as  much  bravery  as  conduct?’ 
If  you  can  explain  this  dubious  phrase,  it  will 
inform  the  public,  and  oblige.  Sir, 

‘Your  humble  servant,  Ac.’ 


No.  213.]  Saturday,  August  19,  1710. 

Sheer-lane,  Avgust  18. 

There  has  of  late  crept  in  among  the  down- 
right  English  a mighty  spirit  of  dissimulation. 
But,  before  we  discourse  of  this  vice,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  observe,  that  the  learned  make  a 
difference  between  simulation  and  dissimula- 
tion. Simulation  is  a pretence  of  what  is  not, 
and  dissimulation  is  a concealment  of  what  is. 
The  latter  is  our  present  affair.  When  j’ou 
look  round  you  in  public  places  in  this  island, 
you  see  the  generality  of  mankind  carry  in 


it  was  thought  necessary  to  pass  the  law  which  is  called 
‘ The  Black  Act.’  Stat.  9 Geo.  I.  c.  22.  The  ladies  at 
this  time  rode  in  masks.  See  Swift’s  ‘ Works,’ Vol. 
XXII.  p.  269. 


No.  213.] 


THE  TATLER. 


359 


their  countenance  an  air  of  challenge  or  defi- 
ance ; and  there  is  no  such  man  to  be  found 
among  us,  who  naturally  strives  to  do  greater 
honours  and  civilities  than  he  reeeives.  This 
innate  sullenness  or  stubbornness  of  eomplexion 
is  hardly  to  be  eonquered  by  any  of  our  islanders. 
For  whieh  reason,  however  they  may  pretend 
to  ehoose  one  another,  they  make  but  very 
awkward  rogues  ; and  tlieir  dislike  to  eaeh  other 
is  seldom  so  well  dissembled,  but  it  is  suspected. 
When  once  it  is  so,  it  had  as  good  be  professed. 
A man  who  dissembles  well  must  have  none  of 
what  we  call  stomach,  otherwise  he  will  be  cold 
in  his  professions  of  good  will  where  he  hates; 
an  imperfection  of  the  last  ill  consequence  in 
business.  9'his  fierceness  in  our  natures  is  ap- 
parent from  the  conduct  of  our  young  fellows, 
who  are  not  got  into  the  schemes  and  arts  of 
life  which  the  children  of  the  w^orld  walk  by. 
One  would  think  that,  of  course,  when  a man  of 
any  consequence  for  his  figure,  his  mien,  or  his 
gravity,  passes  by  a youth,  he  should  certainly 
have  the  first  advances  of  salutation;  but  he  is, 
you  may  observe,  treated  in  a quite  different 
manner  ; it  being  the  very  cliaracteristic  of  an 
English  temper  to  defy.  As  I am  an  English- 
man, I find  it  a very  hard  matter  to  bring  my- 
self to  pull  off  the  hat  first ; but  it  is  the  only 
way  to  be  upon  any  good  terms  with  those  we 
meet  with.  Therefore  the  first  advance  is  of 
high  moment.  Men  judge  of  others  by  them- 
selves ; and  he  that  will  command  with  us 
must  condescend.  It  moves  one’s  spleen  very 
agreeably,  to  see  fellows  pretend  to  be  dis- 
semblers without  this  lesson.  They  are  so 
reservedly  complaisant,  until  they  have  learned 
to  resign  their  natural  passions,  that  all  the 
steps  they  make  towards  gaining  those  whom 
they  would  be  well  with,  are  but  so  many 
marks  of  what  they  really  are,  and  not  of 
what  they  would  appear. 

The  rough  Britons,  when  they  pretend  to  be 
artful  towards  one  another,  are  ridiculous 
enough;  but  when  they  set  up  for  vices  they 
liave  not,  and  dissemble  their  good  with  an  af- 
fectation of  ill,  they  are  insupportable.  I know 
two  men  in  this  town  who  make  as  good  figures 
as  any  in  it,  that  manage  their  credit  so  well 
as  to  be  thought  atheists,  and  yet  say  their 
prayers  morning  and  evening.  Tom  Springly, 
the  other  day,  pretended  to  go  to  an  assignment 
with  a married  woman  at  Rosamond’s  Pond, 
and  was  seen  soon  after  reading  the  responses 
with  great  gravity  at  six  o’clock  prayers. 

Sheer-lane,  August  17. 

Though  the  following  epistle  bears  a just  ac- 
cusation of  myself,  yet  in  regard  it  is  a more 
advantageous  piece  of  justice  to  another,  I in- 
sert it  at  large. 

Garraway's  Coffee-house,  August  10. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerst.vff, — I have  lately  read  your 
paper,  wherein  you  represent  a conversation 
between  a young  lady,  your  three  nephews,  and 
yourself;  and  am  not  a little  offended  at  the 
figure  you  give  your  young  merchant  in  the 
presence  of  a beauty.  The  topic  of  love  is  a 


subject  on  which  a man  Is  more  beholden  to 
nature  for  his  eloquence,  than  to  the  instruction 
of  the  schools,  or  my  lady’s  woman.  From  the 
two  latter  your  scholar  and  page  must  have 
reaped  all  their  advantage  above  him. — I know 
by  this  time  you  have  pronounced  me  a trader. 
I acknowledge  it ; but  cannot  bear  the  exclu- 
sion from  any  pretence  of  speaking  agreeably  to 
a fine  woman,  or  from  any  degree  of  generosity 
that  way.  You  have  among  us  citizens  many 
well-wishers;  but  it  is  for  the  justice  of  your 
representations,  which  we,  perhaps,  are  better 
judges  of  than  you  (by  the  account  you  give  of 
your  nephew)  seem  to  allow. 

‘ To  give  you  an  opportunity  of  making  us 
some  reparation,  I desire  you  would  tell,  your 
own  way,  the  following  instance  of  heroic  love 
in  the  city.  You  are  to  remember,  that  some- 
where in  your  writings  for  enlarging  the  terri- 
tories of  virtue  and  honour,  you  have  multi- 
plied the  opportunities  of  attaining  to  heroic 
virtue  ; and  have  hinted,  that  in  whatever  state 
of  life  a man  is,  if  he  does  things  above  what 
is  ordinarily  performed  by  men  of  his  rank,  he 
is  in  those  instances  a hero. 

‘ Tom  Trueman,  a young  gentleman  of  eigh- 
teen  years  of  age,  fell  passionately  in  love  with 
the  beauteous  Almira,  daughter  to  his  master. 
Her  regard  for  him  was  no  less  tender.  True- 
man was  better  acquainted  with  his  master’s 
affairs  than  his  daughter  ; and  secretly  lament- 
ed that  each  day  brought  him,  by  many  mis- 
carriages, nearer  bankruptcy  than  the  Ibrmer. 
This  unhappy  posture  of  their  affairs  the  youth 
suspected,  was  owing  to  the  ill  management  of 
a factor  in  whom  his  master  had  an  entire 
confidence.  Trueman  took  a proper  occasion, 
when  his  master  was  ruminating  on  his  decay- 
ing fortune,  to  address  him  for  leave  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  his  time  with  his  foreign  cor- 
respondent. During  three  years  stay  in  that 
employment,  he  became  acquainted  with  all 
that  concerned  his  master,  and  by  his  great  ad- 
dress in  the  management  of  that  knowledge, 
saved  him  ten  thousand  pounds.  Soon  after 
this  accident,  Trueman’s  uncle  left  him  a con- 
siderable estate.  Upon  receiving  that  advice, 
he  returned  to  England,  and  demanded  Almira 
of  her  father.  The  father,  overjo}^ed  at  the 
match,  offered  him  the  ten  thousand  pounds  he 
had  saved  him,  with  the  further  proposal  of  re- 
signing to  him  all  his  business.  Trueman  re- 
fused both  ; and  retired  into  the  country  with 
his  bride,  contented  with  his  own  fortune, 
though  perfectly  skilled  in  all  the  methods  of 
improving  it. 

‘ It  is  to  be  noted,  that  Trueman  refused 
twenty  thousand  pounds  with  another  young 
lady;  so  that  reckoning  both  his  self-denials, 
he  is  to  have  in  your  court  the  merit  of  having 
given  thirty  thousand  pounds  for  the  woman 
he  loved.  This  gentleman  I claim  your  justice 
to;  and  hope  you  will  be  convinced  that  some 
of  us  have  larger  views  than  only  Cash  Debtor, 
per  contra  Creditor. — Yours, 

‘RICHARD  TRAFFICK.’ 

‘ Mr.  Thomas  Trueman  of  Lime-street  is  en 
tered  among  the  heroes  of  domestic  life. 

‘CHARLES  LILLIE.’ 


360 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  214 


No.  214]  Tuesday,  August  22,  1710.  ! 

Soles  et  aperta  serena 

Piospiceri  et  ccrlis  poteris  cognoscere  signis. 

Virg.  Georg,  i.  333. 

’Tis  easy  to  descry 

Returning  suns,  and  a serener  sky.  Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  21. 

In  every  party  there  are  two  sorts  of  men, 
the  rigid  and  the  supple.  The  rigid  are  an  in- 
tractable race  of  mortals,  who  act  upon  prin- 
ciple, and  will  not,  forsooth,  fall  into  any  mea- 
sures that  are  not  consistent  with  their  received 
notions  of  honour.  These  are  persons  of  a 
stubborn  un pliant  morality  ; that  sullenly  adhere  i 
to  their  friends  when  they  are  disgraced,  and  to 
their  principles,  tliough  they  are  exploded.  1 
shall  therefore  give  up  this  stiff-necked  gene- 
ration to  their  own  obstinacy,  and  turn  my 
thoughts  to  the  advantage  of  the  supple,  who 
pay  their  homage  to  places,  and  not  persons ; 
and,  without  enslaving  themselves  to  any  par- 
ticular scheme  of  opinions,  are  as  ready  to 
change  their  conduct  in  point  of  sentiment  as 
of  fashion.  The  well-disciplined  part  of  a court 
are  generally  so  perfect  at  their  exercise,  that 
you  may  see  a whole  assembly,  from  front  to 
rear,  face  about  at  once  to  a new  man  of  power, 
though  at  the  same  time,  they  turn  their  backs 
upon  him  that  brought  them  thither.  The  great 
hardship  these  complaisant  members  of  society 
are  under,  seems  to  be  the  want  of  warning 
upon  any  approaching  change  or  revolution  ; so 
that  they  are  obliged  in  a hurry  to  tack  about 
with  every  wind,  and  stop- short  in  the  midst  of 
a full  career,  to  the  great  surprise  and  derision 
of  their  beholders. 

When  a man  foresees  a decaying  ministry,  he 
has  leisure  to  grow  a malecontent,  reflect  upon 
the  present  conduct,  and,  by  gradual  murmurs, 
fall  off  from  his  friends  into  a new  party,  by  just 
steps  and  measures.  For  want  of  such  notices, 

I have  formerly  known  a very  well-bred  person 
refuse  to  return  a bow  of  a man  whom  he 
thought  in  disgrace,  that  was  next  day  made 
secretary  of  state  ; and  another,  who,  after  a 
long  neglect  of  a minister,  came  to  his  levee, 
and  made  professions  of  zeal  for  his  service  the 
very  day  before  he  was  turned  out.  . 

This  produces  also  unavoidable  confusions 
and  mistakes  in  the  descriptions  of  great  men’s 
parts  and  merits.  That  ancient  Lyric  M.  D’Ur- 
fey,  some  years  ago  writ  a dedication  to  a cer- 
tain lord,  in  which  he  celebrated  him  for  the 
greatest  poet  and  critic  of  that  age,  upon  a mis- 
information in  Dyer’s  letter,  that  his  noble  patron 
was  made  lord  chamberlain.  In  short,  innu- 
merable votes,  speeches,  and  sermons,  have  been 
thrown  av/ay,  and  turned  to  no  account,  merely 
for  want  of  due  and  timely  intelligence.  Nay, 
it  has  been  known,  that  a panegyric  has  been 
half  printed  off,  when  the  poet,  upon  the  re- 
moval of  the  minister,  has  been  forced  to  alter 
it  into  a satire. 

For  the  conduct  therefore  of  such  useful  per- 
sons, as  are  ready  to  do  their  country  service 
upon  all  occasions,  I have  an  engine  in  my 
study,  which  is  a sort  of  a Political  Barometer, 
or,  to  speak  more  intelligibly,  Vi  State  Weather- 
glass, that  by  the  rising  and  falling  of  a certain 


magical  liquor,  presages  all  changes  and  revo- 
lutions in  government,  as  the  common  glass  does 
those  of  the  weather.  This  Weather-glass  is 
said  to  have  been  invented  by  Cardan,*  and 
given  by  him  as  a present  to  his  great  country- 
man and  contemporary,  Machiaval ; which,  by 
the  way,  may  serve  to  rectify  a received  error  in 
chronology,  that  places  one  of  these  some  years 
after  the  other.  How  or  when  it  came  into  my 
hands,  I shall  desire  to  be  excused,  if  I keep  to 
myself ; but  so  it  is,  that  I have  walked  by  it  for 
the  bette'r  part  of  a century  to  my  safety  at  least, 
if  not  to  my  advantage ; and  have  among  my 
papers  a register  of  all  the  changes  that  have 
happened  in  it  from  the  middle  of  queen  Eliza- 
beth’s reign. 

In  the  time  of  that  princess  it  stood  long  as 
settled  fair.  At  the  latter  end  of  king  James  the 
First,  it  fell,  to  cloudy.  It  held  several  years 
after  at  stormy ; insomuch,  that  at  last,  despair- 
ing of  seeing  any  clear  weather  at  home,  I fol- 
lowed the  royal  exile,  and  some  time  after  find- 
ing my  glass  rise,  returned  to  my  native  coun- 
try, with  the  rest  of  the  loyalists.  I was  then 
in  hopes  to  pass  the  remainder  of  my  days  in 
settled  fair : but  alas  ! during  the  greatest  part 
of  that  reign,  the  English  nation  lay  in  a dead 
calm,  which,  as  it  is  usual,  was  followed  by  high 
winds  and  tempests,  until  of  late  years  ; in 
which,  with  unspeakable  joy  and  satisfaction,  I 
have  seen  our  political  weather  returned  to  set- 
tled fair.  I must  only  observe,  that  lor  all  this 
last  summer  my  glass  has  pointed  at  change- 
able. Upon  the  whole,  1 often  apply  to  Fortune, 
/Eneas’s  speech  to  the  Sibyl : — 

Non  ulla  laborum 

O Virgo,  nova  mi  facies  inopinave  surgit: 

Omnia  prscepi,  atque  animo  mecuin  ante  peregi. 

Virg.  .iEn.  vi.  103. 

No  terror  to  my  view, 

No  frightful  face  of  danger  can  be  new  : 

The  mind  foretells  whatever  comes  to  pass  ; 

A thoughtful  mind  is  Fortune’s  weather-glass. 

The  advantages  which  have  accrued  to  those 
whom  I have  advised  in  their  affairs,  by  virtue 
of  this  sort  of  prescience,  have  been  very  con- 
siderable. A nephew  of  mine,  who  has  never 
put  his  money  into  the  stocks,  or  taken  it  out, 
without  my  advice,  has  in  a few  years  raised 
five  hundred  pounds  to  almost  so  many  thou- 
sands. As  for  myself,  who  look  upon  riches  to 
consist  rather  in  content  than  possessions,  and 
measure  the  greatness  of  the  mind  rather  by  its 
tranquillity  than  its  ambition,  I have  seldom 
used  my  glass  to  make  my  way  in  the  world, 
but  often  to  retire  from  it.  This  is  a by-path  to 
happiness,  which  was  at  first  discovered  to  me 
by  a most  pleasing  apophthegm  of  Pythagoras  : 

‘ When  the  winds,’  says  he,  ‘ rise,  wmrship  the 
echo.’  Tiiat  great  philosopher  (whether  to  make 
his  doctrines  the  more  venerable,  or  to  gild  his 
precepts  with  the  beauty  of  imagination,  or  to 
awaken  the  curiosity  of  his  disciples,  for  I will 
not  suppose,  what  is  usually  said,  that  he  did  it 


* Jerom  Cardan,  physician  and  an  astrologer,  the  an 
Ihor  of  ten  volumes  in  folio,  was,  in  the  opinion  of 
Bayle,  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  of  his  age.  This 
strange  man,  who  seems  to  have  been  much  tinder  the 
power  of  superstition  and,  at  times,  not  seldom,  insane, 
was  born  at  Pavia,  September  24,  1501,  and  died  at 
Rome,  according  to  Thuanus,  September  21,  1575. 


No.  215.] 


THE  TATLER. 


S61 


to  conceal  his  wisdom  from  the  vulgar)  has 
couched  several  admirable  precepts  in  remote 
allusions,  and  mysterious  sentences.  By  the 
winds  in  his  apophthegm,  are  meant  state  hur- 
ricanes and  popular  tumults.  ‘When  these 
rise,’  says  he,  ‘ worship  the  echo that  is,  with- 
draw yourself  from  the  multitude  into  deserts, 
woods,  solitudes,  or  the  like  retirements,  which 
are  the  usual  habitations  of  the  echo. 


No.  215.]  Thursday,  August  24,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  23. 

Lysander  has  writ  to  me  out  of  the  country, 
and  tells  me,  after  many  other  circumstances, 
that  he  had  passed  a great  deal  of  time  with 
much  pleasure  and  tranquillity  ; until  his  hap- 
piness was  interrupted  by  an  indiscreet  flatterer, 
who  came  down  into  those  parts  to  visit  a re- 
lation. With  the  circumstances  in  which  he 
represents  the  matter,  he  had  no  small  provoca- 
tion to  be  offended ; for  he  attacked  him  in  so 
wrong  a season,  that  he  could  not  have  any  re- 
lish of  pleasure  in  it;  though,  perhaps,  at  another 
time  it  might  have  passed  upon  him  without 
giving  him  much  uneasiness.  Lysander  had, 
after  a long  satiety  of  the  town,  been  so  happy 
as  to  get  to  a solitude  he  extremely  liked,  and 
recovered  a pleasure  he  had  long  discontinued, 
that  of  reading.  He  was  got  to  the  bank  of  a 
rivulet,  covered  by  a pleasing  shade,  and  fanned 
by  a soft  breeze  ; which  threw  his  mind  into 
that  sort  of  composure  and  attention,  in  which 
a man,  though  with  indolence,  enjoys  the  utmost 
liveliness  of  his  spirits,  and  the  greatest  strength 
of  his  mind  at  the  same  time.  In  this  state, 
Lysander  represents  that  he  was  reading  Vir- 
gil’s Georgies,  when  on  a sudden  the  gentleman 
above-mentioned  surprised  him  ; and,  without 
any  manner  of  preparation,  falls  upon  him  at 
once:  ‘What!  I have  found  you  at  last,  after 
searching  all  over  the  wood  ! we  wanted  you  at 
cards  after  dinner  ; hut  you  are  much  better  em- 
ployed. I have  heard  indeed  that  you  are  an 
excellent  scholar.  But  at  the  same  time,  is  it 
not  a little  unkind  to  rob  the  ladies,  who  like  you 
so  well,  of  the  pleasure  of  your  company  ? But 
that  is  indeed  the  misfortune  of  you  great  scho- 
lars; you  are  seldom  so  fit  for  the  world  as  those 
who  never  trouble  themselves  with  books.  Well, 
I see  you  are  taken  up  with  your  learning  there, 
and  I will  leave  you.’  Lysander  says,  he  made 
him  no  answer,  but  took  a resolution  to  complain 
to  mo. 

It  is  a substantial  affliction,  when  men  govern 
themselves  by  the  rules  of  good  breeding,  that 
by  the  very  force  of  them  they  are  subjected  to 
the  insolence  of  those,  who  either  never  will,  or 
never  can,  understand  them.  The  superficial 
part  of  mankind  form  to  themselves  little  mea- 
sures of  behaviour  from  the  outside  of  things. 
By  the  force  of  these  narrow  conceptions,  they 
act  among  themselves  with  applause  ; and  do 
not  apprehend  they  are  contemptible  to  those  of 
higher  understanding,  who  are  restrained  by 
decencies  above  their  knowledge  from  showing 
a dislike.  Hence  it  is,  that  because  complai- 
sance is  a good  quality  in  conversation,  one  im- 
‘2Z 


pertinent  takes  upon  him  on  all  occasions  to 
commend  ; and  because  mirth  is  agreeable, 
another  thinks  fit  eternally  to  jest.  I have  of 
late  received  many  packets  of  letters,  complain- 
ing of  these  spreading  evils.  A lady  who  is 
lately  arrived  at  the  Bath  acquaints  me,  there 
were  in  the  stage-coach  wherein  she  went  down 
a common  flatterer,  and  a common  jester.  These 
gentlemen  were,  she  tells  me,  rivals  in  her  fa- 
vour ; and  adds,  if  there  ever  happened  a case 
wherein  of  two  persons  one  was  not  liked  more 
than  another,  it  was  in  that  journey.  They  dif- 
fered only  in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  dislike 
between  the  nauseous  and  the  insipid.  Both 
these  characters  of  men  are  born  out  of  a bar- 
renness  of  imagination.  They  are  never  fools 
by  nature  ; but  become  such  out  of  an  impoten 
ambition  of  being,  what  she  never  intended 
them,  men  of  wit  and  conversation.  I therefore 
think  fit  to  declare,  that  according  to  the  known 
laws  of  this  land,  a man  may  be  a very  honest 
gentleman,  and  enjoy  himself  and  his  friend, 
without  being  a wit;  and  I absolve  all  men  from 
taking  pains  to  be  such  for  the  future.  As  the 
present  case  stands,  is  it  not  very  unhappy  that 
Lysander  must  be  attacked  and  applauded  in  a 
wood,  and  Corrina  jolted  and  commended  in  a 
stage-coach ; and  this  for  no  manner  of  reason, 
but  because  other  people  have  a mind  to  show 
their  parts  ? I grant  indeed,  if  these  people,  as 
they  have  understanding  enough  for  it,  would 
confine  their  accomplishments  to  those  of  their 
own  degree  of  talents,  it  were  to  be  tolerated  ; 
but  when  they  are  so  insolent  as  to  interrupt  the 
meditations  of  the  wise,  the  conversations  of  the 
agreeable,  and  the  whole  behaviour  of  the  mo- 
dest, it  becomes  a grievance  naturally  in  my 
jurisdiction.  Among  themselves,  I cannot  only 
overlook,  but  approve  it.  I was  present  the  other 
day  at  a conversation,  where  a man  of  this 
height  of  breeding  and  sense  told  a young  wo- 
man of  the  same  form,  ‘To  be  sure,  madam, 
every  thing  must  please  that  comes  from  a lady.’ 
She  answered,  ‘ I know,  sir,  you  are  so  much  a 
gentleman,  that  you  think  so.’  Why  this  was 
very  well  on  both  sides  ; and  it  is  impossible 
that  such  a gentleman  and  lady  should  do  other- 
wise than  think  well  of  one  at  other.  These  arc 
but  loose  hints  of  the  disturbances  in  human 
society,  for  which  there  is  yet  no  remedy  ; but 
I shall  in  a little  time  publish  tables  of  respect 
and  civility,  by  which  persons  may  be  instructed 
in  the  proper  times  and  seasons,  as  well  as  at 
what  degree  of  intimacy  a man  may  be  allowed 
to  commend  or  rally  his  companions  ; the  pro- 
miscuous license  of  which  is,  at  present,  far 
from  being  among  the  small  errors  in  conver 
sation. 

P.  S.  The  following  letter  was  left,  with  a 
request  to  be  immediately  answered,  lest  the 
artifices  used  against  a lady  in  distress  may 
come  into  common  practice. 

‘Sir, — My  eldest  sister  buried  her  husband 
about  six  months  ago  ; and  at  his  funeral,  a gen- 
tleman of  more  art  than  honesty,  on  the  night 
of  his  interment,  while  she  was  not  herself,  but 
in  the  utmost  agony  of  her  grief,  spoke  to  her 
of  the  subject  of  love.  In  that  weakness  and 
distraction  which  my  sister  was  in,  as  one  ready 
31 


362 


THE  TATLER.  [No.  216. 


to  fall  is  apt  to  lean  on  any  body,  he  obtained 
her  promise  of  marriage,  which  was  according- 
ly consummated  eleven  weeks  after.  There  is 
no  affliction  comes  alone,  but  one  brings  another. 
My  sister  is  now  ready  to  lie  in.  She  humbly 
asks  of  you,  as  you  are  a friend  to  the  sex,  to 
let  her  know,  who  is  tlie  lawful  father  of  this 
child,  or  whether  she  may  not  be  relieved  from 
this  second  marriage  ; considering  it  was  pro- 
mised under  such  circumstances  as  one  may 
very  well  suppose  she  did  not  what  she  did  vo- 
luntarily, but  because  she  was  helpless  other- 
wise. She  is  advised  something  about  engage- 
ments made  in  gaol,  which  she  thinks  the  same 
as  to  the  reason  of  the  thing.  But,  dear  sir,  she 
relies  upon  your  advice,  and  gives  you  her  ser- 
vice ; as  does  your  humble  servant, 

‘REBECCA  MIDRIFFE.’ 

The  case  is  very  hard  ; and  I fear  the  plea 
she  is  advised  to  make,  from  the  similitude  of  a 
man  who  is  in  duresse,  will  not  prevail.  But 
though  I despair  of  remedy  as  to  the  mother, 
the  law  gives  the  child  his  choice  of  iiis  father 
where  the  birth  is  thus  legally  ambiguous. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickersiaff,  Esquire. 

‘ The  humble  Petition  of  the  Company  of  Linen- 

drapers,  residing  within  the  liberty  of  West- 
minster, 

‘ Showeth, — That  there  has  of  late  prevailed 
among  the  ladies  so  great  an  affectation  of  na- 
kedness, that  they  have  not  only  left  the  bosom 
wholly  bare,  but  lowered  their  stays  some  inches 
below  the  former  mode. 

‘ That,  in  particular,  Mrs.  Arabella  Overdo 
has  not  the  least  appearance  of  linen  ; and  our 
best  customers  show  but  little  above  the  small 
of  their  backs. 

‘ That  by  this  means  your  petitioners  are  in 
danger  of  losing  the  advantage  of  covering  a 
ninth  part  of  every  woman  of  quality  in  Great 
Britain. 

‘ Your  Petitioners  humbly  offer  the  premises 
to  your  Indulgence’s  consideration,  and 
shall  ever,  <fec.’ 

Before  I answer  this  Petition,  I am  inclined 
to  examine  the  offenders  myself. 


No.  216.]  Saturday,  August  26,  1710. 

Nugis  addere  pondus.  Hor.  1 Ep.  i.  42. 

Weight  and  importance  some  to  trifles  give. 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  25. 

Nature  is  full  of  wonders ; every  atom  is  a 
standmg  miracle,  and  endowed  with  such  quali- 
ties, as  could  not  be  impressed  on  it  by  a power 
and  wisdom  less  than  infinite.  For  this  reason 
I would  not  discourage  any  searches  that  are 
made  into  the  most  minute  and  trivial  parts  of 
the  creation.  However,  since  the  world  abounds 
’in  the  noblest  fields  of  speculation,  it  is,  me- 
thinks,  the  mark  of  a little  genius,  to  be  wholly 
ixJiiversant  among  insects,  reptiles,  animalcules. 


and  those  trifling  rarities  that  furnish  out  the 
apartment  of  a virtuoso. 

There  are  some  men  whose  heads  are  so  oddly 
turned  this  way,  that  though  they  are  utter 
strangers  to  the  common  occurrences  of  life, 
they  are  able  to  discover  the  sex  of  a cockle,  or 
describe  the  generation  of  a mite,  in  all  its  cir- 
cumstances. They  are  so  little  versed  in  the 
world,  that  they  scarce  know  a horse  from  an 
ox ; but,  at  the  same  time,  will  tell  you  with  a 
great  deal  of  gravity,  that  a flea  is  a rhinoceros, 
and  a snail  a hermaphrodite.  I have  known 
one  of  these  whimsical  philosophers  who  has 
set  a greater  value  upon  a collection  of  spiders 
than  he  would  upon  a flock  of  sheep,  and  has 
sold  his  coat  off  his  back  to  purchase  a taran- 
tula, 

I would  not  have  a scholar  wholly  unac- 
quainted w'ith  these  secrets  and  curiosities  of 
nature;  but  certainly  the  mind  of  man,  that 
is  capable  of  so  much  higher  contemplations, 
should  not  be  altogether  fixed  upon  such  mean 
and  disproportioned  objects.  Observations  of 
this  kind  are  apt  to  alienate  us  too  much  from 
the  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  to  make  us 
serious  upon  trifles  ; by  which  means  they  ex- 
pose philosophy  to  the  ridicule  of  the  witty, 
and  contempt  of  the  ignorant.  In  short,  stu- 
dies of  this  nature  should  be  the  diversions, 
relaxations,  and  amusements  ; not  the  care,  bu- 
siness, and  concern  of  life. 

It  is  indeed  wonderful  to  consider,  that  there 
should  be  a sort  of  learned  men,  who  are  wfflolly 
employed  in  gathering  together  the  refuse  of 
nature,  if  I may  call  it  so,  and  hoarding  up  in 
their  chests  and  cabinets  such  creatures  as 
others  industriously  avoid  the  sight  of.  One 
does  not  know  how  to  mention  some  of  the  most 
precious  parts  of  their  treasure,  without  a kind 
of  an  apology  for  it.  I have  been  shown  a beetle 
valued  at  twenty  crowns,  and  a toad  at  a hun- 
dred : but  we  must  take  this  for  a general  rule, 

‘ That  whatever  appears  trivial  or  obscene  in  the 
common  notions  of  the  world,  looks  grave  and 
philosophical  in  the  eye  of  a virtuoso.’ 

To  show  this  humour  in  its  perfection,  I shall 
present  my  reader  with  the  legacy  of  a certain 
virtuoso,  W'ho  laid  out  a considerable  estate  in 
natural  rarities  and  curiosities,  which  upon  his 
death-bed  he  bequeathed  to  his  relations  and 
friends,  in  the  following  words  : 

The  Will  of  a Virtuoso. 

I,  Nicholas  Gimcrack,  being  in  sound  health 
of  mind,  but  in  great  weakness  of  body,  do  by 
this  my  last  will  and  testament  bestow  my 
worldly  goods  and  chattels  in  manner  follow- 
ing: 

Imprbnis,  To  my  dear  wife. 

One  box  of  butterflies. 

One  drawer  of  shells, 

A female  skeleton, 

A dried  cockatrice. 

Item,  To  my  daughter  Elizabeth, 

My  receipt  for  preserving  dead  caterpillars. 
As  also  my  preparations  of  winter  Maydew, 
and  embryo-pickle. 

Item,  To  my  little  daughter  Fanny, 

Three  croeodile’s  eggs. 


No.  217.J 


THE  TATLER. 


363 


And  upon  the  birth  of  her  first  child,  if  she 
marries  with  her  mother’s  consent, 

The  nest  of  a humming-bird. 

hem.  To  my  eldest  brother,  as  an  acknow- 
ledgment for  the  lands  he  has  vested  in  my  son 
Charles,  I bequeath 

My  last  year’s  collection  of  grasshoppers. 

Item,  To  his  daughter  Susanna,  being  his 
only  child,  I bequeath  my 

English  weeds  pasted  on  royal  paper. 

With  my  large  folio  of  Indian  cabbage. 

Item,  To  my  learned  and  worthy  friend  doc- 
tor Johannes  Elscrickius,  professor  in  anatomy, 
and  my  associate  in  the  studies  of  nature,  as 
an  eternal  monument  of  my  affection  and  friend- 
ship for  him,  I bequeath 
My  rat’s  testicles,  and 
Whale’s  pizzle, 

to  him  and  his  issue  male;  and  in  default  of 
such  issue  in  the  said  doctor  Elscrickius,  tlien 
to  return  to  my  executor  and  his  heirs  for  ever. 

Having  fully  provided  for  my  nephew  Isaac, 
by  making  over  to  him  some  years  since, 

A horned  Scarabseus, 

The  skin  of  a rattle-snake,  and 
The  mummy  of  an  Egyptian  king, 

I make  no  further  provision  for  him  in  this  my 

My  eldest  son  John,  having  spoke  disrespect- 
fully of  his  little  sister,  whom  I keep  by  me  in 
spirits  of  wine,  and  in  many  other  instances 
behaved  himself  undutifully  towards  me,  I do 
disinherit,  and  wholly  cut  off  from  any  part  of 
this  my  personal  estate,  by  giving  him  a single 
cockle-shell. 

To  my  second  son  Charles  I give  and  be- 
queath all  my  flowers,  plants,  minerals,  mosses, 
shells,  pebbles,  fossils,  beetles,  butterflies,  cater- 
pillars, grasshoppers,  and  vermin,  not  above- 
specified  ; as  also  all  my  monsters,  both  wet  and 
dry  ; making  the  said  Charles  whole  and  sole 
executor  of  this  my  last  wflll  and  testament : he 
paying,  or  causing  to  be  paid,  the  aforesaid  le- 
gacies within  the  space  of  six  months  after  my 
decease.  And  I do  liereby  revoke  all  other  wills 
whatsoever  by  me  formerly  made. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas  an  ignorant  upstart  in  astrology  has 
publicly  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  w’orld,  that 
he  is  the  late  John  Partridge,  who  died  the 
twenty-eighth  of  March,  1708  : These  are  to 
certify  all  whom  it  may  concern,  that  the  true 
John  Partridge  was  not  only  dead  at  that  time, 
but  continues  so  to  this  present  day. 

Beware  of  counterfeits,  for  such  are  abroad. 


No.  217.]  Tuesday,  August  29,  1710. 

Atque  deos,  atque  astra  vocat  criidelia  mater. 

Virg.  Eel.  v.  ver.  23. 

She  sigh’d,  she  sobb’d,  and  furious  with  despair. 
Accused  all  the  gods,  and  every  star.  Dry  den. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  28. 

As  I was  passing  by  a neighbour’s  house  this 
morning,  I overheard  the  wife  of  the  family 


speaking  things  to  her  husband  which  gave  me 
much  disturbance,  and  put  me  in  mind  of  a 
character  which  I wonder  I have  so  long  omit- 
ted, and  that  is,  an  outrageous  species  of  the 
fair  sex,  which  is  distinguished  by  the  term 
Scolds.  The  generality  of  women  are  by  na- 
ture loquacious;  therefore  mere  volubility  of 
speech  is  not  to  be  iaiputcd  to  them,  but  should 
be  considered  with  pleasure  when  it  is  used  to 
express  such  passions  as  tend  to  sweeten  or 
adorn  conversation : but  when  through  rage, 
females  are  vehement  in  their  eloquence,  no- 
thing in  the  world  has  so  ill  an  effect  upon  the 
features ; for,  by  the  force  of  it,  I have  seen 
the  most  amiable  become  the  most  deformed  ; 
and  she  that  appeared  one  of  the  graces,  im- 
mediately turned  into  one  of  the  furies.  I 
humbly  conceive,  the  great  cause  of  this  evil 
may  proceed  from  a false  notion  the  ladies  have 
of,  what  we  call,  a modest  woman.  They  have 
too  narrow  a conception  of  this  lovely  charac- 
ter; and  believe  they  have  not  at  all  forfeited 
their  pretensions  to  it,  provided  they  have  no 
imputations  on  their  chastity.  But,  alas  ! the 
young  fellows  know  they  pick  out  better  wo- 
men in  the  side-boxes,  than  many  of  those 
who  pass  upon  the  world  and  themselves  for 
modest. 

Modesty  never  rages,  never  mur.nurs,  never 
pouts ; when  it  is  ill-treated,  it  pines,  it  be- 
seeches, it  languishes.  Tiie  neighbour  I men- 
tion is  one  of  your  toinmnn  modest  women,  that 
is  to  say,  those  W’ho  are  ordinarily  reckoned 
sucli.  Her  husband  knows  every  pain  in  life 
with  her  but  jealousy.  Now,  because  she  is 
dear  in  this  particular,  the  man  cannot  say  his 
soul  is  his  own,  but  she  cries:  ‘No  modest 
woman  is  respected  now-a-days.’  What  adds 
to  tire  comedy  in  this  case  is,  that  it  is  very  or- 
dinary with  this  sort  of  w’omen  to  talk  in  the 
language  of  distress;  they  wull  complain  of  the 
forlorn  wretchedness  of  their  condition,  and 
tlien  the  poor  helpless  creatures  shall  throw  the 
next  thing  they  can  lay  their  hands  on  at  the 
person  who  offends  tliem.  Our  neighbour  was 
only  saying  to  his  wife,  ‘she  went  a little  too 
fine,’  wiien  she  immediately  pulled  his  periwig 
off,  and  stamping  it  under  her  feet,  wrung  her 
hands,  and  said  : ‘ never  modest  woman  was  so 
used.’  These  ladies  of  irresistible  modesty  are 
those  who  make  virtue  unamiable  ; not  that  they 
ean  be  said  to  be  virtuous,  but  as  they  live 
wifheut  scandal ; and  being  under  the  common 
denomination  of  being  such,  men  fear  to  meet 
their  faults  in  those  who  are  as  agreeable  as 
tliey  are  innocent. 

I take  the  Bully  among  men,  and  the  Scold 
among  women,  to  draw  the  foundation  of  their 
actions  from  the  same  defect  in  the  mind.  A 
Bully  thinks  honour  consists  wholly  in  being 
brave  ; and  therefore  has  regard  to  no  one  rule 
of  life  if  he  preserves  himself  from  the  accusa- 
tion of  cov/ardice.  The  froward  woman  knows 
chastity  to  be  the  first  merit  in  a woman ; and 
therefore,  since  no  one  can  call  her  one  ugly 
name,  she  calls  all  mankind  all  the  rest. 

These  ladies,  where  their  companions  are  so 
imprudent  as  to  take  their  speeches  for  any 
otl)er  than  exercises  of  their  own  lungs  and 


364 


THE  TATLER, 


[No.  218. 


their  husbands’  patience,  gain  by  the  force  of 
being  resisted,  and  flame  with  open  fury,  which 
is  no  way  to  be  opposed  but  by  being  neglected  ; 
though  at  the  same  time  human  frailty  makes 
it  very  hard,  to  relish  the  philosophy  of  con- 
temning even  frivolous  reproach.  There  is  a 
very  pretty  instance  of  this  infirmity  in  the  man 
of  the  best  sense  that  ever  was,  no  less  a person 
than  Adam  himself.  According  to  Milton’s 
description  of  the  first  couple,  as  soon  as  they 
had  fallen,  and  the  turbulent  passions  of  anger, 
hatred,  and  jealousy,  first  entered  their  breasts ; 
Adam  grew  moody,  and  talked  to  his  wife,  as 
you  may  find  it  in  the  three  hundred  and  fifty- 
ninth  page,  and  ninth  book  of  Paradise  Lost, 
in  the  octavo  edition,  which  out  of  heroics,  and 
put  into  domestic  style,  would  run  thus  : 

‘ Madam,  if  my  advices  had  been  of  any  au- 
thority with  you,  when  that  strange  desire  of 
gadding  possessed  you  this  morning,  we  had 
still  been  happy ; but  your  cursed  vanity  and 
opinion  of  your  own  conduct,  which  is  certainly 
very  wavering  when  it  seeks  occasions  of  being 
proved,  has  ruined  both  yourself  and  me,  who 
trusted  you.’ 

Eve  had  no  fan  in  her  hand  to  ruffle,  or  tucker 
to  pull  down ; but  with  a reproachful  air  she  an- 
swered  : 

‘ Sir,  do  you  impute  that  to  my  desire  of  gad- 
ding, which  might  have  happened  to  yourself, 
with  all  your  wisdom  and  gravity  ? The  ser- 
pent spoke  so  excellently,  and  with  so  good  a 

grace,  that Besides,  what  harm  had  I ever 

done  him,  that  he  should  design  me  any  ? Was 
I to  have  been  always  at  your  side,  I might  as 
well  have  continued  there,  and  been  but  your 
rib  still : but  if  I was  so  weak  a creature  as  you 
thought  me,  why  did  you  not  interpose  your 
sage  authority  more  absolutely?  You  denied 
me  going  as  faintly,  as  you  say  I resisted  the 
serpent.  Had  not  you  been  too  easy,  neither 
you  nor  I had  now  transgressed.’  Adam  re- 
plied, ‘ Why,  Eve,  hast  thou  the  impudence  to 
upbraid  me  as  the  cause  of  f hy  transgression  for 
my  indulgence  to  thee  ? Thus  will  it  ever  be 
w’ith  him,  who  trusts  too  much  to  woman.  At 
the  same  time  that  she  refuses  to  be  governed, 
if  she  suffers  by  her  obstinacy,  she  will  accuse 
the  man  that  shall  leave  her  to  herself.’ 

Thus  they  in  mutual  accusation  spent 

The  fruitless  hours,  but  neither  seif-condemning; 

And  of  their  vain  contest  appeared  no  tad. 

This,  to  the  modern,  will  appear  but  a very 
faint  piece  of  conjugal  enmity;  but  you  are  to 
consider,  that  they  were  but  just  begun  to  be 
angry,  and  they  wanted  new  words  for  express- 
ing their  netv  passions;  but  by  her  accusing 
him  of  letting  her  go,  and  telling  him  how  good 
a speaker,  and  how  fine  a gentleman  the  devil 
was,  we  must  reckon,  allowing  for  the  im- 
provements of  lime,  that  she  gave  him  the  same 
provocation  as  if  she  had  called  him  cuckold. 
The  passionate  and  familiar  terms,  W'iih  which 
the  same  case  repeated  daily  for  so  many  thou- 
sand years  has  furnished  the  present  generation, 
were  not  then  in  use;  but  the  foundation  of  de- 
b.ate  has  ever  been  the  sap.ie,  a contention  about 
their  merit  and  wisdom.  Our  general  mother 
was  a beauty ; and  hearing  there  was  another 
now  in  the  world,  could  not  forbear,  as  Adam 


tells  her,  showing  herself,  though  to  the  devil, 
by  whom  the  same  vanity  made  her  liable  to  be 
betrayed. 

I cannot,  with  all  the  help  of  science  and  as- 
trology, find  any  other  remedy  for  this  evil,  but 
what  w’as  the  medicine  in  this  first  quarrel ; 
which  was,  as  appears  in  the  next  book,  that 
they  were  convinced  of  their  being  both  weak, 
but  the  one  weaker  than  the  other. 

If  it  were  possible  that  the  beauteous  could 
but  rage  a little  before  a glass,  and  see  their 
pretty  countenances  grow  wild,  it  is  not  to  be 
doubted  but  it  would  have  a very  good  effect : 
but  that  would  require  temper ; for  lady  Fire- 
brand, upon  observing  her  features  swell  when 
her  maid  vexed  her  the  other  day,  stamped  her 
dressing-glass  under  her  feet.  In  this  case, 
when  one  of  this  temper  is  moved,  she  is  like  a 
witch  in  an  operation,  and  makes  all  things 
turn  round  with  her.  The  very  fabric  is  in  a 
vertigo  when  she  begins  to  charm.  In  an  in- 
slant,  whatever  was  the  occasion  that  moved 
her  blood,  she  has  such  intolerable  servants  ; 
Betty  is  so  awkward,  Tom  cannot  carry  a mes- 
sage, and  her  husband  has  so  little  respect  for 
her,  that  she,  poor  woman,  is  weary  of  this  life, 
and  was  born  to  be  unhappy. 

Desunt  Malta. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  season  now  coming  on  in  which  the 
town  will  begin  to  fill,  Mr.  Bickerstaff  gives 
notice,  that  from  the  first  of  October  next  he 
will  be  much  wittier  than  he  has  hitherto  been. 


No.  218.]  Thursday,  August  31,  1710. 

Scriptorura  chorus  omnis  amat  nemus,  et  fiigit  urbes. 

Hor.  2 Ep.  ii.  77. 

The  tribe  of  writers,  to  a man,  admire 

The  peaceful  grove,  and  from  the  town  retire. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  August  30. 

I CHANCED  to  rise  very  early  one  particular 
morning  this  summer,  and  took  a walk  into  the 
country  to  divert  myself  among  the  fields  and 
meadows,  while  the  green  was  new,  and  the 
flowers  in  their  bloom.  As  at  this  season  of  the 
year  every  lane  is  a beautiful  walk,  and  every 
hedge  full  of  nosegays  ; I lost  myself  with  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure  among  several  thickets 
and  bushes,  that  were  filled  with  a great  variety 
of  birds,  and  an  agreeable  confusion  of  notes, 
which  formed  the  pleasantest  scene  in  the 
world  to  one  who  had  passed  a whole  winter 
in  noise  and  smoke.  The  freshness  of  the  dews 
that  lay  upon  every  thing  about  me,  with  the 
cool  breath  of  the  morning,  which  inspired  the 
birds  with  so  many  delightful  instincts,  created 
in  me  the  same  kind  of  animal  pleasure,  and 
mace  my  heart  overflow  with  such  secret  emo- 
tions of  joy  and  satisfaction  as  are  not  to  be 
described  or  accounted  for.  On  this  occasion 
I could  not  but  reflect  upon  a beautiful  simile 
in  ?diIton  : 


No.  218.] 


THE  TATLER. 


365 


As  one  who  long  in  populous  city  pent, 

Where  houses  thick  and  sewers  annoy  the  air. 

Forth  issuing  on  a summer’s  morn,  to  breathe 
Among  the  pleasant  villages  and  farms 
Adjoin’d,  from  each  thing  met  conceives  delight  r 
The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass,  or  kine. 

Or  dairy,  each  rural  sight,  each  rural  sound. 

Those  who  are  conversant  in  the  writings  of 
polite  authors,  receive  an  additional  entertain- 
ment from  the  country,  as  it  revives  in  their 
memories  those  charming  descriptions,  with 
which  such  authors  do  frequently  abound. 

I was  thinking  of  the  foregoing  beautiful 
simile  in  Milton,  and  applying  it  to  myself, 
when  I observed  to  the  windward  of  me  a black 
cloud  falling  to  the  earth  in  long  trails  of  rain, 
which  made  me  betake  myself  for  shelter  to  a 
house  I saw  at  a little  distance  from  the  place 
where  I was  walking.  As  I sat  in  the  porch, 
I heard  the  voices  of  two  or  tliree  persons,  who 
seemed  very  earnest  in  discourse.  My  curiosity 
was  raised  when  I heard  the  names  of  Alexan- 
der the  Great  and  Artaxerxes  ; and  as  their  talk 
seemed  to  run  on  ancient  heroes,  I concluded 
there  could  not  be  any  secret  in  it;  for  which 
reason  I thought  I might  very  fairly  listen  to 
what  they  said. 

After  several  parallels  between  great  men, 
which  appeared  to  me  altogether  groundless  and 
chimerical,  I was  surprised  to  hear  one  say,  that 
he  valued  the  Black  Prince  more  than  the  duke 
of  Vendosme.  How  the  duke  of  Vendosme 
should  become  a rival  of  the  Black  Prince,  I 
could  not  conceive  : and  was  more  startled  when 
I heard  a second  affirm  with  great  vehemence, 
that  if  the  emperor  of  Germany  was  not  going 
off,  he  should  like  him  better  than  either  of 
them.  He  added,  that  though  the  season  was  so 
changeable,  the  duke  of  Marlborough  was  in 
blooming  beauty.  I was  wondering  to  myself 
from  whence  they  had  received  this  odd  intelli- 
gence ; especially  when  I heard  them  mention 
the  names  of  several  other  great  generals,  as  the 
prince  of  Hesse,  and  the  king  of  Sweden,  who, 
they  said,  were  both  running  away.  To  which 
they  added,  wffiat  I entirely  agreed  with  them 
in,  that  the  crown  of  France  was  very  weak, 
but  that  the  marshal  Villars  still  kept  his  colours. 
At  last  one  of  them  told  the  company,  if  they 
would  go  along  with  him,  he  would  show  them 
a chimney-sweeper  and  a painted  lady  in  the 
same  bed,  which  he  was  sure  would  very  much 
please  them.  The  shower,  which  had  driven 
them  as  well  as  myself  into  the  house,  was  now 
over  : and  as  they  were  passing  by  me  into  the 
garden,  I asked  them  to  let  me  be  one  of  their 
company. 

The  gentleman  of  the  house  told  me,  ‘ if  I de- 
lighted in  flowers,  it  would  be  worth  my  while ; 
for  that  he  believed  he  could  show  me  such  a 
blow  of  tulips,  as  was  not  to  be  matched  in  the 
whole  country.’ 

I accepted  the  offer,  and  immediately  found 
that  they  had  been  talking  in  terms  of  garden- 
ing, and  that  the  kings  and  generals  they  had 
mentioned  were  only  so  many  tulips,  to  which 
the  gardeners,  according  to  their  usual  custom, 
had  given  such  high  titles  and  appellations  of 
honour. 

I was  very  much  pleased  and  astonished  at 
the  glorious  show  of  these  gay  vegetables,  that 


arose  in  great  profusion  on  all  the  banks  about 
us.  Sometimes  I considered  them  with  the  eye 
of  an  ordinary  spectator,  as  so  many  beautiful 
objects  varnished  over  with  a natural  gloss,  and 
stained  with  such  9.  variety  of  colours,  as  are 
not  to  be  equalled  in  any  artificial  dyes  or  tinc- 
tures. Sometimes  I considered  every  leaf  as  an 
elaborate  piece  of  tissue,  in  which  the  threads 
and  fibres  were  woven  together  into  different 
configurations,  which  gave  a different  colouring 
to  the  light  as  it  glanced  on  the  several  parts  of 
the  surface.  Sometimes  I considered  the  whole 
bed  of  tulips,  according  to  the  notion  of  the 
greatest  mathematician  and  philosopher  that 
ever  lived,*  as  a multitude  of  optic  instruments, 
designed  for  the  separating  light  into  all  those 
various  colours  of  which  it  is  composed. 

I was  awakened  out  of  these  my  philosophical 
speculations,  by  observing  the  company  often 
seemed  to  laugh  at  me.  I accidentally  praised 
a tulip  as  one  of  the  finest  I ever  saw ; upon 
which  they  told  me,  it  was  a common  Fool’s 
Coat.  Upon  that  I praised  a second,  which  it 
seems  was  but  another  kind  of  Fool’s  Coat.  I 
had  the  same  fate  with  two  or  three  more ; for 
which  reason  I desired  the  owner  of  the  garden 
to  let  me  know  which  were  the  finest  of  the 
flowers ; for  that  I was  so  unskilful  in  the  art, 
that  I thought  the  most  beautiful  were  the  most 
valuable,  and  that  those  which  had  the  gayest 
colours  were  the  most  beautiful.  The  gentle- 
man smiled  at  my  ignorance.  He  seemed  a very 
plain  honest  man,  and  a person  of  good  sense, 
had  not  his  head  been  touched  with  that  distem- 
per which  Hippocrates  calls  the 
Tulippornania  ; insomuch  that  he  would  talk 
very  rationally  on  any  subject  in  the  world  but 
a tulip. 

He  told  me,  ‘ that  he  valued  the  bed  of  flowers 
which  lay  before  us,  and  was  not  above  twenty 
yards  in  length  and  two  in  breadth,  more  than 
he  would  the  best  hundred  aciies  of  land  in 
England  ;’  and  added,  ‘ that  it  would  have  been 
worth  twice  the  money  it  is,  if  a foolish  cook- 
maid  of  his  had  not  almost  mined  him  the  last 
winter,  by  mistaking  a handful  of  tulip-roots  for 
a heap  of  onions,  and  by  that  means,’  says  he,. 
‘ made  me  a dish  of  porridge  that  cost  yne  above 
a thousand  pounds  sterling.''  He  then  showed 
me  what  he  thought  the  finest  of  his  tulips,  which 
I found  received  all  their  value  from  their  rarity 
and  oddness,  and  put  me  in  mind  of  your  great 
fortunes,  which  are  not  always  the  greatest 
beauties. 

I have  often  looked  upon  it  as  a piece  of  hap- 
piness, that  I have  never  fallen  into  any  of  these 
fantastieal  tastes,  nor  esteemed  any  thing  the 
more  for  its  being  uncommon  and  hard  to  be  met 
with.  For  this  reason,  I look  upon  the  whole 
eountry  in  spring-time  as  a spacious  garden, 
and  make  as  many  visits  to  a spot  of  daisies,  or 
a bank  of  violets,  as  a florist  does  to  his  borders 
or  parterres.  There  is  not  a bush  in  blossom 
within  a mile  of  me  which  I am  not  acquainted 
with,  nor  scarce  a daffodil  or  cowslip  that  withers 
away  in  my  neighbourhood  without  my  missing 
it.  I walked  home  in  this  temper  of  mind  through 


* Sir  Isaac  IVewton. 
31^ 


366 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  219. 


several  fields  and  meadows  with  an  unspeakable 
pleasure,  not  without  reflecting  on  the  bounty 
of  Providence,  w'hich  has  made  the  most  pleas- 
ing and  most  beautiful  objects  the  most  ordinary 
and  most  common. 


No.  219.]  Saturday^  September  2,  1710. 

Solutos 

Q,ui  captat  risus  hominura,  fainamque  dicacis 

Affectai,  niger  est ; hunc,  tu  Romane,  caveto. 

Hor.  1 Sat.  iv.  82. 

Who  trivial  bursts  of  laughter  strives  to  raise, 

And  courts  of  prating  petulance  the  praise. 

This  man  is  vile  ; here,  Roman,  fix  your  mark ; 

His  soul  is  black,  as  his  complexion ’s  dark. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  1. 

Never  were  men  so  perplexed  as  a select 
company  of  us  were  this  evening  with  a couple 
of  professed  wits,  who,  through  our  ill-fortune, 
and  their  own  confidence,  had  thought  fit  to  pin 
themselves  upon  a gentleman  who  had  owned  to 
them,  that  he  was  going  to  meet  such  and  such 
persons,  and  named  us  one  by  one.  These  pert 
puppies  immediately  resolved  to  come  with  him ; 
and  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  night 
entertained  each  other  with  impertinences,  to 
which  W8  were  perfect  strangers.  J am  come 
home  very  much  tired ; for  the  affliction  was  so 
irksome  to  me,  tliat  it  surpasses  all  other  I ever 
knew,  insomuch  that  I cannot  reflect  upon  this 
sorrow  with  pleasure,  though  it  is  past. 

An  easy  manner  of  conversation  is  the  most 
desirable  quality  a man  can  have;  and  for  that 
reason  coxcombs  will  take  upon  them  to  be 
familiar  with  people  whom  they  never  saw  be- 
fore. What  adds  to  the  vexation  of  it  is,  that 
they  will  act  upon  the  foot  of  knowing  you  by 
fame;  and  rally  with  you,  as  they  call  it,  by  re- 
peating what  your  enemies  say  of  you;  and  court 
you,  as  they  think,  by  uttering  to  your  face,  at 
a wrong  time,  all  the  kind  things  your  friends 
speak  of  you  in  your  absence. 

These  people  are  the  more  dreadful,  the  more 
they  have  of  what  is  usually  called  wit : for  a 
lively  imagination,  when  it  is  not  governed  by  a 
good  understanding,  makes  such  miserable  ha- 
vock  both  in  conversation  and  business,  that  it 
lays  you  defenceless,  and  fearful  to  throw  the 
least  word  in  its  way,  that  may  give  it  new 
matter  for  its  further  errors. 

Tom  Mercct  has  as  quick  a fancy  as  any  one 
living ; but  there  is  no  reasonable  man  can  bear 
him  half  an  hour.  His  purpose  is  to  entertain, 
and  it  is  of  no  consequence  to  him  what  is  said, 
60  it  be  what  is  called  well  said ; as  if  a man 
must  bear  a wound  with  patience,  because  he 
that  pushed  at  you  came  up  with  a good  air  and 
mien.  That  part  of  life  which  we  spend  in  com- 
pany  is  the  most  pleasing  of  all  our  moments  ; 
and  therefore  I think  our  behaviour  in  it  should 
have  its  laws,  as  well  as  the  part  of  our  being 
which  is  generally  esteemed  the  more  i.mportant. 
From  hence  it  is,  that  from  long  experience  I 
have  made  it  a maxim.  That  however  we  may 
pretend  to  take  satisfaction  in  sprightly  mirth 
and  high  jollity,  there  is  no  great  pleasure  in 


any  company  where  the  basis  of  the  society  i 
not  mutual  good-will.  When  this  is  in  the  roon), 
every  trifling  circumstance,  the  most  minute  ac- 
cident, the  absurdity  of  a servant,  the  repetition 
of  an  old  story,  the  look  of  a man  when  he  is 
telling  it,  the  most  indifferent  and  the  most  ordi- 
nary occurrences,  are  matters  which  produce 
mirth  and  good-humour.  I went  to  spend  an 
hour  after  this  manner  with  some  friends,  who 
enjoy  it  in  perfection  whenever  they  meet,  when 
those  destroyers  above-mentioned  came  in  upon 
us.  There  is  not  a man  among  them  who  has 
any  notion  of  distinction  of  superiority  to  one 
another,  either  in  their  fortunes  or  their  talents, 
when  they  are  in  company.  Or  if  any  reflection 
to  the  contrary  occurs  in  their  thoughts,  it  only 
strikes  a delight  upon  their  minds,  that  so  much 
wisdom  and  power  is  in  possession  of  one  whom 
they  love  and  esteem. 

In  these  my  lucubrations,  I have  frequently 
dwelt  upon  this  one  topic.  The  above  maxim 
would  make  short  work  for  us  reformers  ; for  it 
is  only  want  of  making  this  a position  that  ren- 
ders some  characters  bad,  which  would  other- 
wise be  good.  Tom  Mercet  means  no  man  ill, 
but  does  ill  to  every  body.  His  ambition  is  to 
be  witty  ; and  to  carry  on  that  design,  he  breaks 
through  all  things  that  other  people  hold  sacred. 
If  he  thought  that  wit  was  no  w'ay  to  be  used 
but  to  the  advantage  of  society,  that  sprightli- 
ness would  have  a new  turn ; and  we  should 
expect  what  he  is  going  to  say  with  satisfaction 
instead  of  fear.  It  is  no  excuse  for  being  mis 
chievous,  that  a man  is  mischievous  without 
malice ; nor  wull  it  be  thought  an  atonement, 
that  the  ill  w’as  done  not  to  injure  the  party  con- 
cerned, but  to  divert  the  indifferent. 

It  is,  metiiinks,  a very  great  error,  that  we 
should  not  profess  honesty  in  conversation,  as 
much  as  in  commerce.  If  we  consider,  that 
there  is  no  greater  misfortune  than  to  be  ill-re- 
ceived ; w’hero  we  love  the  turning  a man  to 
ridicule  among  his  friends,  w’e  rob  him  of  greater 
enjoyments  than  he  could  have  purchased  by 
his  wealth ; yet  he  that  laughs  at  him  would, 
perhaps,  be  the  last  man  who  w'ould  hurt  him  in 
this  case  of  less  consequence.  It  has  been  said, 
tlie  history  of  Don  Qui.xotte  utterly  destroyed 
the  spirit  of  gallantry  in  the  Spanish  nation  ; 
and  I believe  we  may  say  much  more  truly, 
that  the  humour  of  ridicule  has  done  as  much 
injury  to  the  true  relish  of  company  in  England. 

Such  satisfactions  as  arise  from  the  secret 
comparison  of  ourselves  to  others,  with  relation 
to  their  inferior  fortunes  or  merit,  are  mean  and 
unworthy.  The  true  and  high  state  of  conver- 
sation is,  w^hen  men  communicate  their  thoughts 
to  each  other  upon  such  subjects,  and  in  such  a 
manner,  as  W'ould  be  pleasant  if  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  folly  in  the  world ; for  it  is  but  a 
low  condition  of  w'it  in  one  man,  which  depends 
upon  folly  in  another. 

P.  S.  I w’as  here  interrupted  by  the  receipt  of 
my  letters,  among  which  is  one  from  a lady, 
who  is  not  a little  offended  at  my  translation  of 
the  discourse  between  Adam  and  Eve.  She 
pretends  to  tell  me  my  own,  as  she  calls  it,  and 
quotes  several  passages  in  my  works,  wffiich 
tend  to  the  utter  disunion  of  man  and  wufe. 
Her  epistle  will  best  express  her.  I have  made 


THE  TATLER. 


367 


! No.  220.' 


i an  extract  of  it,  and  shall  insert  the  most  ma- 
terial passages. 

‘ I suppose  you  know  we  women  are  not  too 
apt  to  forgive  : for  which  reason,  before  you 
concern  yourself  any  further  with  our  sex,  I 
would  advise  you  to  answer  what  is  said  against 
you  by  those  of  your  own.  I inclose  to  you 
business  enough,  until  you  are  ready  for  your 
promise  of  being  witty.  You  must  not  expect 
to  say  what  you  please,  without  admitting  others 
, to  take  the  same  liberty.  Pdarry  come  up!  you 
a Censor  ? Pray  read  over  all  these  pamphlets, 
and  these  notes  upon  your  lucubrations ; by  that 
time  you  shall  hear  further.  It  is,  I suppose, 
from  such  as  you,  that  people  learn  to  be  censo- 
rious, for  which  I and  all  our  sex  have  an  utter 
aversion  ; when  once  people  come  to  take  the 
liberty  to  wound  reputations ’ 

This  is  the  main  body  of  the  letter ; but  she 
bids  me  turn  over,  and  there  I find 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — If  you  will  draw  Mrs. 
Cicely  Trippet,  according  to  the  inclosed  des- 
cription, I will  forgive  you  all.’ 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire  : 

‘ The  humble  petition  of  Joshua  Fairlove,  of 
Stepney,  showeth : 

‘ That  your  petitioner  is  a general  lover,  who, 
for  some  months  last  past,  has  made  it  his  whole 
business  to  frequent  the  by-paths  and  roads  near 
his  dwelling,  for  no  other  purpose  but  to  hand 
such  of  the  fair  sex  as  are  obliged  to  pass  through 
them. 

‘ That  he  has  been  at  great  expense  for  clean 
gloves  to  offer  his  hand  with. 

‘ That  towards  the  evening  he  approaches  near 
London,  and  employs  himself  as  a convoy  to- 
wards home. 

‘Your  petitioner  therefore  most  humbly  prays, 
that  for  such  his  humble  services,  he  may  be  al- 
lowed the  title  of  an  Esquire.’ 

Mr.  Morphew  has  orders  to  carry  the  proper 
instruments  ; and  the  petitioner  is  hereafter  to 
be  writ  to  upon  gilt  paper,  by  the  title  of  Jo- 
shua Fairlove,  Esquire. 


No.  220.]  Tuesday,  September  5,  1710. 

Insani  sapiens  nomen  ferat,  a'quus  iniqni. 

Ultra  quam  satis  est,  virtulein  si  petat  ipsam. 

Hor.  lEp  vi.  15. 

Even  virtue,  when  pursu’d  with  warmth  extreme. 

Turns  into  vice,  and  fools  the  sages  fame. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  4. 

Having  received  many  letters  filled  with  com- 
pliments and  acknowledgments  for  my  late  use- 
ful discovery  of  the  political  barometer,  I shall 
here  communicate  to  the  public  an  account  of 
my  ecclesiastical  thermometer,  the  latter  giving 
as  manifest  prognostications  of  the  changes  and 
revolutions  in  Church,  as  the  former  does  of 
those  in  State ; and  both  of  them  being  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  every  prudent  subject  who 
is  resolved  to  keep  what  he  has,  and  get  what 
he  can. 

The  cAurc^-thennometer,  which  I am  now  to 


treat  of,  is  supposed  to  have  been  invented  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  about  the  time 
when  that  religious  prince  put  some  to  death 
for  owning  Ihe  pope’s  supremacy,  and  others  for 
denying  transubstantiation.  I do  not  find,  how- 
ever, any  great  use  made  of  this  instrument, 
until  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  a learned  and  vigi- 
lant priest  or  minister,  for  he  frequently  wrote 
himself  both  one  and  the  other,  who  was  some 
time  vicar  of  Bray.  This  gentleman  lived  in 
his  vicarage  to  a good  old  age  ; and,  after  having 
seen  several  successions  of  his  neighbouring 
clergy  either  burned  or  banished,  departed  this 
life  with  the  satisfaction  of  having  never  de- 
serted his  flock,  and  died  vicar  of  Bray.  As  this 
glass  was  first  designed  to  calculate  the  differ- 
ent degrees  of  heat  in  religion,  as  it  raged  in 
popery,  or  as  it  cooled  and  grew  temperate  in 
the  Reformation  ; it  was  marked  at  several  dis- 
tances, after  the  manner  our  ordinary  thermo- 
meter is  to  this  day,  viz.  ‘Extreme  Heat,Sultry 
Heat,  Very  Hot,  Hot,  Warm,  Temperate,  Cold, 
Just  Freezing,  Frost,  Hard  Frost,  Great  Frost, 
Extreme  Cold.’ 

It  is  well  known,  that  Toricelius,  the  inven- 
tor of  the  common  weather-glass,  made  the  ex- 
periment in  a long  tube,  which  held  thirty-two 
feet  of  water  ; and  that  a more  modern  virtuoso, 
finding  such  a machine  altogether  unwieldy  and 
useless,  and  considering  that  thirty-two  inches 
of  quicksilver  weighed  as  much  as  so  many  feet 
of  water  in  a tube  of  the  same  circumference, 
invented  that  sizeable  instrument  which  is  now 
in  use.  After  this  manner,  that  I might  adapt 
the  thermometer  I am  now  speaking  of  to  the 
present  constitution  of  our  Church,  as  divided 
into  High  and  Low,  I have  made  some  neces- 
sary variations  both  in  the  tube  and  the  fluid  it 
contains.  In  the  first  place,  I ordered  a tube  to 
be  cast  in  a planetary  hour,  and  took  care  to  seal 
it  hermetically,  when  the  sun  was  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Saturn.  I then  took  the  proper  pre- 
cautions about  the  fluid,  which  is  a compound 
of  two  very  different  liquors ; one  of  them  a 
spirit  drawn  out  of  a strong  heady  wine ; the 
other  a particular  sort  of  rock-water,  colder  than 
ice,  and  clearer  than  crystal.  The  spirit  is  of 
a red  fiery  colour,  and  so  very  apt  to  ferment, 
that  unless  it  be  mingled  with  a proportion  of 
the  water,  or  pent  up  very  close,  it  will  burst 
the  vessel  that  holds  it,  and  fly  up  in  fume  and 
smoke.  The  water,  on  the  contrary,  is  of  such 
a subtle  piercing  cold,  that,  unless  it  be  mingled 
with  a proportion  of  the  spirits,  it  will  sink  al- 
most through  every  thing  that  it  is  put  into  ; and 
seems  to  be  of  the  same  nature  as  the  water 
mentioned  by  Quintus  Curtius,  which,  says  the 
historian,  could  be  contained  in  nothing  but  in 
the  hoof,  or,  as  the  Oxford  manuscript  has  it,  in 
the  skull  of  an  ass.  The  thermometer  is  marked 
according  to  the  following  figure;  which  I set 
down  at  length,  not  only  to  give  my  reader  a 
clear  idea  of  it,  but  also  to  fill  up  my  paper  : 

Ignorance. 

Persecution. 

Wrath. 

Zeal. 

Church. 

Moderation. 


It! 


368 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  221. 


Lukewarmness. 

Infidelity. 

Ignorance. 

The  reader  will  observe,  that  the  church  is 
placed  in  the  middle  point  of  the  glass,  between 
Zeal  and  Moderation ; the  situation  in  which 
she  always  flourishes,  and  in  which  every  good 
Englishman  wishes  her,  who  is  a friend  to  the 
constitution  of  his  country.  However,  when  it 
mounts  to  Zeal,  it  is  not  amiss  ; and  when  it 
sinks  to  Moderation,  is  still  in  a most  admirable 
temper.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  when  once  it 
begins  to  rise,  it  has  still  an  inclination  to  as- 
cend ; insomuch  that  it  is  apt  to  climb  up  from 
Zeal  to  Wrath,  and  from  Wrath  to  Persecution, 
which  always  ends  in  Ignorance,  and  very  often 
proceeds  from  it.  In  the  same  manner  it  fre- 
quently takes  its  progress  through  the  low'er 
half  of  the  glass  ; and  when  it  has  a tendency 
to  fall,  will  gradually  descend  from  Moderation 
to  Lukewarmness,  and  from  Lukewarmness  to 
Infidelity,  which  very  often  terminates  in  Ig- 
norance, and  always  proceeds  from  it. 

It  is  a common  observation,  that  the  ordinary 
thermometer  will  be  affected  by  the  breathing  of 
people  who  are  in  the  room  where  it  stands ; and 
indeed  it  is  almost  incredible  to  conceive,  how 
the  glass  I am  now  describing,  will  fall  by  the 
breath  of  a multitude  cr3^ing  ‘ Popery  or,  on 
the  contrary,  how  it  will  rise  when  the  same 
multitude,  as  it  sometimes  happens,  cry  out  in 
the  same  breath,  ‘ The  church  is  in  danger.’ 

As  soon  as  I had  finished  this  my  glass,  and 
adjusted  it  to  the  above-mentioned  scale  of  re- 
ligion ; that  I might  make  proper  experiments 
with  it,  I carried  it  under  my  cloak  to  several 
coffee-houses,  and  other  places  of  resort  about 
this  great  city.  At  Saint  Jam.cs's  coffee-house 
the  liquor  stood  at  Moderation  ; but  at  Will's, 
to  my  great  surprise,  it  subsided  to  the  very 
lowest  mark  on  the  glass.  At  the  Grecian,  it 
mounted  but  just  one  point  higher  ; at  the  Rain- 
how  it  still  ascended  two  degrees ; Child's  fetched 
it  up  to  Zeal ; and  other  adjacent  coffee-houses, 
to  VVrath. 

It  fell  in  the  lower  half  of  the  glass  as  I went 
further  into  the  city,  until  at  length  it  settled  at 
Moderation,  where  it  continued  all  the  time  I 
staid  about  the  Exchange,  as  also  while  I passed 
by  the  Bank.  And  here  I cannot  but  take  no- 
tice that,  through  the  whole  course  of  my  re- 
marks, I never  observed  my  glass  to  rise  at  the 
same  time  the  stocks  did. 

To  complete  the  experiment,  I prevailed  upon 
a friend  of  mine,  who  works  under  me  in  the 
Occult  Sciences,  to  make  a progress  with  my 
glass  through  the  whole  island  of  Great  Britain  ; 
and  after  his  return,  to  present  me  with  a regis- 
ter of  his  observations.  I guessed  beforehand 
at  the  temper  of  several  places  he  passed  through, 
by  the  characters  they  have  had  time  out  of 
mind.  Thus,  that  facetious  divine.  Dr.  Fuller, 
speaking  of  the  town  of  Banbury,  near  a hun- 
dred years  ago,  tells  us,  it  was  a pD-ce  famous 
for  cakes  and  zeal,  which  I find  by  my  glass  is 
true  to  this  day  as  to  the  latter  part  of  this  de- 
scription ; though  I must  confess,  it  is  not  in  the 
same  reputation  for  cakes  that  it  was  in  the 
time  of  that  learned  author  : and  thus  of  other 


places.  In  short,  I have  now  by  me,  digested  in 
an  alphabetical  order,  all  the  counties,  corpora- 
tions,  and  boroughs  in  Great  Britain,  with  their 
respective  tempers,  as  they  stand  related  to 
my  thermometer.  But  this  I shall  keep  to  my- 
self, because  I would  by  no  means  do  any  thing 
that  may  seem  to  influence  any  ensuing  elec- 
tions. 

The  point  of  doctrine  which  I would  propa- 
gate  by  this  my  invention,  is  the  same  which 
was  long  ago  advanced  by  that  able  teacher  Ho- 
race, out  of  whom  I have  taken  my  text  for  this 
discourse.  We  should  be  careful  not  to  over- 
shoot ourselves  in  the  pursuits  even  of  virtue. 
Whether  Zeal  or  Moderation  be  the  point  we 
aim  at,  let  us  keep  fire  out  of  the  one,  and  frost 
out  of  the  other.  But,  alas!  the  world  is  too 
wise  to  want  such  a precaution.  The  terms 
High  church  and  Low  church,  as  commonly 
used,  do  not  so  much  denote  a principle,  as 
they  distinguish  a party.  They  are  like  words 
of  battle,  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  their 
original  signification  ; but  are  only  given  out  to 
keep  a body  of  men  together,  and  to  let  them 
know  friends  from  enemies. 

I must  confess  I have  considered,  with  some 
little  attention,  the  influence  which  the  opinions 
of  these  great  national  sects  have  upon  their 
practice  ; and  do  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the  un- 
accountable things  of  our  times,  that  multitudes 
of  honest  gentlemen,  who  entirely  agree  in  their 
lives,  should  take  it  in  their  heads  to  differ  in 
their  religion. 


No.  221.]  Thursday,  September  7,  1710. 

Sicut  meus  est  mos, 

Nescio  quid  medilans  nugarum,  et  totus  in  illis. 

Hot.  1 Sat.  ix.  1. 

Musing,  as  wont,  on  this  and  that, 

Such  trifles,  as  I know  not  what.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  6. 

As  I was  this  morning  going  out  of  my  house, 
a little  boy  in  a black  coat  delivered  me  the  fol- 
lowing letter.  Upon  asking  who  he  was,  he  told 
me,  that  he  belonged  to  my  lady  Gimcrack.  I 
did  not  at  first  recollect  the  name  ; but,  upon  in- 
quiry, I found  it  to  be  the  widow  of  sir  Nicho- 
las, whose  legacy  1 lately  gave  some  account  of 
to  the  world.  The  letter  ran  thus: 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I hope  you  will  not  be 
surprised  to  receive  a letter  from  the  widow 
Gimcrack.  You  know,  sir,  that  I have  lately 
lost  a very  whimsical  husband,  wfoo,  I find,  by 
one  of  your  last  week’s  papers,  was  not  alto- 
gether a stranger  to  you.  When  I married 
this  gentleman,  he  had  a very  handsome  estate  ; 
but  upon  buying  a set  of  microscopes,  he  was 
chosen  a Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society ; from 
which  time  I do  not  remember  ever  to  have  heard 
him  speak  as  other  people  did,  or  talk  in  a manner 
that  any  of  his  family  could  understand  him. 
He  used,  however,  to  pass  away  his  time  very 
innocently  in  conversation  with  several  mem- 
bers of  that  learned  body : for  which  reason,  I 
never  advised  him  against  their  company  for 
several  years,  until  at  last  I found  his  brain 


No.  221.] 


THE  TATLER. 


369 


quite  turned  with  their  discourses.  The  first 
symptom  which  he  discovered  of  his  being-  a 
virtuoso,  as  you  call  him,  poor  man  ! was  about 
fifteen  years  ago;  when  he  gave  me  positive 
orders  to  turn  off  an  old  weeding  woman,  that 
had  been  employed  in  the  family  lor  some  years. 
He  told  rnc,  at  the  same  time,  that  there  was 
no  such  thing  in  nature  as  a weed,  and  that  it 
was  his  design  to  let  his  garden  produce  what  it 
pleased  ; so  that,  you  may  be  sure,  it  makes  a 
very  pleasant  show  as  it  now  lies.  About  the 
same  time  he  took  a humour  to  ramble  up  and 
down  the  country,  and  would  often  bring  home 
with  him  his  pockets  full  of  moss  and  pebbles. 
This,  you  may  be  sure,  gave  me  a heavy  heart; 
though  at  the  same  time  I must  needs  say,  he 
had  the  character  of  a very  honest  man,  not- 
withstanding he  was  reckoned  a little  weak,  un- 
til he  began  to  sell  his  estate,  and  biry  those 
strange  baubles  that  you  have  taken  notice  of. 
Upon  midsutnmcr-day  last,  as  he  was  walking 
with  me  in  the  fields,  he  saw  a very  odd-coloured 
butterfly  just  before  us.  I observed  that  he  im- 
mediately changed  colour,  like  a man  that  is 
surprised  with  a piece  of  good  luck  ; and  telling 
me,  that  it  was  what  he  had  looked  lor  above 
these  tv/elve  }mars,  he  threw  off  his  coat,  and 
followed  it.  I lost  sight  of  them  both  in  le.ss 
than  a quarter  of  an  hour;  but  my  husband 
continued  the  chace  over  hedge  and  ditch  until 
about  sunset;  at  which  time,  as  I was  al'ter- 
wards  told,  he  caught  the  butterfly  as  she  rested 
herself  upon  a cabbage,  near  five  miles  from 
the  place  where  he  first  put  her  up.  He  was 
here  lifted  from  the  ground  by  some  passengers 
in  a very  fainting  condition,  and  brought  home 
to  me  about  midnight.  His  violent  e.xercise 
threw  him  into  a fever,  which  grew  upon  him 
by  degrees,  and  at  last  carried  him  off.  In  one 
of  the  intervals  of  his  distemper  he  called  to  me, 
and,  after  having  excused  himself  for  running 
out  his  estate,  he  told  me,  that  he  had  always 
been  more  industrious  to  improve  his  mind  than 
his  fortune,  and  that  his  family  must  rather 
value  themselves  upon  his  memory  as  he  was 
a wise  man,  than  a rich  one.  He  then  told  me 
that  it  was  a custom  among  the  Romans  for  a 
man  to  give  his  slaves  their  liberty  when  he 
lay  upon  his  death-bed.  I could  not  imagine 
what  this  meant,  until,  after  having  a little  com- 
posed himself,  he  ordered  me  to  bring  him  a 
flea  which  he  had  kept  for  several  months  in  a 
chain,  with  a design,  as  he  said,  to  give  it  its 
manumission.  This  was  done  accordingly.  He 
then  made  the  will,  which  I have  since  seen 
printed  in  your  works  word  for  word.  Only  I 
must  take  notice,  that  you  have  omitted  the  co- 
dicil, in  which  he  left  a larjre  Concha  Veneris, 
as  it  is  there  called,  to  a Member  of  the  Royal 
Society,  who  was  often  with  him  in  his  sickness, 
and  assisted  him  in  his  7oill.  And  now,  sir,  I 
come  to  the  chief  business  of  my  letter,  which 
is  to  desire  your  friendship  and  assistance  in 
the  disposal  of  those  many  rarities  and  curiosi- 
ties which  lie  upon  my  hands.  If  you  know 
any  one  that  has  an  occasion  for  a parcel  of 
dried  spiders,  I v;ill  sell  them  a pennyworth.  I 
could  likewise  let  any  one  have  a bargain  of 
3 A 


cockle-shells.  I would  also  desire  your  advice 
whether  I had  best  sell  my  beetles  in  a lump, 
or  by  retail.  The  gentleman  above-mentioned, 
who  was  rny  husband’s  friend,  would  have  me 
make  an  auction  of  all  his  goods,  and  is  now 
drawing  up  a catalogue  of  every  particular  for 
that  purpose,  with  the  two  following  words  in 
great  letters  over  the  head  of  them,  Auctio  Gim- 
crackiana.  But,  upon  talking  with  him,  I be- 
gin to  suspect  he  is  as  mad  as  poor  sir  Nicliolas 
was.  Your  advice  in  all  these  particulars  will 
be  a great  piece  of  charity  to,  sir,  your  most 
humble  servant, 

‘ELIZABETH  GIMCRACK.’ 

I shall  answer  the  foregoing  letter,  and  give 
the  widow  my  best  advice,  as  soon  as  I can  find 
out  chapmen  for  the  wares  which  she  has  to  put 
olf.  In  the  mean  time,  I shall  give  my  reader 
the  sight  of  a letter,  which  I have  received 
from  another  female  correspondent  by  the  same 
post. 

‘ Good  Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I am  convinced 
by  a late  paper  of  yours,  that  a passionate  wo- 
man, who  among  the  common  people  goes  un- 
der the  name  of  a scold,  is  one  of  the  most  in- 
supportable creatures  in  the  world.  But,  alas  ! 
sir,  what  ean  we  do  ? I have  made  a thousand 
vows  and  resolutions  every  morning,  to  guard 
myself  against  this  frailty  ; but  have  generally 
broken  them  before  dinner,  and  could  never  in 
my  lite  hold  out  until  the  second  course  was  set 
upon  the  table.  What  most  troubles  me  is, 
that  my  husband  is  as  patient  and  good-natured 
as  your  own  worship,  or  any  man  living,  can  be. 
Pray  give  me  some  directions,  for  I would  ob- 
serve the  strictest  and  severest  rules  you  can 
think  of  to  cure  myself  of  this  distemper,  which 
is  apt  to  fall  into  my  tongue  every  moment. — I 
am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant,  &c.’ 

In  answer  to  this  most  unfortunate  lady,  I 
must  acquaint  her,  that  there  is  now  in  town  an 
ingenious  physician  of  my  acquaintance,  who 
undertakes  to  cure  all  the  vices  and  defects  of 
the  mind  by  inward  medicines  or  outward  ap- 
plications. I shall  give  the  world  an  account 
of  his  patients  and  his  cures  in  other  papers, 
when  I shall  be  more  at  leisure  to  treat  upon 
this  subject.  I shall  only  here  inform  my  cor- 
respondent, that,  for  the  benefit  of  such  ladies 
as  are  troubled  with  virulent  tongues,  he  has 
prepared  a cold  bath,  over  v.?hich  there  is  fas- 
tened, at  the  end  of  a long  pole,  a very  conve- 
nient chair,  curiously  gilt  and  carved.  When 
the  patient  is  seated  in  this  chair,  the  doctor 
lifts  up  the  pole,  and  gives  her  two  or  three 
total  immersions  in  the  cold  bath,  until  such 
time  as  sh.c  has  quite  lost  the  use  of  speech. 
This  operation  so  effectually  chills  the  tongue, 
and  refrigerates  the  blood,  that  a woman,  who 
at  her  entrance  into  the  chair  is  extremely  pas- 
sionate and  sonorous,  will  come  out  as  silent 
and  gentle  as  a lamb.  The  doctor  told  me,  ho 
would  not  practice  this  experiment  upon  women 
of  fashion,  had  not  he  seen  it  made  upon  those 
of  meaner  condition  with  very  good  effect- 


370 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  222. 


No.  222.]  Saturday,  September  9,  1710. 

Chrysidis  udas 

Ebrius  ante  sores  extincta  cum  face  cantat. 

Pcrsius,  Sat.  v.  165. 

Shall  I,  at  Chrysis’  door,  the  night  prolong 

With  midnight  serenade,  or  drunken  song? 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  8. 

Whereas,  by  letters  from  Nottingham,  we 
have  advice  that  the  young  ladies  of  that  place 
complain  for  want  of  sleep,  by  reason  of  certain 
riotous  lovers,  who  for  this  last  summer  have 
very  much  infested  the  streets  of  that  eminent 
city,  with  violins  and  bass-viols,  between  the 
hours  of  twelve  and  four  in  the  morning,  to  the 
great  disturbance  of  many  of  her  majesty’s 
peaceable  subjects  : And  whereas  I have  been 
importuned  to  publish  some  edict  against  those 
midnight  alarms,  which,  under  the  name  of 
serenades,  do  greatly  annoy  many  well-disposed 
persons,  not  only  in  the  place  above-mentioned, 
but  also  in  most  of  the  polite  towns  of  this 
island  ; I have  taken  that  matter  into  my  seri- 
ous consideration,  and  do  find  that  this  custom 
is  by  no  means  to  be  indulged  in  this  country 
and  climate. 

It  is  indeed  very  unaccountable,  that  most  of 
our  British  youth  should  take  such  great  delight 
in  these  nocturnal  expeditions.  Your  robust 
true-born  Briton,  that  has  not  yet  felt  the  force 
of  flames  and  darts,  has  a natural  inclination  to 
break  windows;  while  those,  whose  natural 
ruggedness  has  been  soothed  and  softened  by 
gentle  passions,  have  as  strong  a propensity  to 
languish  under  them,  especially  if  they  have  a 
fiddler  behind  them  to  utter  their  complaints  ; 
for,  as  the  custom  prevails  at  present,  there  is 
scarce  a young  man  of  any  fashion  in  a corpo- 
ration, who  does  not  make  love  with  the  town- 
music.  The  waits  often  help  him  through  his 
courtship  ; and  my  friend  Banister*  has  told  me 
he  was  proffered  five  hundred  pounds  by  a 
young  fellow,  to  play  but  one  winter  under  the 
window  of  a lady  that  was  a great  fortune,  but 
more  cruel  than  ordinary.  One  would  think 
they  hoped  to  conquer  their  mistresses’  hearts 
as  people  tame  hawks  and  eagles,  by  keep- 
ing them  awake,  or  breaking  their  sleep  when 
they  are  fallen  into  it. 

I have  endeavoured  to  seareh  into  the  ori- 
ginal of  this  impertinent  way  of  making  love, 
which,  according  to  some  authors,  is  of  great 
antiquity.  If  we  may  believe  monsieur  Dacier 
and  other  critics,  Horace’s  tenth  Ode  of  the 
third  book  was  originally  a serenade.  And  if  I 
was  disposed  to  show  my  learning,  I could  pro- 
duce a line  of  him  in  another  place,  which 
seems  to  have  been  the  burden  of  an  old  heathen 
serenade. 


* Mr.  John  Banister  was  educated  under  his  father 
a musician,  of  both  the  same  names,  whom  Charles  II. 
sent  into  Prance  for  his  improvement  on  the  violin. — 
The  father  died  in  1G79.  His  son,  probably  the  gentle- 
man here  mentioned,  was  likewise  a composer,  and  at 
the  head  of  the  band  in  Drury-lane,  where  he  continued 
to  play  the  first  violin  till  about  1720,  when  he  was 
succeeded  by  Carbonelli. 


Audis  minus,  et  minus  jam, 

‘ Me  tuo  longas  pereunte  noctes, 

Lydia,  dormis?’  Hor.  1 Od.  xxv.  8. 

Now  less  and  less  assail  thine  ear 
These  plaints,  ‘ Ah!  sleepest  thou,  my  dear, 

While  I whole  nights,  thy  true  love  here 

‘ Am  dying  V 
Francis. 

But  notwithstanding  the  opinions  of  many 
learned  men  upon  this  subject,  I rather  agree 
with  them  who  look  upon  this  custom,  as  now 
practised,  to  have  been  introduced  by  castrated 
musicians ; who  found  out  this  method  of  ap- 
plying themselves  to  their  mistresses  at  these 
hours,  when  men  of  hoarser  voices  express 
their  passions  in  a more  vulgar  method.  It 
must  be  confessed,  that  your  Italian  eunuchs 
do  practice  this  manner  of  courtship  to  this 
day. 

But  whoever  were  the  persons  that  first 
thought  of  the  serenade,  the  authors  of  all 
countries  are  unanimous  in  ascribing  the  in- 
vention  to  Italy. 

There  are  two  circumstances,  which  qualified 
that  country  above  all  others  for  this  midnight 
music. 

The  first  I shall  mention  was  the  softness  of 
their  climate. 

This  gave  the  lover  opportunities  of  being 
abroad  in  the  air,  or  of  lying  upon  the  earth 
whole  hours  together,  without  fear  of  damps  or 
dews ; but  as  for  our  tramontane  lovers,  when 
they  begin  their  midnight  complaint  with, 

My  lodging  upon  the  cold  ground  is,* 

we  are  not  to  understand  them  in  the  rigour  or 
the  letter;  since  it  would  be  impossible  for  a 
British  swain  to  condole  himself  long  in  that 
situation,  without  really  dying  for  his  mistress. 
A man  might  as  well  serenade  in  Greenland  as 
in  our  region.  Milton  seems  to  have  had  in  his 
thoughts  the  absurdity  of  these  northern  seren 
ades,  in  the  censure  which  he  passes  upon  them 

Or  midnight  ball. 

Or  serenade,  which  the  starv’d  lover  sings 

To  his  proud  fair,  best  quitted  w ith  disdain. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  I have  often  pitied,  in  a 
winter  night,  a vocal  musician,  and  have  attri- 
buted many  of  his  trills  and  quavers  to  the  cold- 
ness of  the  weather. 

The  second  circumstance,  which  inclined  the 
Italians  to  this  custom,  was  that  musical  genius 
which  is  so  universal  among  them.  Nothing  is 
more  frequent  in  that  country,  than  to  hear  a 
cobbler  w’orking  to  an  opera-tune.  You  can 
scarce  see  a porter  that  has  not  one  nail  much 
longer  than  the  rest,  which  you  will  find  upon 
inquiry,  is  cherished  for  some  instrument.  In 
short,  there  is  not  a labourer,  or  handicraftman, 
tliat,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  does  not  relieve 
himself  with  solos  and  sonatas. 

The  Italian  soothes  his  mistress  with  a plain- 
tive voice;  and  bewails  himself  in  such  melting 
music,  that  the  whole  neighbourhood  sympa- 
thizes with  him  in  his  sorrow. 


* The  first  line  of  an  old  song  in  a tragi -comedy,  call- 
ed ‘ The  Rivals,’  4to.  1668,  ascribed  to  sir  William  Da- 
venant. 


No.  223.] 


THE  'I’ATLER. 


371 


Qualis  populea  moerens  Philomela  sub  umbra 

Flet  noctem,  ramoque  seclens,  miserabile  carmen 
Integral,  el  moestis  late  loca  queslibiis  implet. 

Virg.  Geor.  iv.  511. 

Tims  Philomel  beneath  the  poplar  shade 

With  plaintive  murmurs  warbles  thro'  the  glade — 

Her  notes  harmonious  tedious  nights  prolong, 

And  echo  multiplies  the  mournful  song.  R.  TVyrnie. 

On  the  contrary,  our  honest  countrymen  have 
so  little  an  inclination  to  music,  that  they  seldom 
begin  to  sing  until  they  are  drunk;  which  also 
is  usually  the  time  when  they  are  most  disposed 
to  serenade. 


No.  223.]  Tuesday,  September  12,  1710. 

For  when  upon  their  ungot  heirs, 

Th’  entail  themselves  and  all  that ’s  theirs. 

What  blinder  bargain  e’er  wasdriv’n 
Or  wager  laid  at  six  and  seven. 

To  pass  themselves  away,  and  turn 

Their  children’s  tenants  ere  they  ’re  born.  Hud. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  11. 

I HAVE  been  very  much  solicited  by  Clarinda, 
Flavia,  and  Lysetta,  to  re-assume  my  discourse 
concerning  the  methods  of  disposing  honourably 
the  unmarried  part  of  the  world,  and  taking  off 
those  bars  to  it,  jointures  and  settlements ; which 
are  not  only  the  greatest  impediments  towards 
entering  into  that  state,  but  also  the  frequent 
causes  of  distrust  and  animosity  in  it  after  it  is 
consummated.  I have  with  very  much  atten- 
tion considered  this  case  ; and,  among  all  the 
observations  that  I have  made  through  a long 
course  of  years,  I have  thought  the  coldness  of 
wives  to  their  husbands,  as  well  as  disrespect 
from  children  to  parents,  to  arise  from  this  one 
source.  This  trade  for  minds  and  bodies  in  the 
lump,  without  regard  to  either,  but  as  they  are 
accompanied  with  such  sums  of  money,  and 
such  parcels  of  land,  cannot  but  produce  a com- 
merce between  the  parties  concerned,  suitable 
to  the  mean  motives  upon  which  they  at  first 
came  together.  I have  heretofore  given  an  ac- 
count, that  this  method  of  making  settlements 
was  first  invented  by  a griping  lawyer,  who 
made  use  of  the  covetous  tempers  of  the  parents 
of  each  side,  to  force  two  young  people  into  these 
vile  measures  of  diffidence,  for  no  other  end  but 
to  increase  the  skins  of  parchment,  by  which 
they  were  put  into  each  other’s  possession  out 
of  each  other’s  power.  The  law  of  our  country 
has  given  an  ample  and  generous  provision  for 
the  wife,  even  the  third  of  her  husband’s  estate, 
and  left  to  her  good-humour  and  his  gratitude 
the  expectation  of  further  provision;  but  the 
fantastical  method  of  going  further,  with  rela- 
tion to  their  heirs,  has  a foundation  in  nothing 
but  pride  and  folly  : for  as  all  men  wish  their 
children  as  like  themselves,  and  as  much  better 
as  they  can  possibly,  it  seems  monstrous  that 
we  should  give  out  of  ourselves  the  opportunities 
of  rewarding  and  discouraging  tiiem  according 
to  their  deserts.  This  wise  institution  has  no 
more  sense  in  it,  than  if  a man  should  begin  a 
deed  with,  ‘ Whereas  no  man  living  knows  how 
long  he  shall  continue  to  be  a reasonable  crea- 
ture, or  an  honest  man.  And  whereas  I,  B.  am 
going  to  enter  into  the  state  of  matrimony  with 


I Mrs.  D.  therefore  I shall  from  Iioncerorth  make 
it  indifferent  to  me  whetiier  Irom  this  tinje  for- 
ward 1 shall  be  a fool  or  a knave.  And,  tliere- 
forc,  in  full  and  perlect  health  of  body,  and  a 
sound  mind,  not  knowing  which  of  my  children 
will  prove  better  or  worse,  I give  to  my  first 
born,  he  he  perverse,  ungrateful,  impious,  or 
cruel,  the  lump  and  bulk  of  my  estate  ; and 
leave  one  year’s  purchase  only  to  each  of  my 
younger  children,  whether  they  shall  be  brave 
or  beautiful,  modest  or  honourable,  I’rom  the 
time  of  the  date  hereof,  wherein  I resign  my 
senses,  and  hereby  promise  to  employ  my  judg- 
ment no  further  in  the  distribution  of  my  worldly 
goods  from  the  day  of  the  date  hereof;  hereby 
further  confessing  and  covenanting,  that  I am 
from  henceforth  married,  and  dead  in  law.’ 

There  is  no  man  tliat  is  conversant  in  modern 
settlements,  but  knows  this  is  an  exact  transla- 
tion of  what  is  inserted  in  these  instruments. 
Men’s  passions  could  only  make  them  submit  to 
such  terms  ; and  therefore  all  unreasonable  bar- 
gains in  marriage  ought  to  be  set  aside,  as  well 
as  deeds  extorted  frofii  men  under  force,  or  in 
prison,  who  are  altogether  as  much  masters  of 
their  actions,  as  he  that  is  possessed  with  a vio- 
lent passion. 

How  strangely  men  are  sometimes  partial  to 
themselves  appears  by  the  rapine  of  him  that 
has  a daughter’s  beauty  under  his  direction. 
He  will  make  no  scruple  of  using  it  to  force 
from  her  lover  as  much  of  his  estate  as  is  worth 
ten  thousand  pounds,  and  at  the  same  time,  as  a 
justice  on  the  bench,  will  spare  no  pains  to  get 
a man  hanged  that  has  taken  but  a horse  from 
him. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  the  legislature  wdll  in  due 
time  take  this  kind  of  robbery  into  consider- 
ation, and  not  suffer  men  to  prey  upon  each 
other  when  they  are  about  making  the  most 
solemn  league,  and  entering  into  the  strictest 
bonds.  The  only  sure  remedy  is  to  fix  a certain 
rate  on  every  woman’s  fortune ; one  price  for 
that  of  a maid,  and  another  for  that  of  a widow  : 
for  it  is  of  infinite  advantage,  that  there  should 
be  no  frauds  or  uncertainties  in  t he  sale  of  our 
women. 

If  any  man  should  exceed  the  settled  rate,  he 
ought  to  be  at  liberty  after  seven  years  are  over, 
by  which  time  his  love  may  be  supposed  to  abate 
a little,  if  it  is  not  founded  upon  reason,  to  re- 
nounce the  bargain,  and  be  freed  from  tiie  set- 
tlement upon  restoring  the  portion  ; as  a youth 
married  under  fourteen  years  old  may  be  off,  if 
he  pleases,  when  he  comes  to  age,  and  as  a man 
is  discharged  from  all  bargains  but  that  of  mar- 
riage, made  when  he  is  under  twenty-one. 

It  grieves  me,  when  I consider  that  these  re- 
straints upon  matrimony  take  away  the  advan- 
tage we  should  otherwise  have  over  other  coun- 
tries, which  are  sunk  much  by  those  great 
checks  upon  propagation,  the  convents.  It  is 
thought  chiefly  owing  to  tliese,  that  Ital}'’  and 
Spain  want  above  lialf  their  complement  of 
people.  Were  the  price  of  wives  always  fi.xed 
and  settled,  it  would  contribute  to  filling  the 
nation  more  than  all  the  encouragements  that 
can  possibly  be  given  to  foreigners  to  transplant 
themselves  hither. 

I,  therefore,  as  censor  of  Britain,  until  a law 


372 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  224. 


is  made,  will  lay  dovv-n  rules  which  shall  be  ob- 
served, with  penalty  of  degrading  all  that  break 
them,  into  Pretty  Fellows,  Smarts,  Squibs,  Hunt- 
ing-Horns, Drums,  and  Bagpipes. 

The  females  that  are  guilty  of  breaking  my 
orders,  I shall  respectively  pronounce  to  be  Kits, 
Hornpipes,  Dulciitiers,  and  Kettle-drurns.  Such 
widows  as  wear  the  spoils  of  one  husband,  I will 
bury,  if  tliey  attempt  to  rob  another. 

I ordain.  That  no  woman  ever  demand  one 
shilling  to  be  paid  after  her  husband’s  deatli, 
more  than  the  very  sum  slie  brings  him,  or  an 
equivalent  for  it  in  land. 

That  no  settlement  bo  made,  in  which  the 
man  settles  on  his  children  more  than  the  re- 
version of  the  jointure,  or  tlie  value  of  it  in  mo- 
ney ; so  that  at  his  death,  he  may  in  the  whole 
be  bound  to  pay  his  family  but  double  to  what 
he  has  received.  I would  have  the  eldest,  as 
well  as  the  rest,  have  his  provision  out  of  this. 

When  men  are  not  able  to  come  up  to  those 
settlements  I have  proposed,  I would  have  them 
receive  so  much  of  the  portion  only  as  they  can 
come  up  to,  and  the  rest  to  go  to  the  woman  by 
way  of  |)iti-money,  or  separate  maintenance. 
In  this,  I think,  I determine  equally  between  the 
t wo  sexes. 

If  any  lawyer  varies  from  these  rules,  or  is 
above  two  days  in  drawing  a marriage-setf la- 
ment, or  uses  more  wmrds  in  it  than  one  skin  of 
parchment  will  contain,  or  takes  above  five 
pounds  for  drawing  it,  I would  have  him  throwm 
over  the  bar. 

Were  these  rules  observed,  a woman  with  a 
small  fortune,  and  a great  deal  of  wmrth,  wmuld 
be  sure  to  marry  according  to  her  deserts,  if 
the  man’s  estate  were  to  be  less  incumbered,  in 
proportion  as  her  fortune  is  less  than  he  might 
have  with  others. 

A man  of  a great  deal  of  merit,  and  not 
much  estate,  might  be  chosen  for  his  worth  ; 
because  it  wmuld  not  be  difficult  for  him  to  make 
a settlement. 

The  man  that  loves  a woman  best,  would  not 
lose  her  for  not  being  able  to  bid  so  much  as  an- 
other, or  for  not  complying  with  an  extravagant 
demand. 

A fine  woman  would  no  more  be  set  up  to 
auction  as  she  is  now.  When  a man  puts  in  for 
her,  her  friends  or  herself  take  care  to  publish 
it;  and  the  man  that  was  the  first  bidder  is 
made  no  other  use  of  but  to  raise  the  price.  He 
that  loves  her  will  continue  in  waiting  as  long 
as  she  pleases,  if  her  fortune  be  thought  equal 
to  his;  and,  under  pretence  of  some  failure  in 
the  rent-roll,  or  difficulties  in  drawing  the  set- 
tlement, he  is  put  oiT  until  a better  bargain  is 
made  with  another. 

All  the  rest  of  the  sex  that  are  not  rich  or 
beautiful  to  the  highest  degree,  are  plainly 
gainers,  and  would  be  married  so  fast,  that  the 
least  charming  of  them  would  soon  grow  beau- 
ties to  the  bachelors. 

Widows  might  be  easily  married,  if  thev 
would  not,  as  they  do  now,  set  up  for  discreet, 
only  by  being  mercenary. 

The  making  matrimony  cheap  and  easy 
would  be  the  greatest  discouragement  to  vice: 
the  limiting  the  expense  of  children  would  not 
make  men  ill  inclined,  or  afraid  of  having  them 


in  a regular  way  ; and  the  men  of  merit  would 
not  live  unmarried,  as  they  often  do  now,  be- 
cause the  goodness  of  a wile  cannot  be  ensured 
to  them  ; but  the  loss  of  an  estate  is  certain,  and 
a man  would  never  have  the  affliction  of  a worth- 
less heir  added  to  that  of  a bad  wife. 

I am  the  more  serious,  large,  and  particular 
on  this  subject,  beeause  my  lucubrations,  de- 
signed for  the  encouragement  of  virtue,  cannot 
have  the  desired  success  as  long  as  this  incum- 
brance of  settlements  continues  upon  matri- 
mony. 


No.  224.]  Thursday^  September  14,  1710. 

Materiam  suporabat  epus. 

Oiid.  Met.  ii.  5. 

The  matter  equall’d  not  the  artist's  skill. 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment.,  September  13. 

It  is  my  custom,  in  a dearth  of  news,  to  en- 
tertain myself  w'ith  those  collections  of  adver- 
tisements that  appear  at  the  end  of  all  our  pub- 
lic prints.  These  I consider  as  accounts  of  news 
from  the  little  world,  in  the  same  manner  that 
the  foregoing  parts  of  the  paper  are  from  the 
great.  If  in  one  we  hear  that  a sovereign  prince 
is  fled  from  his  capital  city,  in  the  other  we  hear 
of  a tradesman  wdio  hath  shut  up  his  shop,  and 
run  aw’ay.  If  in  one  we  find  the  victory  of  a. 
general,  in  the  other  we  see  the  desertion  of  a 
private  soldier.  I must  confess  I have  a certain 
weakness  in  my  temper,  that  is  often  very  much 
affected  by  these  little  domestic  occurrences, 
and  have  frequently  been  caught  with  tears  in 
mv  eyes  over  a melancholy  advertisement. 

But  to  consider  this  subject  in  its  most  ridi- 
culous lights,  advertisements  are  of  p^reat  use  to 
the  vulgar.  First  of  all,  as  they  are  instruments 
of  ambition.  A man  that  is  by  no  means  big 
enough  for  the  Gazette,  may  easily  creep  into 
the  advertisements  ; by  which  means  we  often 
see  an  apothecary  in  the  same  paper  of  news 
W’ith  a plenipotentiary,  or  a running-footman 
with  an  ambassador.  An  advertisement  from 
Piccadilly  goes  dowm  to  posterity  with  an  arti- 
cle from  Madrid,  and  John  Bartlett  of  Good- 
man’s-fields^  is  celebrated  in  the  same  paper 
with  the  emperor  of  Germany.  Thus  the  fable 
tells  us,  that  the  wren  mounted  as  high  as  the 
eagle,  by  getting  upon  his  back. 

A second  use  wdiich  this  sort  of  wwitings  hath 
been  turnTd  to  of  late  years,  has  been  the  ma- 
nagement of  controversy  ; insomuch  that  above 
half  the  advertisements  one  meets  with  now-a- 
davs  are  purely  polemical.  The  inventors  of 
‘ strops  for  razors’  have  written  against  one 
another  this  way  for  several  years,  and  that  with 
great  bitterness  ; as  the  wliole  argument  pro  and 
con  in  the  case  of  the  ‘morning-gown’  is  still 
carried  on  after  the  same  manner.  T need  not 
mention  the  several  proprietors  of  Dr.  Ander- 
son’s pills  ; nor  take  notice  of  the  many  satiri- 
cal works  of  this  nature  so  frequently  published 
by  Dr.  Clark,  who  has  had  the  confidence  to  ad- 

* A truss-maker. 


No.  225.] 


THE  TATLER. 


373 


vertise  upon  that  learned  knight,  my  very  wor- 
thy friend,  sir  William  Read  : but  I shall  not 
interpose  in  their  quarrel : sir  William  can  give 
him  his  own  in  advertisements,  that,  in  the  judg- 
ment of  the  impartial,  are  as  well  penned  as  the 
doctor’s. 

The  third  and  l^t^use  of  these  writings  is  to 
inform  the  wolT37 where  they  may  be  furnisTied 
wTtH  almost  every  thing  that  is  necessary  for 
life.  If  a man  has  pains  in  his  head,  colicks  in 
his  bowels,  or  spots  in  his  clothes,  he  may  here 
meet  with  proper  cures  and  remedies.  If  a man 
would  recover  a wife  or  a horse  that  is  stolen  or 
strayed  ; if  he  wants  new  sermons,  electuaries, 
asses’  milk,  or  any  thing  else,  either  for  his  body 
or  his  mind  ; this  is  the  place  to  look  for  them  in. 

The  great  art  in  writing  advertisements,  is 
the  finding  out  a proper  method  to  catch  the 
reader’s  eye,  without  which  a good  thing  may 
pass  over  unobserved,  or  be  lost  among  commis- 
sions of  bankrupts.  Asterisks  and  hands  were 
formerly  of  great  use  for  this  purpose.  Of  late 
years  the  N.  B.  has  been  much  in  fashion,  as 
also  little  cuts  and  figures,  the  invention  of  which 
we  must  ascribe  to  the  author  of  spring-trusses. 
I must  not  here  omit  the  blind  Italian  charac^ 
<er,  which,  being  scarce  legible, always  fi.ves  and 
detains  the  eye,  and  gives  the  curious  reader 
something  like  the  satisfaction  of  prying  into  a 
secret. 

But  the  great  skill  in  an  advertiser  is  chiefly 
seen  in  the  style  which  he  makes  use  of.  He  is 
to  mention  ‘ the  universal  esteem,  or  general  re- 
putation,’ of  things  that  were  never  heard  of. 
If  he  is  a physician  or  astrologer,  he  must  change 
his  lodgings  frequently  ; and,  though  he  never 
saw  any  body  in  them  besides  his  own  family, 
give  public  notice  of  it,  ‘ for  the  information  of 
the  nobility  and  gentry.’  Since  I am  thus  use- 
fully employed  in  writing  criticisms  on  the 
works  of  these  diminutive  authors,  I must  not 
pass  over  in  silence  an  advertisement,  which  has 
lately  made  its  appearance,  and  is  written  alto- 
gether in  a Ciceronian  manner.  It  was  sent  to 
me,  with shillings,  to  be  inserted  among  my 
advertisements  ; but  as  it  is  a pattern  of  good 
writing  in  this  way,  I shall  give  it  a place  in 
the  body  of  my  paper. 

‘The  Ihghest  compounded  spirit  of  lavender, 
the  most  glorious,  if  the  expression  may  be  used, 
enlivening  scent  and  flavour  that  can  possibly 
be,  which  so  raptures  the  spirits,  delights  the 
gust,  and  gives  such  airs  to  the  countenance,  as 
are  not  to  be  imagined  but  by  those  that  have 
tried  it.  The  meanest  sort  of  the  thing  is  ad- 
mired by  most  gentlemen  and  ladies  ; but  this 
far  more,  as  by  far  it  exceeds  it,  to  the  gaining 
among  all  a more  than  common  esteem.  It  is 
sold,  in  neat  flint  bottles,  fit  for  the  pocket,  only 
at  the  Golden  Key  in  Wharton’s  court,  near 
Holborn-bars,  for  three  shillings  and  sixpence, 
with  directions.’ 

At  the  same  time  that  I recommend  the  se- 
veral flowers  in  which  this  spirit  of  lavender  is 
wrapped  up,  if  the  expression  may  he  used,  I 
cannot  excuse  my  fellow-labourers  for  admitting 
into  their  papers  several  uncleanly  advertise- 
ments, not  at  all  proper  to  appear  in  the  works 
of  polite  writers.  Among  these  I must  reckon 
the  ‘ Carminative  wind-expelling  pills.’  If  the 


j doctor  had  called  them  only  his  carminative 
pills,  he  had  been  as  cleanly  as  one  could  have 
wished  ; but  the  second  word  entirely  destroys 
the  decency  of  the  first.  There  are  other  ab- 
surdities of  this  nature  so  very  gross,  that  I dare 
not  mention  them  ; and  shall  therefore  dismiss 
this  subject  with  a public  admonition  to  Michael 
Parrot,  That  he  do  not  presume  any  more  to 
mention  a certain  worm  he  knows  of,  which,  by 
the  way,  has  grown  seven  feet  in  my  memory  ; 
for,  if  I am  not  much  mistaken,  it  is  the  same 
that  was  but  nine  feet  long  about  six  months 
ago. 

By  the  remarks  I have  here  made,  it  plainly 
appears,  that  a collection  of  advertisements  is 
a kind  of  miscellany;  the  writers  of  which, 
contrary  to  all  authors,  except  men  of  quality, 
give  money  to  the  booksellers  who  publish  their 
copies.  7’he  genius  of  the  bookseller  is  chiefly 
shown  in  his  method  of  ranging  and  digesting 
these  little  tracts.  The  last  paper  I took  up  in 
my  hand,  places  them  in  the  following  order: 

The  true  Spanish  blacking  for  shoes,  &.c. 

The  beautifying  cream  for  the  face,  Ac. 

Pease  and  plaisters,  &c. 

Nectar  and  ambrosia,  Ac. 

Four  freehold  tenements  of  fifteen  pounds  per 
annum,  Ac. 

Annotations  upon  the  Tatler,  Ac. 

The  present  state  of  England,  Ac. 

A commission  of  bankruptcy  being  awarded 
against  B.  L.  bookseller,  Ac. 


No.  225.]  Saturday,  September  16,  1710. 

Si  quid  novisti  reclius  istis, 

Candidas  imperti ; si  non,  his  utere  inecum. 

Hor.  1 Ep.  vi.  67. 

If  a better  system ’s  thine, 

Impart  it  frankly  ; or  make  use  of  mine.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  15. 

The  hours  which  we  spend  in  conversation 
are  the  most  pleasing  of  any  which  we  enjoy  , 
yet,  methinks,  there  is  very  little  care  taken  to 
improve  ourselves  for  the  frequent  repetition  of 
them.  The  common  fault  in  t!iis  case  is  that 
of  growing  too  intimate,  and  falling  into  dis- 
pleasing familiarities  : for  it  is  a very  ordinary 
thing  for  men  to  make  no  other  use  of  a close 
acquaintance  with  each  other’s  affairs,  but  to 
teaze  one  another  with  unacceptable  allusions. 
One  would  pass  over  patiently  such  as  converse 
like  animals,  and  salute  each  other  with  bangs 
on  the  shoulder,  sly  raps  with  canes,  or  other 
robust  pleasantries  practised  by  the  rural  gentry 
of  this  nation  : but  even  among  those  who 
should  have  more  polite  ideas  of  things,  you  see 
a set  of  people  who  invert  the  design  of  conver- 
sation, and  make  frequent  mention  of  ungrate- 
ful subjects  ; nay,  mention  them  because  they 
are  ungrateful  ; as  if  the  perfection  of  society 
were  in  knowing  how  to  offend  on  the  one  part, 
and  how  to  bear  an  offence  on  the  other.  In  all 
parts  of  this  populous  town,  you  find  the  merry 
world  made  up  of  an  active  and  a passive  com- 
panion ; one  who  has  good-nature  enough  to  suf- 
fer all  his  friend  shall  think  fit  to  say,  and  one 
who  is  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  his  good- 
32 


374 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  226. 


humour  to  show  his  parts.  In  the  trading  part 
of  mankind,  I have  ever  observed  the  jest  went 
by  the  weight  of  purses,  and  the  ridicule  is 
made  up  by  the  gains  which  arise  from  it.  Thus 
the  packer  allows  the  clothier  to  say  w’hat  he 
pleases;  and  the  broker  has  his  countenance 
ready  to  laugh  with  the  merchant,  though  the 
abuse  is  to  fall  on  himself,  because  he  knows 
that,  as  a go-between,  he  shall  find  his  account 
in  being  in  the  good  graces  of  a man  of  wealth. 
Among  these  just  and  punctual  people  the  rich- 
est man  is  ever  the  better  jester  ; and  they  know 
no  such  a thing  as  a person  who  shall  pretend 
to  a superior  laugh  at  a man,  w'ho  does  not  make 
him  amends  by  opportunities  of  advantage  in 
another  kind  : but,  among  people  of  a dirferent 
way,  where  the  pretended  distinction  in  com- 
pany is  only  what  is  raised  from  sense  and  un- 
derstanding, it  is  very  absurd  to  carry  on  a 
rough  raillery  so  far,  as  that  the  wliole  discourse 
should  turn  upon  each  other’s  infirmities,  follies, 
or  misfortunes. 

I was  this  evening  with  a set  of  wags  of  this 
class.  They  appear  generally  by  two  and  tw  o ; 
and  what  is  most  extraordinary,  is,  that  those 
very  persons  who  are  most  together,  appear  least 
of  a mind  when  joined  by  other  company.  This 
evil  proceeds  from  an  indiscreet  familiarity, 
whereby  a man  is  allow'ed  to  say  the  most  grat- 
ing thing  imaginable  to  another,  and  it  shall  be 
accounted  weakness  to  show  an  impatience  for 
the  unkindness.  But  this  and  all  other  deviations 
from  the  design  of  pleasing  each  other  when  we 
meet,  are  derived  from  interlopers  in  society  ; 
who  want  capacity  to  put  in  a stock  among  re- 
gular companions,  and  therefore  supply  their 
wants  by  stale  histories,  sly  observations,  and 
rude  hints,  which  relate  to  the  conduct  of  others. 
All  cohabitants  in  general,  run  into  this  unhappy 
fault ; men  and  their  wives  break  into  reflec- 
tions, which  are  like  so  much  Arabic  to  the  rest 
of  the  company;  sisters  and  brothers  often  make 
the  like  figure,  from  the  same  unjust  sense  of 
the  art  of  being  intimate  and  familiar.  It  is  often 
said,  such-a-one  cannot  stand  the  mention  of 
such  a circumstance  ; if  he  cannot,  I am  sure 
it  is  for  want  of  discourse,  or  a worse  reason, 
that  any  companion  of  his  touches  upon  it. 

Familiarity,  among  the  truly  well-bred,  never 
gives  authority  to  trespass  upon  one  another  in 
the  most  minute  circumstance  ; but  it  allows  to 
be  kinder  than  we  ought  otherwise  to  presume 
to  be.  Eusebius  has  wit,  humour,  and  spirit ; 
but  there  never  was  a man  in  his  company  vrho 
wished  he  had  less ; for  he  understands  fami- 
liarity so  well,  that  he  knows  how  to  make  use 
of  it  in  a way  that  neither  makes  himself  or 
his  friend  contemptible  ; but  if  any  one  is  les- 
sened by  his  freedom,  it  is  he  himself,  who  al- 
ways likes  the  place,  the  diet,  and  the  reception 
when  he  is  in  the  company  of  his  friends. 
Equality  is  the  life  of  conversation  ; and  he  is 
as  much  out  who  assumes  to  himself  any  part 
above  another,  as  he  wflio  considers  himself  be- 
low the  rest  of  the  society.  Familiarity  in  in- 
feriors is  sauciness ; in  superiors,  condescen- 
sion ; neither  of  which  are  to  have  being  among 
companions,  the  very  word  implying  that  they 
are  to  be  equal.  When,  therefore,  we  have  ab- 


stracted the  company  from  all  considerations 
of  their  quality  or  fortune,  it  w ill  immediately 
appear,  that  to  make  it  happy  and  polite  there 
must  notliing  be  started  which  shall  discover 
that  our  thoughts  run  upon  any  such  distinc- 
tions. Hence  it  will  arise,  that  benevolence 
must  become  the  rule  of  society,  and  he  that  is 
most  obliging  must  be  most  diverting. 

This  way  of  talking  I am  fallen  into  from  the 
reflection  that  I am,  wherever  I go,  entertained 
w'ith  some  absurdity,  mistake,  weakness,  or  ill- 
luck  of  some  man  or  other,  wliom  not  only  I, 
but  the  person  who  makes  me  those  relations, 
has  a value  for.  It  would  therefore  be  a great 
benefit  to  the  world,  if  it  could  be  brought  to 
pass,  tliat  no  story  should  be  a taking  one,  but 
what  was  to  the  advantage  of  the  person  of 
whom  it  is  related.  By  this  means,  he  that  is 
now  a w'ii  in  conversation  would  be  considered 
as  a spreader  of  false  news  is  in  business. 

But  above  all,  to  make  a faniiliar  fit  for  a bo- 
som friend,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  we 
should  always  be  inclined  rather  to  hide,  than 
rally  each  other’s  infirmities.  To  suffer  for  a 
fault  is  a sort  of  atonement ; and  nobody  is  con- 
cerned for  the  offence  for  w’hich  he  has  made 
reparation. 

P.  S.  I have  received  the  following  letter, 
which  rallies  me  for  being  witty  sooner  than  I 
designed  ; but  I have  now  altered  my  resolution, 
and  intend  to  be  facetious  until  the  day  in  Oc- 
tober heretofore  mentioned,  instead  of  begin- 
ning from  that  day. 

‘ September  6,  1710. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — By  your  own  reckoning 
you  came  yesterday  about  a month  before  the 
time  you  looked  yourself,  much  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  your  most  obliged,  humble  servant, 

‘PLAIN  ENGLISH.’ 


No.  226.]  Tuesday^  Seplemher  19, 1710. 

Juvenis  quondam,  nunc  femina,  Cseneus, 

Rursus  et  in  veterem  fato  revoluta  figuram. 

Virg.  ^n.  vi,  448. 

Cceneus,  a woman  once,  and  once  a man  ; 

But  ending  in  the  sex  she  first  began.  Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  18. 

It  is  one  of  the  designs  of  this  paper  to 
transmit  to  posterity  an  account  of  every  thing 
that  is  monstrous  in  my  own  times.  For  this 
reason,  I shall  here  publish  to  the  world  the 
life  of  a person  who  was  neither  man  nor 
woman  ; as  written  by  one  of  my  ingenious 
correspondents,  who  seems  to  have  imitated 
Plutarch  in  that  multifarious  erudition,  and  those 
occasional  dissertations,  which  he  has  wrought 
into  the  body  of  his  history.  The  life  I am 
putting  out  is  that  of  Margery,  alias  John 
Young,  commonly  known  by  the  name  of 
doctor  Young ; wdio,  as  the  town  very  well 
knows,  was  a woman  that  practised  physic  in  a 
man’s  clothes,  and,  after  having  had  two  wives 
and  several  children,  died  about  a month  since. 

‘ Sir, — I here  make  bold  to  trouble  you  with 


No.  2:20.] 


THE  TATLER. 


375 


f a short  account  of  the  famous  doctor  Young’s 

I life,  which  you  may  cal!,  if  you  please,  a second 

I ' part  of  the  farce  of  tlie  Sham  Doctor.  This 

I perhaps  will  not  seem  so  strange  to  you,  who,  if 

I am  not  mistaken,  have  somewhere  mentioned 
with  honour  your  sister  Kirleus,*  as  a practi- 
tioner both  in  physic  and  astrology  : but  in  the 
common  opinion  of  mankind,  a she-quack  is  alto- 
, gether  as  strange  and  astonishing  a creature,  as 
I the  centaur  that  practised  physic  in  the  days  of 

[j  Achilles,  or  as  king  Pliys  in  tlie  Rehearsal. 

; fEsculapius  the  great  Ibunder  of  your  art, 
was  particularly  famous  for  his  beard,  as  we 
may  conclude  trom  the  behaviour  of  a tyrant, 

. who  is  branded  by  heathen  historians  as  guilty 
both  of  sacrilege  and  blasphemy  ; having  robbed 
tJic  statue  of  ^sculapius  of  a thick  bushy 
golden  beard,  and  then  alleged  for  his  excuse, 
Tliat  it  was  a shame  the  son  should  have  a 
board,  when  his  father  Apollo  had  none.  This 
latter  instance  indeed  seems  something  to  fa- 
vour a female  professor,  since,  as  I have  been 
told,  the  ancient  statues  of  Apollo  are  generally 
made  with  a bead  and  face  of  a woman  : nay,  I 
have  been  credibly  informed  by  those  who  have 
seen  them  both,  that  the  famous  Apollo  in  the 
Belvidera  did  very  much  resemble  doctor  Young. 
Let  that  be  as  it  will,  the  doctor  was  a kind  of 
. Amazon  in  piiysic,  that  made  as  great  devasta- 
tions and  slaughters  as  any  of  our  chief  heroes 
in  the  art,  and  was  as  fatal  to  the  English  in 
these  our  days,  as  the  famous  Joan  d’Arc  was 
in  those  of  our  forefathers. 

‘ I do  not  find  any  thing  remarkable  in  the 
life  which  I am  about  to  write  until  the  year 
1G95  ; at  which  time  the  doctor,  being  about 
twenty-three  years  old,  was  brought  to-bed  of 
a bastard  child.  The  scandal  of  such  a mis- 
fortune gave  so  great  an  uneasiness  to  pretty 
Mrs.  Peggy,  for  tliat  was  the  name  by  which 
the  doctor  was  then  called,  that  she  left  her 
family,  and  followed  her  lover  to  London,  with 
a fixed  resolution  some  way  or  other  to  recover 
her  lost  reputation  : but  instead  of  changing  her 
life,  which  one  would  have  expected  from  so 
good  a disposition  of  mind,  she  took  it  in  her 
head  to  change  her  sex.  This  was  soon  done 
by  the  help  of  a sword  and  a pair  of  breeches. 

I have  reason  to  believe,  that  her  first  design 
was  to  turn  man-midwife,  having  herself  had 
some  experience  in  those  affairs  ; but  thinking 
this  too  narrow  a foundation  for  her  future  for- 
tune, she  at  length  bought  her  a rrold-huttoned 
coat.,  and  set  up  fijr  a physician.  Thus  we  see 
the  same  fatal  miscarriage  in  her  youth  made 
Mrs.  Young  a doctor,  that  formerly  made  one 
of  the  same  sex  a pope. 

‘ J’he  doctor  succeeded  very  well  in  his  busi- 
ness at  first;  but  very  often  met  with  accidents 
that  disquieted  him.  As  he  wanted  that  deep 
magisterial  voice  which  gives  authority  to  a 
prescription,  and  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the 
right  pronouncing  of  these  words,  “ Take  these 
pills,”  he  unfortunately  got  the  nick-name  of 
the  Squeaking  Doctor.  If  this  circumstance 


* Tliere  were  two  slie-quacks  of  the  name  of  Kirleus, 
Susannah,  the  widow  of  Thomas,  and  Mary,  tlie  widow 
of  John,  who  advertised  upon  one  another.  They  were 
equally  skilled  in  astrology  and  physic. 


alarmed  the  doctor,  there  was  another  which 
gave  him  no  small  disquiet,  and  very  much  di- 
minished his  gains.  In  short,  he  found  him- 
self run  down  as  a superficial  prating  quack  in 
all  families  that  had  atthehead  of  them  a cau- 
tious father,  or  a jealous  husband.  These  would 
often  complain  among  one  another,  that  they 
did  not  like  such  a smock-faced  physician ; 
though  in  truth,  had  they  known  how  justly  he 
deserved  that  name,  they  would  rather  have  fa- 
voured his  practice,  than  have  apprehended  any 
thing  from  it. 

‘ .Such  were  the  motives  that  determined  Mrs. 
Young  to  change  her  condition,  and  take  in 
marriage  a virtuous  young  woman,-  who  lived 
with  her  in  good  reputation,  and  made  her  the 
father  of  a very  pretty  girl.  But  this  part  of 
her  happiness  was  soon  after  destroyed,  by  a 
distemper  which  was  too  hard  for  our  physi- 
cian, and  carried  off  his  first  wife.  The  doctor 
had  not  been  a widow  long  before  he  married 
his  second  lady  with  whom  also  he  lived  in  ve- 
ry good  understanding.  It  so  happened,  that 
the  doctor  w’as  w'ith  child  at  the  same  time  that 
his  lady  was;  but  the  little  ones  coming  both 
together,  they  passed  for  twins.  The  doctor 
having  entirely  established  the  reputation  of  his 
manhood,  especially  by  the  birth  of  the  boy  of 
whom  he  had  been  lately  delivered,  and  who 
very  much  resembles  him,  grew  into  good  busi- 
ness, and  w^as  particularly  famous  for  the  cure 
of  venereal  distempers;  but  would  have  had 
much  more  practice  among  his  own  sex,  had 
not  some  of  them  been  so  unreasonable  as  to 
demand  certain  proofs  of  their  cure,  which  the 
doctor  was  not  able  to  give  them.  The  florid 
blooming  look,  which  gave  the  doctor  some  un- 
easiness at  first,  instead  of  betraying  his  person, 
only  recommended  his  physic.  Upon  this  oc- 
casion I cannot  forbear  mentioning  what  I 
thought  a very  agreeable  surprise  : in  one  of 
Moliere’s  plays,  where  a young  woman  applies 
herself  to  a sick  person  in  the  habit  of  a quack, 
and  speaks  to  her  patient,  who  was  something 
scandalized  at  the  youth  of  his  physician,  to  the 
following  purpose  ; — I began  to  practise  in  the 
reign  of  Francis  the  First,  and  am  now  in  the 
hundredth  and  fiftieth  year  of  my  age  : but,  by 
the  virtue  of  my  medicaments,  liave  maintained 
myself  in  the  same  beauty  and  freshness  I had 
at  fifteen.  For  this  reason  Hippocrates  lays  it 
down  as  a rule,  that  a student  in  physic  should 
have  a sound  constitution,  and  a healthy  look ; 
which  indeed  seem  as  necessary  qualifications 
for  a physician,  as  a good  life  and  virtuous  be- 
haviour for  a divine.  But  to  return  to  our  sub- 
ject.  About  two  years  ago  the  doctor  was  very 
much  afflicted  with  the  vapours,  which  grew 
upon  him  to  such  a degree,  that  about  six  weeks 
since  they  made  an  end  of  him.  His  death 
discovered  the  disguise  he  had  acted  under,  and 
brought  him  back  again  to  his  former  sex.  It 
is  said,  that  at  his  burial  the  pall  was  held  up 
by  six  women  of  some  fashion.  The  doctor  left 
behind  him  a widow,  and  two  fatherless  chil- 
dren, if  they  may  be  called  so,  besides  the  little 
boy  before-mentioned.  In  relation  to  whom 
we  may  say  of  the  doctor,  as  the  good  old  bal- 
lad about  the  children  in  the  wood  says  of  the 


376 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  227. 


unnatural  uncle,  that  he  was  father  and  mother 
both  in  one.  These  are  all  the  circumstances 
that  I could  learn  of  doctor  Young’s  life,  which 
might  have  given  occasion  to  man}'^  obscene  fic- 
tions : but  as  I know  those  would  never  have 
gained  a place  in  your  paper,  I have  not  troubled 
you  with  any  impertinence  of  that  nature,  having 
stuck  to  the  truth  very  scrupulously,  as  I al- 
ways do  when  I subscribe  myself,  sir,  yours, 

&-C.’ 

I shall  add  as  a postscript  to  this  letter,  that 
I am  informed  the  famous  Saltero,  who  sells 
coffee  in  his  museum  at  Chelsea,  has  by  him  a 
curiosity,  which  helped  the  doctor  to  carry  on 
his  imposture,  and  will  give  great  satisfaction  to 
the  curious  inquirer. 


It  is  the  business  of  reason  and  philosophy 
to  sooth  and  allay  the  passions  of  the  mind,  nr 
turn  them  to  a vigorous  prosecution  of  what  is 
dictated  by  the  understanding.  In  order  to  this 
good  end,  I would  keep  a watchful  eye  upon  the 
growing  inclinations  of  youth,  and  be  particular- 
ly careful  to  prevent  their  indulging  themselves 
in  such  sentiments  as  may  imbitter  their  more 
advanced  age.  I have  now  under  cure  a young 
gentleman,  who  lately  communicated  to  me,  that 
he  was  of  all  men  living  the  most  miserably  en- 
vious. I desired  the  circumstances  of  his  dis- 
temper ; upon  which,  with  a sigh  that  would 
have  moved  the  most  inhuman  breast,  ‘ Mr. 
Bickerstaff,’  said  he,  ‘ I arn  nephew  to  a gentle- 
man of  a very  great  estate,  to  whose  favour  I 
have  a cousin  that  has  equal  pretensions  with 
myself.  This  kinsman  of  mine  is  a young  man 
of  the  highest  merit  imaginable,  and  has  a mind 
so  tender,  and  so  generous,  that  I can  observe 
he  returns  my  envy  wi.h  pity.  He  makes  me, 
upon  all  occasions,  the  most  obliging  condescen- 
sions : and  I cannot  but  take  notice  of  the  con- 
cern he  is  in,  to  see  my  life  blasted  with  this 
racking  passion,  though  it  is  against  himself.  In 
the  presence  of  my  uncle,  when  I am  in  the 
room,  he  never  speaks  so  well  as  he  is  capable 
of ; but  always  lowers  his  talents  and  accom- 
plishments out  of  regard  to  me.  What  I beg 
of  you,  dear  sir,  is  to  instruct  me  how  to  love 
him,  as  I know  he  does  me : and  I beseech  you, 
if  possible,  to  set  my  heart  right;  that  it  may 
no  longer  be  tormented  where  it  should  be 
pleased,  or  hate  a man  whom  I cannot  but  ap- 
prove.’ 

The  patient  gave  me  this  account  with  such 
candour  and  openness,  that  I conceived  imme- 
diate  hopes  of  his  cure  ; because,  in  diseases  of 
the  mind,  the  person  affected  is  half  recovered 
when  he  is  sensible  of  his  distemper.  ‘ Sir,’ 
eaid  I,  ‘ the  acknowledgment  of  your  kinsman’s 
merit  is  a very  hopeful  symptom  ; for  it  is  the 


nature  of  persons  afflicted  with  this  evil,  when 
they  are  incurable,  to  pretend  a contempt  of  the 
person  envied,  if  they  are  taxed  with  that  weak- 
ness.  A man  who  is  really  envious,  will  not 
allow  he  is  so  ; but,  upon  such  an  accusation,  is 
tormented  with  the  reflection,  that  to  envy  a 
man,  is  to  allow  him  your  superior.  But  in  your 
case,  when  you  examine  the  bottom  of  your 
heart,  I am  apt  to  think  it  is  avarice,  which  you 
mistake  for  envy.  Were  it  not  that  you  have 
both  expectations  from  the  same  man,  you  would 
look  upon  your  cousin’s  accomplishments  with 
pleasure.  You,  that  now  consider  him  as  an 
obstacle  to  your  interest,  would  then  behold  him 
as  an  ornament  to  your  family.’  I observed  my 
patient  upon  this  occasion  recover  himself  in 
some  measure  ; and  he  owned  to  me,  that  ‘ he 
hoped  it  was  as  I imagined  ; for  that  in  all  places, 
but  where  he  was  his  rival,  he  had  pleasure  in 
his  company.’  This  was  the  first  discourse  we 
had  upon  this  malady  ; but  I do  not  doubt  but, 
after  two  or  three  more,  I shall,  by  just  degrees, 
soften  his  envy  into  emulation. 

Such  an  envy,  as  I have  here  described,  may 
possibly  enter  into  an  ingenuous  mind ; but  the 
envy  which  makes  a man  uneasy  to  himself 
and  others,  is  a certain  distortion  and  perverse- 
ness of  temper,  that  renders  him  unwilling  to 
be  pleased  with  any  thing  without  him,  that  has 
either  beauty  or  perfection  in  it.  I look  upon 
it  as  a distemper  in  the  mind,  which  I know  no 
moralist  that  has  described  in  this  light,  when 
a man  cannot  discern  any  thing,  which  another 
is  master  of  that  is  agreeable.  For  which  rea- 
son, I Ioo’k  upon  the  good-natured  man  to  be  en- 
dow^ed  with  a certain  discerning  faculty,  which 
the  envious  are  altogether  deprived  of.  Shallow 
wits,  superficial  critics,  and  conceited  fops,  are 
with  me  so  many  blind  men  in  respect  of  ex- 
cellencies. They  can  behold  nothing  but  faults 
and  blemishes,  and  indeed  see  nothing  that  is 
worth  seeing.  Show  them  a poem,  it  is  stuff ; 
a picture,  it  is  daubing.  They  find  nothing  in 
architecture  that  is  not  irregular,  or  in  music 
that  is  not  out  of  tune.  These  men  should  con- 
sider, that  it  is  their  envy  which  deforms  every 
thing,  and  that  the  ugliness  is  not  in  the  object, 
but  in  the  eye.  And  as  for  nobler  minds,  whose 
merits  are  either  not  discovered,  or  are  misre- 
presented by  the  envious  part  of  mankind,  they 
should  rather  consider  their  defamers  with  pity 
than  indignation.  A man  cannot  have  an  idea 
of  perfection  in  another,  which  he  was  never 
sensible  of  in  himself.  Mr.  Locke  tells  us,  ‘ That 
upon  asking  a blind  man,  what  he  thought  scar- 
let was?  he  answered.  That  he  believed  it  was 
like  the  sound  of  a trumpet.’  He  was  forced  to 
form  his  conceptions  of  ideas  which  he  had  not, 
by  those  which  he  had.  In  the  same  manner, 
ask  an  envious  man  what  he  thinks  of  virtue  ? 
he  will  call  it  design  ; wfflat  of  good-nature  ? and 
he  will  term  it  dulness.  The  difference  is,  that 
as  the  person  before-mentioned  was  born  blind, 
your  envious  men  have  contracted  the  distemper 
themselves,  and  are  troubled  with  a sort  of  an 
acquired  blindness.  Thus  the  devil  in  Milton, 
though  made  an  angel  of  light,  could  see  nothing 
to  please  him  even  in  Paradise,  and  hated  our 
first  parents,  though  in  their  state  of  innocence. 


No.  227.]  Thursday,  September  21,  1710. 

Omnibus  invideas,  Zoile,  nemo  tibi  Martial. 

Thou  envy’st  all ; but  no  man  envies  thee. 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  20. 


377 


THE  TATLER. 


No.  228.] 

No.  228.]  Saturday,  September  23,  1710. 

Veniet  mamis,  auxilio  quae 

Sit  mihi 

Hor.  1 Sat.  iv.  141. 

A powerful  aid  from  other  hands  will  come. 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  22. 

A MAN  of  business,  wlio  makes  a public  en- 
tertainment, may  sometimes  leave  his  guests, 
jnd  beg  them  to  divert  tliernselves  as  well  as 
they  can  until  his  return.  I shall  here  make 
dse  of  the  same  privilege,  being  engaged  in 
matters  of  some  importance  relating  to  the  fa-' 
mily  of  the  Bickerstaft’s,  and  must  desire  my 
readers  to  entertain  one  another  until  I can  have 
leisure  to  attend  them.  I have  therefore  fur- 
nished out  this  paper,  as  I have  done  some  few 
others,  with  letters  of  my  ingenious  correspond- 
ents, which,  I have  reason  to  believe,  will  please 
the  public  as  much  as  my  own  more  elaborate 
lucubrations. 

‘ Lincoln,  September  9. 

‘Sir, — 1 have  long  been  of  the  number  of 
your  admirers,  and  take  this  opportunity  of  tell- 
ing you  so.  I know  not  why  a man  so  famed 
for  astrological  observations  may  not  be  also  a 
good  casuist;  upon  which  presumption  it  is  I 
ask  your  advice  in  an  affair,  that  at  present 
puzzles  quite  that  slender  stock  of  divinity  I am 
master  of.  I liave  now  been  some  time  in  holy 
orders,  and  fellow  of  a certain  college  in  one  of 
the  universities  ; but,  weary  of  that  inactive  life, 
I resolve  to  be  doing  good  in  my  generation.  A 
worthy  gentleman  has  lately  offered  me  a fat 
rectory  ; but  means,  I perceive,  his  kinswoman 
should  have  the  benefit  of  the  clergy.  I am  a 
novice  in  the  world,  and  confess  it  startles  me, 
how  the  body  of  Mrs.  Abigail  can  be  annexed  tr 
the  cure  of  souls.  Sir,  would  you  give  us,  in 
one  of  your  Tatlers,  the  original  and  progress 
of  smock-simony,  and  show  us,  that  where  the 
laws  are  silent,  men’s  consciences  ought  to  be  so 
too,  you  could  not  more  oblige  our  fraternity  of 
young  divines,  and  among  the  rest,  your  humble 
servant,  HIGH  CHURCH.’ 

I am  very  proud  of  having  a gentleman  of 
this  name  for  my  admirer,  and  may,  some  time 
or  other,  write  such  a treatise  as  he  mentions. 
In  the  mean  time,  I do  not  see  why  our  clergy, 
v.'ho  are  frequently  men  of  good  families,  should 
be  reproached,  if  any  of  them  chance  to  espouse 
a hand-maid  with  a rectory  in  commendam,  since 
the  best  of  our  peers  have  often  joined  them- 
selves to  the  daughters  of  very  ordinary  trades- 
men, upon  the  same  valuable  considerations. 

‘ Globe  in  Moorfields,  Sept.  16. 

‘ Honoured  Sir, — I have  now  finished  my  al- 
manack for  the  next  year,  in  all  the  parts  of  it, 
except  that  which  concerns  the  weather  ; and 
you  having  shown  yourself,  by  some  of  your 
late  works,  more  weatherwise  than  any  of  our 
modern  astrologers,  I most  humbly  presume  to 
trouble  you  upon  this  head.  You  know  very 
well,  that  in  our  ordinary  almanacks  the  wind 
and  rain,  snow  and  hail,  clouds  and  sunshine, 
have  their  proper  seasons,  and  come  up  as  regu- 
larly in  their  several  months  as  the  fruits  and 
3 B 


plants  of  the  earth.  As  for  my  own  part,  I 
freely  own  to  you,  that  I generally  steal  my 
weatlier  out  of  some  antiquated  almanack,  that 
foretold  it  several  years  ago.  Now,  sir,  what  I 
humbly  beg  of  you  is,  that  you  would  lend  me 
your  State  Weather-Glass,  in  order  to  fill  up 
this  vacant  column  in  my  works.  This,  I know, 
would  sell  my  almanack  beyond  any  other,  and 
make  me  a richer  man  than  Poor  Robin.  If  you 
will  not  grant  me  this  favour,  I must  have  re- 
course to  my  old  method,  and  will  copy  after  an 
almanack  which  I have  by  me,  and  which  I 
think  was  for  the  year  when  the  great  storm 
was.  I am,  sir,  the  most  humble  of  your  ad- 
mirers,  T.  PHILOMATH.’ 

This  gentleman  does  not  consider,  what  a 
strange  appearance  his  almanack  would  make 
to  the  ignorant,  should  he  transpose  his  weather, 
as  he  must  do,  did  he  follow  the  dictates  of  my 
glass.  What  would  the  world  say  to  see  sum- 
rners  filled  with  clouds  and  storms,  and  winters 
with  calms  and  sunshine  ; according  to  the  va- 
riations of  the  weather,  as  they  might  acciden- 
tally appear  in  a sttf  <e-barometer  ? But  let  that 
be  as  it  will,  I shall  apply  my  own  invention  to 
my  own  use;  and  if  I do  not  make  my  fortune 
by  it,  it  will  be  my  own  fault. 

The  next  letter  comes  to  me  from  another 
self-interested  solicitor. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I am  going  to  set  up  for 
a Scrivener,  and  have  thought  of  a project  which 
may  turn  both  to  your  account  and  mine.  It 
came  info  my  head  upon  reading  that  learned 
and  useful  paper  of  yours  concerning  advertise- 
ments. You  must  understand,  I have  made 
myself  master  in  the  whole  art  of  Advertising, 
both  as  to  the  style  and  the  letter.  Now  if  you 
and  I could  so  manage  it,  that  nobody  should 
write  advertisements  besides  myself,  or  print 
them  any  where  but  in  your  paper,  we  might 
both  of  us  get  estates  in  a little  time.  For  this 
end  I would  likewise  propose,  that  you  should 
enlarge  the  design  of  advertisements,  and  have 
sent  you  two  or  three  samples  of  my  work  in 
this  kind,  which  I have  made  for  particular 
friends,  and  intend  to  open  shop  with.  The  first 
is  for  a gentleman,  who  would  willingly  marry, 
if  he  could  find  a wife  to  his  liking ; the  second 
is  for  a poor  whig,  who  is  lately  turned  out  of 
his  post ; and  the  third  for  a person  of  a con- 
trary party,  who  is  willing  to  get  into  one.’ 

‘ Whdreas,  A.  B.  next  door  to  the  Pestle  and 
Mortar,  being  about  thirty  years  old,  of  a spare 
make,  with  dark-coloured  hair,  bright  eye,  and 
a long  nose,  has  occasion  for  a good-humoured, 
tall,  fair,  young  woman,  of  about  3000/.  fortune  ; 
these  are  to  give  notice,  that  if  any  such  young 
woman  has  a mind  to  dispose  of  herself  in  mar- 
riage to  such  a person  as  the  above-mentioned, 
she  may  be  provided  with  a husband,  a coach 
and  horses,  and  proportionable  settlement.’ 

‘C.  D.  designing  to  quit  his  place,  has  great 
quantities  of  paper,  parchment,  ink,  wax,  and 
wafers,  to  dispose  of,  which  will  be  sold  at  very 
reasonable  rates.’ 

‘ E.  F.  a person  of  good  behaviour,  six  feet 
high,  of  a black  complexion,  and  sound  princi- 
ples, wants  an  employ.  He  is  an  excellent 
penman  and  accountant,  and  speaks  French.’ 
32^^ 


378 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  230. 


No.  229.]  Tuesday^  September  26,  1710. 

Gluaesitam  mevitis  sume  superbiain. 

Hor.  3 Od.  XXX.  13. 

With  congcious  pride 

Assume  the  honours  justly  thine.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  Sejytember  25. 

The  v/hole  creation  preys  upon  itself.  Every  i 
living  creature  is  inliabited.  A flea  lias  a thou- 
sand invisible  insects  tiiat  teazo  him  as  he  jumps 
from  place  to  ydace,  and  revenge  our  quarrels 
upon  him.  A very  ordinary  microscope  shows 
us,  that  a louse  is  itself  a very  lousy  creature. 
A whale,  besides  those  seas  and  oceans  ill  the 
several  vessels  of  his  body,  which  are  filled  with 
innumerable  shoals  of  little  animals,  carries 
about  him  a whole  world  of  inhabitants ; inso- 
much that,  if  we  believe  the  calculations  some 
have  made,  there  are  more  living  creatures, 
which  are  too  small  for  the  naked  eye  to  be- 
hold, about  the  leviathan,  than  there  are  of  visi- 
ble creatures  upon  the  face  of  the  whole  earth. 
Tl'hus,  every  nobler  creature  is,  as  it  were,  the 
basis  and  support  of  multitudes  that  are  his  in- 
feriors. 

This  consideration  very  much  comforts  me, 
when  I think  on  those  numberless  vermin  that 
feed  upon  this  paper,  and  find  their  sustenance 
out  of  it ; I mean  the  small  wits  and  scribblers, 
that  every  day  turn  a penny  Iiy  nibbling  at  my 
lucubrations.  This  has  been  so  advantageous 
to  this  little  species  of  writers,  that,  if  they  do 
me  justice,  I may  expect  to  have  my  statue 
erected  in  Grub-street,  as  being  a common  be- 
nefactor to  that  quarter. 

Tney  say,  when  a fox  is  very  much  Iroubled 
with  fleas,  he  goes  into  the  next  pool  with  a lit- 
tle lock  of  wool  in  his  mouth,  and  keeps  his 
body  under  water  until  the  vermin  get  into  it; 
after  which  he  quits  the  wool,  and  diving,  leaves 
his  tormentors  to  shift  for  themselves,  and  get 
their  livelihood  where  they  can.  I would  have 
these  gentlemen  take  care  that  I do  not  serve 
them  after  the  same  manner  ; for  though  I have 
hitherto  kept  my  temper  pi-etty  well,  it  is  not 
impossible  but  I may  some  time  or  other  disap- 
pear ; and  what  will  then  become  of  them  ? 
Should  I lay  down  my  pap^r,  what  a famine 
would  there  be  among  the  hawkers,  printers, 
booksellers,  and  authors  ! It  would  be  like  Dr. 
Burgess’s*  dropping  his  cloak,  with  the  whole 
congregation  hanging  upon  the  skirts  of  it.  To 
enumerate  some  of  these  my  doughty  antago- 
nists ; I was  threatened  to  be  answered  weekly, 

^ Tit  for  Tat ; I was  undermined  by  the  Whis- 
perer ; haunted  by  Tom  Broivn's  Ghost  ; scolded 
by  a Female  Toiler ; and  slandered  by  another 
of  the  same  character,  under  the  title  of  Atalan- 
tis.  I have  been  annotated,  retatiled,  examined, 
and  condoled ; but  it  being  my  standing  maxim 
never  to  speak  ill  of  the  dead,  I shall  let  these 
authors  rest  in  peace ; and  take  great  pleasure 
in  thinking,  that  I have  sometimes  been  the 
means  of  their  getting  a belly-full.  When  I see 
myself  thus  surrounded  by  such  formidable 
enemies,  I often  think  of  the  Knight  of  the  Red 


* Daniel  Bntgess,  the  doctor  here  alluded  to,  resided, 
it  seems,  in  the  year  1714,  at  the  court  of  Hanover,  as 
secretary  and  reader  to  the  princess  Sophia. 


Cross,  in  Spenser’s  ‘ Den  of  Error,’  who,  after 
he  has  cut  off  the  dragon’s  head,  and  left  it 
wallowing  in  a flood  of  ink,  sees  a thousand 
monstrous  reptiles  making  their  attempts  upon 
him,  one  with  many  heads,  another  with  none 
and  all  of  them  without  eyes. 

The  same  so  sore  annoyect  has  the  knight. 

That,  well  nigh  choked  with  the  deadly  stink, 
liis  forces  fail,  he  can  no  longer  fight; 

Wliose  courage  when  the  fiend  perceiv’d  to  shrink, 
She  poured  forth  out  of  her  hellish  sink 
Her  fruitful  cursed  spawn  of  serp  nts  small, 

Deformed  monsters,  foul,  and  black  as  ink; 

Which  swarming  all  about  his  legs  did  crawl. 

And  him  encumbered  sore,  but  could  net  hurt  at  all 

As  gentle  shepherd  in  sweet  even  tide. 

When  ruddy  riicebus  gins  to  welk  in  west. 

High  on  a hill,  his  flock  to  viewen  wide, 

Marks  which  do  bite  their  hasty  siqiper  best ; 

A cloud  of  cumbrous  gnats  do  him  molest. 

All  striving  to  infix  their  feeble  stings. 

That  from  their  noyance  he  r.owhere  can  rest; 

But  with  his  clownish  hands  their  tender  wings 
He  brusheth  oft,  and  oft  doth  mar  their  nmrmurings. 

Spenser's  ' Fairy  Ciueen.’ 

If  ever  I should  want  such  a fry  of  little  au- 
thors to  attend  me,  I shall  think  my  paper  in  a 
very  decaying  condition.  They  are  like  ivy 
about  an  oak,  which  adorns  the  tree  at  the  same 
tim.e  that  it  eats  into  it,  or  like  a great  man’s 
equipage,  that  do  honour  to  the  person  on  whom 
they  feed.  For  my  part,  when  I see  myself  thus 
attacked,  I do  not  consider  my  antagonists  as 
malicious,  but  hungry  ; and  therefore  am  re- 
solved never  to  take  any  notice  of  them. 

As  for  those  who  detract  from  my  labours, 
without  being  prompted  to  it  by  an  empty  sto- 
mach ; in  return  to  their  censures,  I shall  take 
pains  to  excel,  and  never  fail  to  persuade  myself, 
tliat  their  enmity  is  nothing  but  their  envy  or 
ignorance. 

Give  me  leave  to  conclude,  like  an  old  man 
and  a moralist,  with  a fable. 

The  owls,  bats,  and  several  other  birds  of 
night,  were  one  de,v  got  together  in  a thick 
shade,  where  they  abused  their  neighbours  in  a 
very  sociable  manner.  Their  satire  at  last  fell 
upon  the  sun,  to  whom  they  all  agreed  to  be 
very  troublesome,  impertinent,  and  inquisitive. 
Upon  which,  the  sun,  who  overheard  them, 
spoke  to  them  after  this  manner  : ‘ Gentlemen, 
I wonder  how  you  dare  abuse  one  that,  you 
know,  could  in  an  instant  scorch  you  up,  and 
burn  every  mother’s  son  of  you : but  the  only 
answer  I shall  give  you,  or  the  revenge  I shall 
take  of  you,  is,  to  ‘ shine  on.’ 


No.  230.]  Thursday,  September  28,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  28. 

The  following  letter  has  laid  before  me  many 
great  and  manifest  evils  in  the  world  of  letters, 
which  I had  overlooked ; but  they  open  to  me  a 
very  busy  scene,  and  it  will  require  no  small 
care  and  application  to  amend  errors  which  are 
become  so  universal.  The  affectation  of  polite- 
ness is  exposed  in  this  epistle  with  a great  deal 
of  wit  and  discernment ; so  that  w’hatever  dis- 
courses  I may  fall  into  hereafter  upon  the  sub- 
jects the  writer  treats  of,  I shall  at  present  lay 


THE  TATLER. 


379 


r 

No.  230.] 

the  matter  before  the  world,  without  the  least 
alteration  from  tfie  words  of  rny  correspondent. 

‘ To  Isaac  BicJcerslaff,  Esquire. 

‘ Sm, — There  are  some  abuses  among  us  of 
great  consequence,  the  reformation  ol  vvliicli  is 
properly  your  })rovince  ; though,  as  lar  as  1 have 
been  conversant  in  your  papers,  you  liave  not 
)mt  considered  them.  These  are,  the  deplora- 
ble ignorance  that  for  some  years  hath  reigned 
among  our  English  writers,  the  great  depravity 
of  our  taste,  and  the  continual  corruption  of  our 
style.  I say  nothing  here  of  those  who  handle 
particular  sciences,  divinity,  law,  physic,  and 
the  like  ; I mean  the  traders  in  history,  politics, 
and  the  belles  lettres ; together  with  those  by 
whom  books  are  not  translated,  but,  as  the  com- 
( mon  expressions  are,  done  out  of  French,  Latin, 

j or  other  language,  and  made  English.  I can- 

not but  observe  to  you,  that  until  of  late  years 
a Grub-street  book  was  always  bound  in  sheep- 
skin, with  suitable  print  and  paper,  the  price 
never  above  a shilling,  and  taken  off  wholly  by 
common  tradesmen  or  country  pedlers;  but  now 
they  appear  in  all  sizes  and  shapes,  and  in  all 
places.  They  are  handed  about  from  lapfuls 
in  every  coffee-house  to  persons  of  quality ; are 
shown  in  Westminster-hall  and  the  Court  of  Re- 
quests. You  may  see  them  gilt,  and  in  royal  pa- 
per of  five  or  six  hundred  pages,  and  rated  ac- 
cordingly. I would  engage  to  furnish  you  with  a 
catalogue  of  English  books,  published  within 
the  compass  of  seven  years  past,  which  at  the 
first  hand  would  cost  you  a hundred  pounds, 
wherein  you  shall  not  be  able  to  find  ten  lines 
I together  of  common  grammar  or  common  sense. 

! ‘ These  two  evils,  ignorance  and  want  of 

, taste,  have  produced  a third ; I mean  the  con- 

jl  tinual  corruption  of  our  English  tongue,*  which, 

without  some  timely  remedy,  will  suffer  more 
by  the  false  refinements  of  twenty  years  past, 
than  it  hath  been  improved  in  the  foregoing 
hundred.  And  this  is  what  I design  chiefly  to 
enlarge  upon,  leaving  the  former  evils  to  your 
animadversion. 

‘ But,  instead  of  giving  3mu  a list  of  the  late 
refinements  crept  into  our  language,  I here  send 
you  the  copy  of  a letter  I received,  some  time 
ago,  from  a most  accomplished  person  in  this 
way  of  writing ; upon  which  I shall  make  some 
; remarks.  It  is  in  these  terms : 

I “ Sir, — I cou'd  n't  get  the  things  you  sent  for 

all  about  town 1 that  to  ha  come  down  my- 

I self,  and  then  I'dh'  brdt  'um  ; but  I ha'nt  don't 

and  I believe  I can't  do't  that’s  pozz Tomi 

I begins  to  gi'mself  airs,  because  he's  going  with 

' the  plenipo's ’Tis  said  the  French  king  will 

' bamboozl  us  agen.,  which  causes  many  specula- 

[ tions.  The  Jacks  and  others  of  that  kidney.^ 

are  very  uppish  and  alert  upon't,  as  you  may 

j see  by  their  phizz's Will  Hazard  has  got 

the  hipps,  having  lost  to  the  tune  of  five  hund'rd 
lIlP  pound,  tho'  he  understands  play  very  well,  no 
! body  better.  He  has  promis’t  me  upon  rep,  to 


* Swift,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Johnson,  desires 
to  know,  whether  the  English  was  a language  or  a 
tongue. 

t Mr.  Thomas  Harley  is  hero  alluded  to. 


leave  off  play;  but  you  know  ’tis  a weakness 
he's  too  apt  to  give  into,  iho'  he  has  as  much 
wit  as  any  man,  no  body  more.  He  has  lain 
incog  ever  since — The  mob's  very  quiet  witii 

us  now 1 believe  you  that  I banter'd  you  in 

my  last,  like  a country  pat 1 shan't  leave 

tow'll  this  month,  &c.” 

‘ This  letter  is  in  every  point  an  admirable 
pattern  of  the  present  polite  way  of  writing  ; nor 
is  it  of  less  authority  for  being  an  epistle.  You 
may  gather  every  flower  in  it,  with  a thousand 
more  of  equal  sweetness,  from  the  books,  pam- 
phlets, and  single  papers  offered  us  every  day 
in  the  coffee-houses  ; and  these  are  the  beauties 
introdueed  to  supply  the  want  of  w'it,  sense, 
humour,  and  learning,  which  formerly  were 
looked  upon  as  qualifications  for  a w'riter.  If  a 
man  of  wit,  who  died  forty  years  ago,  were  to 
rise  from  the  grave  on  purpose,  how  w'ould  he 
be  able  to  read  this  letter  ? and  after  he  had  got 
through  that  diffieulty,  how  would  he  be  able  to 
understand  it  ? The  first  thing  that  strikes  your 
eye,  is  the  breaks  at  the  end  of  almost  every 
sentence ; of  which  I know  not  the  use,  only 
that  it  is  a refinement,  and  very  frequently 
practised.  Then  you  will  observe  the  abbrevia- 
tions and  elisions,  by  which  consonants  of  most 
obdurate  sound  are  joined  together,  without  one 
softening  vowel  to  intervene  ; and  all  this  only 
to  make  one  syllable  of  two,  directly  contrary 
to  the  example  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  alto- 
gether of  the  Gothic  strain,  and  a natural  tend- 
ency tow'ards  relapsing  into  barbarity,  which 
delights  in  monosyllables,  and  uniting  of  mute 
consonants,  as  it  is  observable  in  all  the  northern 
languages.  And  this  is  still  more  visible  in  the 
next  refinement,  which  consists  in  pronouncing 
the  first  syllable  in  a word  that  has  many,  and 
dismissing  the  rest,  such  as,  phizz,  hijyps,  mob, 
pozz,  rep,  and  many  more,  when  we  are  already 
overloaded  with  monosyllables,  which  are  the 
disgrace  of  our  language.  Thus  we  cram^one 
syllable,  and  cut  off  the  rest,  as  the  owl  fattened 
her  mice  after  she  had  bit  off  their  legs  to  pre- 
vent them  from  running  away  ; and  if  ours  be 
the  same  reason  for  maiming  our  words,  it  will 
certainly  answer  the  end;  for  I am  sure  no 
other  nation  will  desire  to  borrow  them.  Some 
words  are  hitherto  but  fairly  split,  and  therefore 
only  in  their  w'ay  to  perfection,  as  incog  and 
plenipo : but  in  a short  time,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
they  will  be  further  dv)cked  to  inc  and  plen. 
This  reflection  has  made  me  of  late  years  very 
impatient  for  a peace,  which  I believe  would 
save  the  lives  of  many  brave  words,  as  well  as 
men.  The  w'ar  has  introduced  abundance  of 
polysyllables,  which  will  never  be  able  to  live 
many  more  campaigns  : speculations,  operations, 
preliminaries,  ambassadors,  pallisadoes,  com- 
munication, circumvallation,  battalions:  as  nu- 
merous as  they  are,  if  they  attack  us  too  fre- 
quently in  our  coffee-houses,  w'e  shall  certainly 
put  them  to  flight,  and  cut  off  the  rear. 

‘ The  third  'refinement  observable  in  the  letter 
I send  you,  consists  in  the  choice  of  certain 
words  invented  by  some  pretty  fellows,  such  as 
banter,  bamboozle,  country  put,  and  kidney,  as  it 
is  there  applied ; some  of  which  are  now  strug- 
gling for  the  vogue,  and  others  are  in  pos. 


380 


THE  TATLER. 


session  of  it.  I have  done  my  utmost  for  some 
years  past  to  stop  the  progress  of  mob  and  ban- 
ter, but  have  been  plainly  borne  down  by  num- 
bers, and  betrayed  by  those  who  promised  to 
assist  me. 

‘ In  the  last  place,  you  are  to  take  notice  of 
certain  choice  phrases  scattered  through  the 
letter,  some  of  them  tolerable  enough,  until  they 
were  worn  to  rags  by  servile  imitators.  You 
might  easily  find  them  though  they  were  not  in 
a different  print,  and  therefore  I need  not  dis- 
turb them. 

‘ These  are  the  false  refinements  in  our  style 
which  you  ought  to  correct  : first,  by  argument 
and  fair  means  ; but,  if  those  fail,  I think  you 
are  to  make  use  of  your  authority  as  Censor, 
and  by  an  annual  Index  Expurgatorius  ex- 
punge all  words  and  phrases  that  are  offensive 
to  good  sense,  and  condemn  those  barbarous 
mutilations  of  vowels  and  syllables.  In  this 
last  point  the  usual  pretence  is,  that  they  spell 
as  they  speak.  A noble  standard  for  language  ! 
to  depend  upon  the  caprice  of  every  coxcomb, 
who,  because  words  are  the  clothing  of  our 
thoughts,  cuts  them  out  and  shapes  them  as  he 
pleases,  and  changes  them  oftener  than  his  dress. 
I believe  all  reasonable  people  would  be  content 
that  suc-h  refiners  were  more  sparing  in  their 
words,  and  liberal  in  their  syllables:  and  upon 
this  head  I should  be  glad  you  would  bestow 
some  advice  upon  several  young  readers  in  our 
churches,  who,  coming  up  from  the  university 
full  fraught  with  admiration  of  our  town  polite- 
ness, will  needs  correct  the  style  of  their  prayer- 
books.  In  reading  the  Absolution,  they  are  very 
careful  to  say  pardons  and  absolves  ; and  in  the 
prayer  for  the  royal-family,  it  must  be  endue'um, 
enrich'um,  prosper'um,  and  bring'um.*  Then 
in  their  sermons  they  use  all  the  modern  terms 
of  art,  sham,  banter,  mob,  bubble,  bully,  cutting, 
shuffling,  and  palming;  all  which,  and  many 
more  of  the  like  stamp,  as  I have  heard  them 
often  in  the  pulpit  from  such  young  sophisters, 
so  I have  read  them  in  some  of  “those  sermons 
that  have  made  most  noise  of  late.”  The  design, 
it  seems,  is  to  avoid  the  dreadful  imputation 
of  pedantry ; to  show  us  that  they  know  the 
town,  understand  men  and  manners,  and  have 
not  been  poring  upon  old  unfashionable  books 
in  the  university. 

‘ I should  be  glad  to  see  you  the  instrument 
of  introducing  into  our  style  that  simplicity 
which  is  the  best  and  truest  ornament  of  most 
things  in  life,  which  the  politer  ages  always 
aimed  at  in  their  building  and  dress,  simplex 
munditiis,  as  well  as  their  productions  of  wit. 
It  is  manifest  that  all  new  affected  modes  of 
speech,  whether  borrowed  from  the  court,  the 
town,  or  the  theatre,  are  the  first  perishing  parts 
in  any  language  ; and,  as  I could  prove  by  many 
hundred  instances,  have  been  so  in  ours.  The 
writings  of  Hooker,t  who  was  a country  clergy- 
man, and  of  Parsons  the  Jesuit,  both  in  the 


* This  is  probably  a sneer  at  Dr.  Ashe,  bishop  of 
Clogher,  whose  pupil  Swift  had  been,  as  Congreve  also 
was.  • 

t Richard  Hooker,  the  learned  and  worthy  author  of  a 
well-known  book  entitled,  ‘ The  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical 
Politic,’  and  other  pious  tracts,  was  born  near  Exeter  in 
1553,  and  died  at  Bishop’s  Bourne  in  Kent,  Nov.  9,  1600. 


[No.  231 

reign  of  queen  Elizabeth,  are  in  a style  that, 
with  very  few  allowances,  would  not  offend  any 
present  reader,  and  are  much  'more  clear  and  ' 
intelligible  than  those  of  sir  Harry  Wooton,  sir 
Robert  Naunton,  Osborn,  Daniel  the  historian, 
and  several  others  who  writ  later  ; but  being 
men  of  the  court,  and  affecting  the  phrases  then 
in  fashion,  they  are  often  either  not  to  be  under- 
stood, or  appear  perfectly  ridiculous. 

‘ What  remedies  are  to  be  applied  to  these 
evils  I have  not  room  to  consider,  having,  I fear, 
already  taken  up  most  of  your  paper.  Besides, 

I think  it  is  our  office  only  to  represent  abuses, 
and  yours  to  redress  them.  I am,  with  great 
respect,  sir,  Your,  &c.’ 


No.  231.]  Saturday,  September  30,  1710. 

Principiis  obsta Ovid.  Rem.  Amor.  ver.  91. 

Prevent  the  growing  evil. R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  September  29. 

There  are  very  many  ill  habits  that  might 
with  much  ease  have  been  prevented,  which, 
after  we  have  indulged  ourselves  in  them,  be- 
come incorrigible.  We  have  a sort  of  prover- 
bial expression,  of  ‘ Taking  a woman  down  in 
her  wedding  shoes,’  if  you  would  bring  her  to 
reason.  An  early  behaviour  of  this  sort  had  a 
very  remarkable  good  effect  in  a family  where- 
in  I was  several  years  an  intimate  acquaintance. 

A gentleman  in  Lincolnshire  had  four  daugh- 
ters,  three  of  which  were  early  married  very 
happily  ; but  the  fourth,  though  no  way  inferior 
to  any  of  her  sisters,  either  in  person  or  accom- 
plishments, had,  from  her  infancy,  discovered  so 
imperious  a temper,  usually  called  a high  spirit, 
that  it  continually  made  great  uneasiness  in 
the  family,  became  her  known  character  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  deterred  all  her  lovers 
from  declaring  themselves.  However,  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  a gentleman  of  a plentiful  fortune 
and  long  acquaintance,  having  observed  that 
quickness  of  spirit  to  be  her  only  fault,  made 
his  addresses,  and  obtained  her  consent  in  due 
form.  The  lawyers  finished  the  writings,  in 
which,  by  the  way,  there  was  no  pin-money  ; 
and  they  were  married.  After  a decent  time 
spent  in  the  father’s  house,  the  bridegroom  went 
to  prepare  his  seat  for  her  reception.  During 
the  whole  course  of  his  courtship,  though  a man 
of  the  most  equal  temper,  he  had  artificially  la- 
mented to  her,  that  he  was  the  most  passionate 
creature  breathing.  By  this  one  intimation,  he 
at  once  made  her  understand  warmth  of  temper 
to  be  what  he  ought  to  pardon  in  her,  as  well  as 
that  he  alarmed  her  against  that  constitution  in 
himself.  She  at  the  same  time  thought  herself 
highly  obliged  by  the  composed  behaviour  which 
he  maintained  in  her  presence.  Thus  far,  he, 
with  great  success,  soothed  her  from  being  guilty 
of  violences,  and  still  resolved  to  give  her  such 
a terrible  apprehension  of  his  fiery  spirit,  that 
she  should  never  dream  of  giving  way  to  her 
own.  He  returned  on  the  day  appointed  for 
carrying  her  home  ; but,  instead  of  a coach  and 
six  horses,  together  with  the  gay  equipage  suit 
able  to  the  occasion,  he  appeared  without  a ser- 


No.  232.] 


THE  TATLER. 


381 


vant,  mounted  on  the  skeleton  of  a horse,  which 
his  huntsman  had,  tlie  day  before,  brought  in  to 
feast  his  dogs  on  the  arrival  of  their  new  mis- 
tress, with  a pillion  fixed  behind,  and  a case  of 
pistols  before  him,  attended  only  by  a favourite 
hound.  Thus  equipped,  he,  in  a very  obliging 
but  somewhat  positive  manner,  desired  his  lady 
to  seat  herself  on  the  cushion;  which  done,  away 
they  crawled.  The  road  being  obstructed  by  a 
gate,  the  dog  was  commanded  to  open  it : the 
poor  cur  looked  up  and  wagged  his  tail ; but  the 
master,  to  show  the  impatience  of  his  temper, 
drew  a pistol,  and  shot  him  dead.  He  had  no 
sooner  done  it,  but  he  fell  into  a thousand  apolo- 
gies for  his  unhappy  rashness,  and  begged  as 
many  pardons  for  his  excesses  before  one  for 
whom  he  had  so  profound  a respect.  Soon  after, 
their  steed  stumbled,  but  with  some  difficulty 
recovered : however,  the  bridegroom  took  occa- 
sion to  swear,  if  he  frightened  his  wife  so  again 
he  would  run  him  through ! and  alas  ! the  poor 
animal  being  now  almost  tired,  made  a second 
trip;  immediately  on  which  the  careful  husband 
alights,  and,  with  great  ceremony,  first  takes 
off  his  lady,  then  the  accoutrements,  draws  his 
sword,  and  saves  the  huntsman  the  trouble  of 
killing  him:  then  says  to  his  wife,  ‘Child 
pr’ythee  take  up  the  saddle ;’  which  she  readily 
did,  and  tugged  it  home,  where  they  found  all 
things  in  the  greatest  order,  suitable  to  their  for- 
tune and  the  present  occasion.  Some  time  after, 
the  father  of  the  lady  gave  an  entertainment  to 
all  his  daughters  and  their  husbands  ; where, 
when  the  wives  were  retired,  and  the  gentlemen 
passing  a toast  about,  our  last  married  man 
took  occasion  to  observe  to  the  rest  of  his  bre- 
thren, how  much,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  he 
found  the  world  mistaken  as  to  the  temper  of 
his  lady,  for  that  she  was  the  most  meek  and 
humble  woman  breathing.  The  applause  was 
received  with  a loud  laugh : but,  as  a trial 
which  of  them  would  appear  the  most  master  at 
home,  he  proposed  they  should  all  by  turns  send 
for  their  wives  down  to  them.  A servant  was 
despatched,  and  answer  was  made  by  one,  ‘ tell 
him  I will  come  by-and-by  ;’  and  another,  ‘ that 
she  would  come  when  the  cards  were  out  of  her 
hand  ;’  and  so  on.  But  no  sooner  was  her  hus- 
band’s desire  whispered  in  the  ear  of  our  last 
married  lady,  but  the  cards  were  clapped  on  the 
table,  and  down  she  com-es  with  ‘ my  dear, 
would  you  speak  with  me  V He  receives  her  in 
his  arms,  and,  after  repeated  caresses,  tells  her 
the  experiment,  confesses  his  good  nature,  and 
assures  her,  that  sinee  she  could  now  command 
her  temper,  he  would  no  longer  disguise  his  own. 

I received  the  following  letter  with  a dozen 
of  wine,  and  cannot  but  do  justice  to  the  liquor, 
and  give  my  testimony,  ‘ That  I have  tried  it 
upon  several  of  my  acquaintance,  who  were 
given  to  impertinent  abbreviations,  with  great 
success.’ 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I send  you  by  this  bear- 
er, and  not  per  bearer,  a dozen  of  that  claret 
whieh  is  to  be  sold  at  Garraway’s  coffee-house, 
on  Thursday  the  fifth  day  of  October  next.  I 
can  assure  you  I have  found  by  experience  the 
efficacy  of  it,  in  amending  a fault  you  complain 
of  in  your  last.  The  very  first  draught  of  it  has 


some  effect  upon  the  speech  of  the  drinker,  and 
restores  all  the  letters  taken  away  by  the  elisions 
so  justly  complained  of.  Will  Hazard  was  cured 
of  his  hypochondria  by  three  glasses ; and  the  gen- 
tleman who  gave  you  an  account  of  his  late  in- 
disposition, has,  in  public  company,  after  the 
first  quart,  spoke  every  syllable  of  the  word  ple- 
nipotentiary. Your’s,  &c.’ 


No.  232.]  Tue&day.,  October  3,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment^  October  2. 

I HAVE  received  the  following  letter  from  my 
unfortunate  old  acquaintanee  the  upholsterer, 
who,  I observed,  had  long  absented  himself  from 
the  bench  at  the  upper  end  of  the  Mall.  Having 
not  seen  him  for  some  time,  I was  in  fear  I 
should  soon  hear  of  his  death  ; especially  since 
he  never  appeared,  though  the  noons  have  been 
of  late  pretty  warm,  and  the  councils  at  that 
place  very  full  from  the  hour  of  twelve  to  three, 
which  the  sages  of  that  board  employ  in  con- 
ference, while  the  unthinking  part  of  mankind 
are  eating  and  drinking  for  the  support  of  their 
own  private  persons,  without  any  regard  to  the 
public. 

‘ Sir, — I should  have  waited  on  you  very  fre- 
quently to  have  discoursed  you  upon  some  mat- 
ters  of  moment,  but  that  I love  to  be  well  inform- 
ed in  the  subject  upon  which  I consult  my 
friends,  before  I enter  into  debate  with  them.  I 
have,  therefore,  with  the  utmost  care  and  pains, 
applied  myself  to  the  reading  all  the  writings 
and  pamphlets  which  have  come  out  since  the 
trial,  and  have  studied  night  and  day  in  order 
to  be  master  of  the  whole  controversy : but  the 
authors  are  so  numerous,  and  the  state  of  affairs 
alters  so  very  fast,  that  I am  now  a fortnight 
behind-hand  in  my  reading,  and  know  only  how 
things  stood  twelve  days  ago.  I wish  you  would 
enter  into  those  useful  subjects;  for,  if  I may 
be  allowed  to  say  so,  these  are  not  times  to  jest 
in.  As  for  my  own  part,  you  know  very  well 
that  I am  of  a public  spirit,  and  never  regarded 
my  own  interest,  but  looked  further;  and  let 
me  tell  you,  that  while  some  people  are  minding 
only  themselves  and  families,  and  others  are 
thinking  only  of  their  own  country,  things  go 
on  strangely'  in  the  north.  I foresee  very  great 
evils  arising  from  the  neglect  of  transactions  at 
a distance;  for  wliich  reason  I am  now  writing 
a letter  to  a friend  in  the  country,  which  I de- 
sign as  an  answer  to  the  czar  of  Muscovy’s  let- 
ter to  the  grand  seignior  concerning  his  majesty 
of  Sweden.  I have  endeavoured  to  prove,  that 
it  is  not  reasonable  to  expect  that  his  Swedish 
majesty  should  leave  Bender  without  forty  thou- 
sand men;  and  I have  added  to  this  an  apology 
for  the  Cossacks.  But  the  matter  multiplies 
upon  me,  and  I grow  dim  with  much  writing ; 
therefore  desire,  if  you  have  an  old  green  pair 
of  spectacles,  such  as  you  used  about  your  fiftieth 
year,  that  you  would  send  them  to  me ; as  also 
that  you  would  please  to  desire  Mr.  Morphew  to 
send  me  in  a bushel  of  coals  on  the  credit  of  my 
answer  to  his  czarian  maje:?ty ; for  I design  it 
shall  be  printed  for  Morphew,  and  the  weather 


382 


THE  TATLEH. 


[N-o.  233. 


grows  sharp.  I shall  take  it  kindly  if  you  w^ould 
order  him  also  to  send  rne  the  papers  as  they 
come  out.  If  there  are  no  fresh  pamphlets  pub- 
lished, I com])ute  that  I shall  know  before  the 
end  of  next  month  what  has  been  done  in  town 
to  this  day.  If  it  were  not  for  an  ill  custom 
lately  introduced  by  a certain  author,  of  talking 
Latin  at  the  beginning  of  papers,  matters  would 
be  in  a much  clearer  light  than  they  are : but, 
to  our  comfort,  there  are  solid  writers  who  are 
not  guilty  of  this  pedantry.  Tiie  Postman  writes 
like  an  angel.  The  Moderator  is  fine  reading. 
It  would  do  you  no  harm  to  read  the  Postboy 
with  attention  ; he  is  very  deep  of  late.  He  is 
instructive ; but  I confess  a little  satirical : a 
sharp  pen ! he  cares  not  what  he  says.  The 
Examiner  is  admirable,  and  is  become  a grave 
and  substantial  author.  But,  above  .all,  I am  at 
a loss  howto  govern  myself  in  my  judgment  of 
those  whose  whole  writings  consist  in  interroga- 
tories : and  then  tire  way  of  answering,  by  pro- 
posing questions  as  hard  to  them,  is  quite  as  ex- 
traordinary. As  for  my  part,  I tremble  at  these 
novelties;  we  expose,  in  my  opinion,  our  affairs 
too  much  by  it.  You  may  be  sure  the  French 
king  will  spare  no  cost  to  come  at  the  reading 
of  them.  I dread  to  think  if  the  fable  of  the 
blackbirds  should  fall  into  his  hands.  But  I 
shall  not  venture  to  say  more  until  I see  you. 
In  the  mean  time  I am,  &c. 

‘ P.  S.  I take  the  Bender  letter  in  t!ie  Exami- 
ner to  be  spurious.’ 

This  unhappy  correspondent,  whose  fantasti- 
cal loyalty  to  the  king  of  Sweden  has  reduced 
him  to  this  low  condition  of  reason  and  fortune, 
would  appear  much  more  monstrous  in  his  mad- 
ness, did  we  not  see  crowds  ver}’’  little  above  his 
circumstances  from  the  same  cause, — a passion 
to  politics. 

it  is  no  unpleasant  entertainment  to  consider 
the  commerce  even  of  the  sexes  interrupted  by 
difference  in  state  affairs.  A wench  and  her 
gallant  parted  last  week  upon  the  words  unli- 
mited and  passive:  and  there  is  such  a jargon 
of  terms  got  into  the  mouths  of  the  very  silliest 
of  the  women,  that  you  cannot  come  into  a room 
even  among  them,  but  you  find  them  divided  into 
Whig  and  Tory.  What  heightens  the  humour 
is,  that  all  the  hard  words  they  know,  they  cer- 
tainly suppose  to  be  terms  useful  in  the  disputes 
of  the  parties.  I came  in  this  day  wdiere  two 
were  in  very  hot  debate;  and  one  of  them  pro- 
posed to  me  to  explain  to  them  what  was  the 
difference  between  circumcision  and  predestina- 
tion. You  may  be  sure  I was  at  a loss;  but 
they  were  too  angry  at  each  other  to  wait  for 
my  explanation,  and  proceeded  to  lay  open  the 
whole  state  of  affairs,  instead  of  the  usual  topics 
of  dress,  gallantry,  and  scandal. 

I have  often  wondered  how  it  should  be  pos- 
sible that  this  turn  to  politics  should  so  univer- 
sally prevail,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  sub- 
ject out  of  conversation  ; and,  upon  mature  con- 
sideration, find  it  is  for  want  of  discourse.  Look 
round  you  among  all  the  young  fellows  you 
meet,  and  you  sec  those  who  have  the  least  re- 
lish for  books,  company,  or  pleasure,  though 
they  have  no  manner  or  qualities  to  make  them 
succeed  in  those  pursuits,  shall  make  very  pass- 


able politicians.  Thus  the  most  barren  inven 
tion  shall  find  enough  to  say  to  make  one  ap- 
pear  an  able  man  in  the  top  c .ffee-houses.  Il 
is  but  adding  a certain  vehe.i.euce  in  uttering 
yourself  let  the  thing  }a3u  say  be  never  so  flat, 
and  you  shall  be  thougiit  a very  sensible  man, 
if  you  were  not  too  hot.  As  love  and  honour  are 
the  noblest  motives  of  life;  so  the  pretenders  to 
them,  witliout  being  animated  by  them,  are  the 
most  contemptible  of  all  sorts  of  pretenders. 
The  unjust  affectation  of  any  thing  that  is  laud- 
able is  ignominious  in  proportion  to  the  worth 
of  tlie  thing  we  affect:  thus,  as  love  of  one’s 
country  is  the  most  glorious  of  all  passions,  to 
see  the  most  ordinary  tools  in  a nation  give 
themselves  airs  that  way,  without  any  one  good 
quality  in  their  own  life,  has  something  in  it  ro- 
mantic, yet  not  so  ridiculous  as  odious. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  received  Sylvia’s  letter 
from  the  Bath,  and  his  sister  is  set  out  thither. 
Tom  Frontley,  who  is  one  of  the  guides  for  the 
tovvn,  is  desired  to  bring  her  into  company,  and 
oblige  her  with  a mention  in  his  next  lampoon.’ 


No.  233.]  Thursday,  October  5,  1710. 

Simt  certa  piacnla,  qiire  te 

Ter  pure  leclo  poteruiit  recreare  libello. 

Ilor.  1 Ep.  i.  36. 

And,  like  a charm,  to  th’  upright  mind  and  pure, 

If  thrice  read  o'er  will  j ield  a certain  cure, 

R.  Wynve. 

From  my  oivn  Apartment,  October  4. 

When  the  mind  has  been  perplexed  with  anx- 
ious cares  and  passions,  the  best  method  of  bring- 
ing it  to  its  usual  state  of  tranquillity  is,  as  much 
as  we  possibly  can,  to  turn  our  thoughts  to  the 
adversities  of  persons  of  higher  consideration  in 
virtue  and  merit  than  ourselves.  By  this  means 
all  the  little  incidents  of  our  own  lives,  if  they 
are  unfortunate,  seem  to  be  the  effect  of  justice 
upon  our  faults  and  indiscretions.  When  those 
whom  we  know  to  be  excellent,  and  deserving 
of  a better  fate,  are  wretched,  we  cannot  but  re- 
sign ourselves,  whom  most  of  us  know  to  merit 
a much  worse  state  than  that  we  are  placed  in. 
For  such,  and  many  other  occasions,  there  is  one 
admirable  relation  which  one  might  recommend 
for  certain  periods  of  one’s  life,  to  touch,  com- 
fort, and  improve  the  heart  of  man.  Tully  says 
somewhere,  ‘ the  pleasures  of  a husbandman  are 
next  to  those  of  a philosopher.’  In  like  manner 
one  may  say,  for  methinks  they  bear  the  same 
proportion  one  to  another,  the  pleasures  of  hu- 
manity are  next  to  those  of  devotion.  In  both 
these  latter  satisfactions,  there  is  a certain  hu- 
miliation which  exalts  the  soul  above  its  ordinary 
state.  At  the  same  time  that  it  lessens  our  value 
of  ourselves,  it  enlar  ges  our  estimation  of  others 
The  history  I am  going  to  speak  of,  is  that  of 
Joseph  in  holy  writ,  which  is  related  with  such 
majestic  simplicity,  that  all  the  parts  of  it  strike 
us  with  strong  touches  of  nature  and  compas 
sion ; and  he  must  be  a stranger  to  both,  who 
can  read  it  with  attention,  and  not  be  over- 
whelmed  with  the  vicissitudes  of  joy  and  sorrow. 


No.  234.] 


THE  TATLER. 


383 


I hope  it  will  not  be  a.  profanation,  to  tell  it  one’s 
own  way  here,  tiiat  they,  who  may  be  unthink- 
ing enough  to  be  more  frequently  readers  of 
such  papers  as  this,-tlian  of  sacred  writ,  may 
be  advertised,  that  the  greatest  pleasures  the 
imagination  can  be  entertained  with  arc  to  be 
found  there,  and  that  even  the  style  of  the  scrip- 
tures is  more  than  human. 

Joseph,  a beloved  child  of  Israel,  became  in- 
vidious to  his  elder  brethren,  for  no  otiier  rea- 
son but  his  sup(!rior  beauty  and  excellence,  of 
body  and  mind,  insomuch,  that  they  could  not 
boar  liis  gro  ving  virtue,  and  let  him  live.  They 
therefore  conspire  Ids  death  ; but  nature  pleaded 
so  strongly  for  idin  in  tlie  heart  of  one  of  them, 
that  by  his  persuasion  they  determined  rather 
to  bury  liim  in  a pit,^than  be  Ids  immediate  ox- 
tmutioners  with  their  own  Isands.  When  thus 
much  was  obtained  for  him,  their  minds  still 
softened  towards  lii:n,  and  they  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  some  passengers  to  sell  him  into  Egy i-t. 
Israel  was  persuaded  by  tlie  artifice  of  his  sons 
that  the  youtli  was  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  beasts, 
but  Joseph  was  sold  to  slavery,  and  still  exposed 
to  new  misfortunes,  from  the  same  cause  as  be- 
fore, his  beauty  and  his  virtue.  By  a false  ac- 
cusation he  was  coinmitted  to  prison ; hut  in 
process  of  time  delivered  from  it,  in  considera- 
tion of  his  wisdom  and  knowledge,  and  made 
the  governor  of  Pharaoh’s  house.  In  this  ele- 
vation of  his  fortune,  his  brotliers  were  sent 
into  Egypt,  to  buy  necessaries  of  life,  in  a fa- 
mine. As  soon  as  they  are  brought  into  his 
presence,  he  beholds,  but  he  beholds  with  com- 
passion, the  men  wlio  had  sold  him  to  slavery, 
approaching  him  with  awe  and  reverence.  While 
he  was  looking  over  Ins  brethren,  he  takes  a 
resolution  to  indulge  himself  in  the  pleasure  of 
stirring  their  and  his  own  affcclions,  by  ketming 
himself  concealed,  and  cxaiisining  into  the  cir- 
cumstances of  their  family.  P’or  this  end,  with 
an  air  of  severity,  as  a watchful  minister  to 
Pharaoh,  he  accuses  them  as  spies,  who  are 
come  into  Egypt,  with  designs  against  the  state. 
Tins  led  them  into  the  account  which  he  wanted 
of  them,  the  condition  of  their  ancient  father 
and  little  brother  whom  they  had  left  behind 
them.  When  lie  had  learned  that  his  brother 
was  living,  he  demands  the  bringing  him  to 
Egypt,  as  a proof  of  their  veracity. 

But  it  would  be  a vain  and  empty  endeavour 
to  attempt  laying  this  excellent  representation 
of  the  passions  of  man  in  the  same  colours  as 
they  appear  in  the  sacred  writ,  in  any  other 
manner,  or  almost  any  other  words,  than  those 
made  use  of  in  tlie  page  itself.  I am  obliged, 
therefore,  to  turn  my  designed  narration  rather 
into  a comment  upon  the  several  parts  of  that 
beautiful  and  passionate  scene.  When  Joseph 
expects  to  see  Benjamin,  how  natural  and  how 
forcible  is  the  reflection,  ‘ This  affliction  is 
come  upon  us,  in  that  we  saw  the  anguish  of 
our  brother’s  soul  without  pity  !’  How  moving 
must  it  be  to  Joseph  to  liear  Reuben  accuse  the 
rest,  that  they  would  not  hear  what  he  pleaded 
in  behalf  of  his  innocence  and  distress ! He 
turns  from  them,  and  weeps  ; but  commands  his 
passion  so  far  as  to  give  orders  for  binding  one 
of  them  in  the  presence  of  the  rest,  while  he 
at  leisure  observed  their  different  sentiments 


and  concern  in  their  gesture  and  countenance. 
When  Benjamin  is  demanded  in  bondage  for 
stealing  tlie  cup,  with  what  force,  and  what  re- 
signation does  .Judah  address  his  brotiier  ! 

‘ In  what  words  sliall  I speak  to  my  lord  ? 
with  what  confidence  can  I say  any  tiling  ? Our 
guilt  is  but  too  apparent ; we  submit  to  our  fate. 
We  are  my  lord’s  servants,  both  we  and  he  also 
with  whom  tlie  cup  is  found.’  When  that  is 
not  accepted,  how  patheticalit’’  does  he  recapitu- 
late the  whole  story  1 and,  approaciiing  nearer  to 
Joseph,  delivers  himself  as  follows;  which,  if  we 
fix  our  thoughts  upon  the  relation  betv;een  the 
pleader  and  the  judge,  it  is  impossible  to  read 
without  tears : 

‘ Sir, — Let  me  intrude  so  far  upon  you,  even 
in  tlie  high  condition  in  which  you  are,  and  the 
miserable  one  in  which  yon  sec  me  and  my 
brethren,  to  inform  you  of  the  circumstances  of 
us  unhappy  men  that  prostrate  ourselves  before 
you.  When  we  were  first  examined  by  you, 
you  enquired  (for  what  reason  my  lord  enquired 
we  know  not)  but  you  enquired,  whether  we  had 
not  a father  or  a brother?  We  then  acquainted 
you,  that  we  had  a father,  an  old  man,  who  had 
a child  of  his  old  age,  and  had  buried  another 
son,  whom  he  had  by  the  same  woman.  You 
were  pleased  to  command  us  to  bring  the  child 
ho  had  remaining  down  to  you:  we  did  so;  and 
he  has  forfeited  his  liberty.  But  my  father  said 
to  us,  You  know  that  my  wife  bare  me  two 
sons  ; one  of  them  was  torn  in  pieces  ; if  mis- 
chief befall  this  also,  it  will  bring  my  gray 
hairs  with  sorrow  to  tlie  grave.  Accept,  there- 
fore, oh  my  lord  ! me  for  your  bondman,  and 
let  the  lad  return  with  his  brethren,  that  I may 
not  see  the  evil  that  shall  come  on  my  father.’ 
Here  Joseph’s  passion  grew  too  great  for  further 
disguise,  and  he  reveals  himself  with  exclama- 
tions of  transport  and  tenderness. 

After  their  recovery  from  their  first  astonish- 
ment, his  brethren  were  seized  with  fear  for 
the  injuries  they  had  done  him;  but  how  ge- 
nerously does  he  keep  them  in  countenance,  and 
make  an  apology  for  them  : ‘ Be  not  angry  with 
yourselves  for  selling  me  hitlier  ; call  it  not  so, 
but  think  Providence  sent  me  before  you  to 
preserve  life  !’ 

It  would  be  endless  to  go  through  all  the 
beauties  of  this  sacred  narrative ; but  any  one 
who  shall  read  it,  at  an  hour  when  he  is  disen- 
gaged from  all  other  regards  or  interests  than 
what  arise  from  it,  will  feel  the  alternate  passion 
of  a father,  a brother,  and  a son,  so  warm  in 
him,  that  they  will  incline  him  to  exert  himself 
in  such  of  those  characters  as  happen  to  be  his, 
much  above  the  ordinary  course  of  his  life. 


No.  234.]  Saturday,  October  7,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  6. 

I HAVE  reason  to  believe,  that  certain  of  my 
contemporaries  have  made  use  of  an  art  I some 
time  ago  professed,  of  being  often  designedly 
dull  ; and  for  that  reason  shall  not  exert  myself 
when  I see  them  lazy.  He  that  has  so  much  to 
struggle  with,  as  the  man  who  pretends  to  cen- 


384 


THE  TATLER. 


sure  others,  must  keep  up  his  fire  for  an  onset, 
and  may  be  allowed  to  carry  his  arms  a little 
carelessly  upon  an  ordinary  march.  This  pa- 
per therefore  shall  be  taken  up  by  my  corres- 
pondents, two  of  wliich  have  sent  me  the  two 
following  plain,  but  sensible  and  honest  letters, 
upon  subjects  no  less  important  than  those  of 
Education  and  Devotion. 

‘Sir, — I am  an  old  man  retired  from  all  ac- 
quaintance with  the  town,  but  what  I have  from 
your  papers,  not  the  worst  entertainment  of 
my  solitude  ; yet  being  still  a well  wisher  to 
my  country,  and  the  commonwealth  of  learning 
(d  qua  conjiteor  nullam  cetatis  tnece  partem  ah- 
horruisse,)  and  hoping  the  plain  phrase  in 
writing  that  was  current  in  my  younger  days 
would  have  lasted  for  my  time,  I was  startled 
at  the  picture  of  modern  politeness,  transmitted 
by  your  ingenious  correspondent,  and  grieved 
to  see  our  sterling  English  language  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  clippers  and  coiners.  That  mu- 
tilated epistle,  consisting  of  hippo,  rep's,  and 
such  like  enormoust curtailings,  was  a mortify- 
ing spectacle,  but  with  the  reserve  of  comfort 
to  find  tins  and  other  abuses  of  our  mother 
ton'gue  so  pathetically  complained  of,  and  to  the 
proper  person  for  redressing  them,  the  Censor 
of  Great  Britain. 

‘ He  had  before  represented  the  deplorable 
ignorance  that  for  several  years  past  has  reigned 
amongst  our  English  writers,  the  great  depravi- 
ty of  our  taste,  and  continual  corruption  of  our 
'style.  But,  sir,  before  you  give  yourself  the 
trouble  of  prescribing  remedies  for  these  dis- 
tempers, which  you  own  will  require  the  great- 
est care  and  application,  giv’e  me  leave,  having 
long  had  my  eye  upon  these  mischiefs,  and 
thoughts  exercised  about  them,  to  mention  what 
I humbly  conceive  to  be  the  cause  of  them,  and 
in  your  friend  Horace’s  words.  Quo  fonte  deri- 
vala  eludes  in  patriam  populumque  Jluxit. 

. ‘ I take  our  corrupt  ways  of  writing  to  proceed 
from  the  mistakes  and  wrong  measures  in  our 
common  methods  of  education,  which  I always 
looked  upon  a.s  one  of  our  national  grievances, 
and  a singularity  that  renders  us,  no  less  than 
our  situation, 

Penitus  toto  divisos  orbe  Britannos. 

Firg.  1 Ed.  67. 

A race  of  men  from  all  the  world  disjoin’d. 

Dryden. 

‘ This  puts  me  upon  consulting  the  most  cele- 
brated critics  on  that  subject,  to  compare  our 
practice  with  their  precepts,  and  find  where  it 
was  that  we  came  short,  or  went  wide. 

‘ But  after  all  I found  our  case  required  some- 
thing more  than  these  doctors  had  directed,  and 
the  principal  defect  of  our  English  discipline  to 
lie  in  the  initiatory  part,  which,  although  it 
needs  the  greatest  care  and  skill,  is  usually  left 
to  the  conduct  of  those  blind  guides,  viz.  Chance 
and  Ignorance. 

‘ I shall  trouble  you  with  but  a single  instance, 
pursuant  to  what  your  sagacious  friend  has  said, 
that  he  could  furnish  you  with  a catalogue  of 
English  books,  which  would  cost  you  a hundred 
pounds  at  first  hand,  wherein  you  could  not 
find  ten  lines  together  of  common  grammar ; 


[No.  234. 

which  is  a necessary  consequence  of  our  mis- 
management in  that  province. 

‘ For  can  anj^  thing  be  more  absurd  than  our 
way  of  proceeding  in  this  part  of  literature  ? 
to  push  tender  wits  into  the  intricate  mazes  of 
grammar,  and  a Latin  grammar  ? to  learn  an 
unknown  art  by  an  unknown  tongue  ? to  carry 
them  a dark  round-about  way  to  let  them  in  at 
a back-door  ? Whereas  by  teaching  them  first 
the  grammar  of  their  mother-tongue,  so  easy  to 
be  learned,  their  advance  to  the  grammars  of 
Latin  and  Greek  would  be  gradual  and  easy  ; 
but  our  precipitate  way  of  hurrying  them  over 
such  a gulf,  before  we  have  built  them  a bridge 
to  it,  is  a shock  to  their  weak  under.standings, 
which  they  seldom,  or  very  late,  recover.  In 
the  mean  time  we  wrong  nature,  and  slander 
infants,  who  want  neither  capacity  nor  will  to 
learn,  until  we  put  them  upon  service  beyond 
their  strength  ; and  then  indeed  we  balk  them. 

‘ The  liberal  arts  and  sciences  are  all  beauti- 
ful as  the  graces ; nor  has  Grammar,  the  severe 
mother  of  all,  so  frightful  a face  of  her  own ; 
it  is  the  vizard  put  upon  it  that  scares  children. 
She  is  made  to  speak  hard  words,  that  to  them 
sound  like  conjuring.  Let  her  talk  intelligi- 
bly, and  they  will  listen  to  her. 

‘ In  this,  I think,  as  on  other  accounts,  we 
show  ourselves  true  Britons,  always  overlooking 
our  natural  advantages.  It  has  been  the  prac- 
tice of  the  wisest  nations  to  learn  their  own 
language  by  stated  rules,  to  avoid  the  confusion 
that  would  follow  from  leaving  it  to  vulgar  use. 
Our  English  tongue,  says  a learned  man,  is  the 
most  determinate  in  its  construction,  and  re- 
ducible to  the  fewest  rules  ; whatever  language 
has  less  grammar  in  it,  is  not  intelligible ; and 
whatever  has  more,  all  that  it  has  more  is  su- 
perfluous ; for  which  reasons  he  would  have  it 
made  the  foundation  of  learning  Latin,  and  all 
other  languages. 

‘ To  speak  and  write  without  absurdity  the 
language  of  one’s  country  is  commendable  in 
persons  of  all  stations,  and  to  some  indispensa- 
bly necessary ; and  to  this  purpose  I would  re- 
commend, above  all  things,  the  having  a gram- 
mar of  our  mother-tongue  first  taught  in  our 
schools,  which  would  facilitate  our  youths  learn- 
ing  their  Latin  and  Greek  grammars,  with 
spare  time  for  arithmetic,  astronomy,  cosmo- 
graphy, history,  «fec.  that  would  make  them 
pass  the  spring  of  their  life  with  profit  and 
pleasure,  that  is  now  miserably  spent  in  gram- 
matical  perplexities. 

‘ But  here,  methinks,  I see  the  reader  smile, 
and  ready  to  ask  me,  as  the  lawyer  did  sexton 
Diego  on  his  bequeathing  rich  legacies  to  the 
poor  of  the  parish,  Where  are  these  mighty 
sums  to  be  raised  ? Where  is  there  such  a gram- 
mar to  be  had  ? I will  not  answer  as  he  did, 

“ Even  where  your  worship  pleases.”  No,  it 
is  oui*  good  fortune  to  have  such  a grammar, 
with  notes,  now  in  the  press,  and  to  be  pub- 
lished next  term. 

‘ I hear  it  is  a chargeable  work,  and  wish 
the  publisher  to  have  customers  of  all  that  have 
need  of  such  a book  ; yet  fancy  that  he  cannot 
be  much  a sufferer,  if  it  is  only  bought  by  all 
that  have  more  need  for  it  than  they  think  they 
have. 


THE  TATLER. 


385 


No.  235.] 

‘ A certain  author  brought  a poem  to  Mr.  Cow- 
ley,  for  his  perusal  and  judgment  of  the  per- 
formance, which  he  demanded  at  the  next  visit 
with  a poetaster’s  assurance  ; and  Mr.  Cowley, 
with  his  usual  modesty,  desired  that  he  would 
be  pleased  to  look  a little  to  the  grammar  of  it. 
“ To  the  grammar  of  it ! what  do  you  mean,  sir, 
would  you  send  me  to  school  again  ?”  “ Why, 

Mr.  II — , would  it  do  you  any  harm  ?” 

‘ This  put  me  on  considering  how  this  voyage 
of  literature  may  be  made  with  more  safety  and 
profit,  expedition  and  delight ; and  at  last,  for 
completing  so  good  a service,  to  request  your 
directions  in  so  deplorable  a case  ; hoping  that, 
as  you  have  had  compassion  on  our  overgrown 
coxcombs  in  concerns  of  less  consequence,  you 
will  exert  your  charity  towards  innocents,  and 
vouchsafe  to  be  guardian  to  the  children  and 
youth  of  Great  Britain  in  this  important  affair 
of  education,  wherein  mistakes  and  wrong  mea- 
sures have  so  often  occasioned  their  aversion  to 
books,  that  had  otherwise  proved  the  chief  or- 
nament and  pleasure  of  their  life.  I am,  with 
sincerest  respect,  sir,  Yours,  &,c.’ 

‘ St.  Clements,  October  5. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I observe,  as  the  season 
begins  to  grow  cold,  so  does  people’s  devotion; 
insomuch,  that  instead  of  filling  the  churches, 
that  united  zeal  might  keep  one  warm  there, 
one  is  left  to  freeze  in  almost  bare  walls  by  those 
who,  in  hot  weather,  are  troublesome  the  con- 
trary way.  This,  sir,  needs  a regulation  that 
none  but  you  can  give  to  it,  by  causing  those 
who  absent  themselves  on  account  of  weather 
only  this  winter-time,  to  pay  the  apothecaries’ 
bills  occasioned  by  coughs,  catarrhs,  and  other 
distempers,  contracted  by  sitting  in  empty  seats. 
Therefore,  to  you  I apply  myself  for  redress, 
having  gotten  such  a cold  on  Sunday  was  seven- 
night,  that  has  brought  me  almost  to  your  wor- 
ship’s age  from  sixty,  within  less  than  a fort- 
night. I am,  your  worship’s  in  all  obedience, 

‘ W.  E.’ 


No.  235.]  Tuesday,  October  10,  1710. 

Scit  Genius,  natale  comes  qui  temperat  astriim. 

Hor.  2 Ep.  ii.  187. 

But  whence  these  turns  of  inclination  rose. 

The  Genius  this,  the  Gort  of  Nature,  knows  ; 

That  mystic  power,  which  our  actions  guides. 

Attends  our  stars,  and  o’et  our  lives  presides. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  9. 

Among  those  inclinations  which  are  common 
to  all  men,  there  is  none  more  unaccountable 
than  that  unequal  love  by  which  parents  dis- 
tinguish their  children  from  each  other.  Some- 
times vanity  and  self-love  appear  to  have  a share 
towards  this  effect ; and  in  other  instances  I 
have  been  apt  to  attribute  it  to  mere  instinct : 
but,  however  that  is,  we  frequently  see  the  child, 
that  has  been  beholden  to  neither  of  these  im- 
pulses in  his  parents,  in  spite  of  being  neglected, 
snubbed,  and  thwarted  at  home,  acquire  a be- 
haviour which  makes  him  as  agreeable  to  all  the 
rest  of  the  world,  as  that  of  every  one  else  of 
their  family  is  to  each  other.  I fell  into  this 
way  of  thinking  from  an  intimacy  which  I have 
3C 


with  a very  good  house  in  our  neighbourhood, 
where  there  are  three  daughters  of  a very  differ- 
ent character  and  genius.  The  eldest  has  a 
great  deal  of  wit  and  cunning  ; the  second  has 
good  sense,  but  no  artifice ; the  third  has  much 
vivacity,  but  little  understanding.  The  first  is 
a fine,  but  scornful  woman  ; the  second  is  not 
charming,  but  very  winning  ; the  third  is  no 
way  commendable,  but  very  desirable.  The  fa- 
ther  of  these  young  creatures  was  ever  a great 
pretender  to  wit,  the  mother  a woman  of  as  much 
coquetry.  This  turn  in  the  parents  has  biassed 
their  afiections  towards  their  children.  The  old 
man  supposes  the  eldest  of  his  own  genius  ; and 
the  mother  looks  upon  the  youngest  as  herself 
renewed.  By  this  means,  all  the  lovers  that  ap- 
proach the  house  are  discarded  by  the  father  for 
not  observing  Mrs.  Mary’s  wit  and  beauty  ; and 
by  the  mother,  for  being  blind  to  the  mien  and 
air  of  Mrs.  Biddy.  Come  never  so  many  pre- 
tenders, they  are  not  suspected  to  have  the  least 
thought  of  Mrs.  Betty,  the  middle  daughter. 
Betty,  therefore,  is  mortified  into  a woman  of  a 
great  deal  of  merit,  and  knows  she  must  depend 
on  that  only  for  lier  advancement.  The  middle- 
most is  thus  the  favourite  of  all  her  acquaintance, 
as  well  as  mine  ; while  the  other  two  carry  a cer- 
tain insolence  about  them  in  all  conversations, 
and  expect  the  partiality  which  they  meet  with 
at  home  to  attend  them  wherever  they  appear. 
So  little  do  parents  understand  that  they  are,  of 
all  people,  the  least  judges  of  their  childrens’ 
merit,  that  what  they  reckon  such,  is  seldom  any 
thing  else  but  a repetition  of  their  own  faults 
and  infirmities. 

There  is,  raethinks,  some  excuse  for  being 
particular,  when  one  of  the  offspring  has  any 
defect  in  nature.  In  this  case,  the  child,  if  we 
may  so  speak,  is  so  much  the  longer  the  child 
of  its  parents,  and  calls  for  the  continuance  of 
their  care  and  indulgence  from  the  slowness  of 
its  capacity,  or  the  weakness  of  its  body.  But 
there  is  no  enduring  to  see  men  enamoured  only 
at  the  sight  of  their  own  impertinencies  re- 
peated, and  to  observe,  as  we  may  sometimes, 
that  they  have  a secret  dislike  of  their  children 
for  a degeneracy  from  their  verj'  crimes.  Com- 
mend me  to  lady  Goodly  ; she  is  equal  to  all 
her  own  children,  but  prefers  them  to  those  of 
all  the  world  beside.  My  lady  is  a perfect  hen 
in  the  care  of  her  brood;  she  fights  and  squab- 
bles with  all  that  appear  where  they  come,  but 
is  wholly  unbiassed  in  dispensing  lier  favours 
among  them.  It  is  no  small  pains  she  is  at  to 
defame  all  the  young  women  in  her  neighbour- 
hood, by  visits,  whispers,  intimations,  and  hear- 
says ; all  which  she  ends  with  thanking  heaven, 

‘ that  no  one  living  is  so  blessed  with  such  obe- 
dient and  well-inclined  children  as  herself.  Per- 
haps,’says  she,  ‘Betty  cannot  dance  like  Mrs. 
Frontinet,  and  it  is  no  great  matter  whether  she 
does  or  not ; but  she  comes  into  a room  with  a 
good  grace ; though  she  says  it  that  should  not, 
she  looks  like  a gentlewoman.  Then,  if  Mrs. 
Rebecca  is  not  so  talkative  as  the  mighty  wit 
Mrs.  Clapper,  yet  she  is  discreet,  she  knows 
better  what  she  says  when  she  does  speak.  If 
her  wit  be  slow,  her  tongue  never  runs  before 
it.’  This  kind  parent  lifts  up  her  eyes  and  hands 
in  congratulation  of  her  own  good  fortune,  and 


386 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  236. 


is  maliciously  thankful  that  none  of  her  girls 
are  like  any  of  her  neighbours  ; but  this  pre. 
ference  of  her  own  to  all  others  is  grounded 
upon  an  impulse  of  nature  ; while  those,  who 
like  one  before  another  of  their  own  are  so  un- 
pardonably  unjust,  that  it  could  hardly  be  equal- 
led in  the  children,  though  they  preferred  all  the 
rest  of  the  world  to  such  parents.  It  is  no  un- 
pleasant entertainment  to  see  a ball  at  a dancing- 
school,  and  observe  the  joy  of  relations  when 
the  young  ones,  for  whom  they  are  concerned, 
are  in  motion.  You  need  not  be  told  whom  the 
dancers  belong  to.  At  their  first  appearance, 
the  passions  of  their  parents  are  in  their  faces, 
and  there  is  always  a nod  of  approbation  stolen 
at  a good  step  or  a graceful  turn. 

I remember,  among  all  my  acquaintance,  but 
one  man  whom  I have  thought  to  live  wnth  his 
children  with  equanimity  and  a good  grace.  He 
had  three  sons  and  one  daughter,  whom  he  bred 
with  all  the  care  imaginable,  in  a liberal  and 
ingenuous  way.  I have  often  heard  him  say, 
‘ he  had  the  weakness  to  love  one  much  better 
than  the  other,  but  that  he  took  as  much  pains 
to  correct  that  as  any  other  criminal  passion 
that  could  arise  in  his  mind.’  His  method  was, 
to  make  it  the  only  pretension  in  his  children  to 
his  favour,  to  be  kind  to  each  other;  and  he 
would  tell  them,  ‘ that  he  who  was  the  best 
brother,  he  would  reckon  the  best  son.’  This 
turned  their  thoughts  into  an  emulation  for  the 
superiority  in  kind  and  tender  affection  towards 
each  other.  The  boys  behaved  themselves  very 
early  with  a manly  friendship;  and  their  sister, 
instead  of  the  gross  familiarities,  and  imperti- 
nent freedoms  in  behaviour  usual  in  other 
houses,  was  always  treated  by  them  with  as 
much  complaisance  as  any  other  young  lady  of 
their  acquaintance.  It  was  an  unspeakable 
pleasure  to  visit,  or  sit  at  a meal,  in  that  family. 
I have  often  seen  the  old  man’s  heart  flow  at  his 
eyes  with  joy,  upon  occasions  which  would  ap- 
pear indifferent  to  such  as  w^ere  strangers  to 
the  turn  of  his  mind  ; but  a very  slight  accident, 
wherein  he  saw  his  children’s  good-will  to  one 
another,  created  in  him  the  god-like  pleasure  of 
loving  them  because  they  loved  each  other.  This 
great  command  of  himself,  in  hiding  his  first 
impulse  to  partiality, at  last  improved  to  a steady 
justice  towards  them  ; and  that,  which  at  first 
was  but  an  expedient  to  correct  his  weakness, 
was  afterwards  the  measure  of  his  virtue. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  those  parents  who  are  in- 
terested in  the  care  of  one  child  more  than  that 
of  another,  no  longer  deserve  the  name  of  pa- 
rents, but  are,  in  effect,  as  childish  as  their  chil- 
dren, in  having  such  unreasonable  and  ungo- 
verned inclinations.  A father  of  this  sort  has 
degraded  himself  into  one  of  his  own  offspring, 
for  none  but  a child  would  take  part  in  the  pas- 
sions of  children. 


No.  236.]  Thursday,  October  12,  1710. 

Nescio  qua  natale  solum  dulcedine  mentem 
Tangit,  et  imraemorem  non  sinet  esse  sui.  Ovid. 

A nameless  fondness  for  o\ir  native  clime 
Triumplis  o’er  change,  and  all-devouring  time. 


Our  next  regards  our  friends  and  kindred  claim ; 

And  every  bosom  feels  the  sympathetic  flame. 

R.  IVynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  11. 

I FIND  in  the  registers  of  my  family,  that  the 
branch  of  the  Bickerstaffs  from  which  I am 
descended,  came  originally  out  of  Ireland.  This 
has  given  me  a kind  of  natural  affection  for 
that  country.  It  is  therefore  with  pleasure  that 
I see  not  only  some  of  the  greatest  warriors, 
but  also  of  the  greatest  wits,  to  be  natives  of 
that  kingdom.  The  gentleman  who  whites  the 
following  letter  is  one  of  these  last.  The  mat- 
ter of  fact  contained  in  it  is  literally  true,  though 
the  diverting  manner  in  which  it  is  told,  may 
give  it  the  colour  of  a fable. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire,  at  his  house  in 
Great  Britain. 

‘ Dublin. 

‘ Sir, — Finding  by  several  passages  in  your 
Tatlers  that  you  are  a person  curious  in  natural 
knowledge,  I thought  it  would  not  be  unaccept- 
able to  you  to  give  you  the  following  history  of 
the  migration  of  frogs  into  this  country.  There 
is  an  ancient  tradition  among  the  wild  philoso- 
phers of  this  kingdom,  that  the  whole  island 
was  once  as  much  infested  by  frogs,  as  that 
wherein  Whittington  made  his  fortune,  was  by 
mice.  Insomuch,  that  it  is  said,  Macdonald  the 
First,  could  no  more  sleep,  by  reason  of  these 
Dutch  nightingales,  as  they  are  called  at  Paris, 
than  Pharaoh  could  when  they  croaked  in  his 
bed-chamber.  It  \vas  in  the  reign  of  this  great 
monarch,  that  St.  Patrick  arrived  in  Ireland, 
being  as  famous  for  destroying  vermin  as  any 
rat-catcher  of  our  times.  If  we  may  believe 
the  tradition,  he  killed  more  in  one  day  than  a 
flock  of  storks  could  have  done  in  a twelve 
month.  From  that  time,  for  about  five  hundred 
years,  there  was  not  a frog  to  be  heard  in  Ire- 
land,  notwithstanding  the  bogs  still  remained, 
which  in  former  ages  had  been  so  plentifully 
stocked  with  those  inhabitants. 

‘ When  the  arts  began  to  flourish  in  the  reign 
of  King  Charles  II.  and  that  great  monarch  had 
placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  Royal  Society, 
to  lead  them  forward  into  the  discoveries  of  na- 
ture, it  is  said,  that  several  proposals  were  laid 
before  his  majesty,  for  the  importing  of  frogs 
into  Ireland.  In  order  to  it,  a virtuoso  of  known 
abilities  was  unanimously  elected  by  the  society, 
and  intrusted  wuth  the  whole  management  of 
that  affair.  For  this  end  he  took  along  wuth  him 
a sound  able-bodied  frog,  of  a strong  hale  con- 
stitution, that  had  given  proofs  of  his  vigour  by 
several  leaps  that  he  made  before  that  learned 
body.  They  took  ship,  and  sailed  together  until 
they  came  within  sight  of  the  hill  of  Howth,  be- 
fore the  frog  discovered  any  symptoms  of  being 
indisposed  by  his  voyage : but,  as  the  wind 
chopped  about,  and  began  to  blow  from  the  Irish 
coast,  he  grew  sea-sick,  or  rather  land-sick  ; for 
his  learned  companion  ascribed  it  to  the  parti- 
cles  of  the  soil  with  which  the  wind  was  impreg- 
nated.  He  was  confirmed  in  his  conjecture, 
when,  upon  the  wind’s  turning  about,  his  fellow- 
traveller  sensibly  recovered,  and  continued  in 


No.  237.] 


THE  TATLER. 


387 


good  health  until  his  arrival  upon  the  shore, 
where  he  suddenly  relapsed,  and  expired  upon 
a Ring’s-end  car  in  his  way  to  Dublin.  The 
same  experiment  was  repeated  several  times  in 
that  reign,  but  to  no  purpose.  A frog  was 
never  known  to  take  three  leaps  upon  Irish  turf, 
before  he  stretched  himself  out,  and  died. 

‘ Whether  it  were  that  the  philosophers  on 
this  side  the  water  despaired  of  stocking  the 
island  with  this  useful  animal,  or  whether,  in 
the  following  reian,  it  was  not  thought  proper 
to  undo  the  miracle  of  a popish  saint;  I do  not 
hear  of  any  further  progress  made  in  this  aftair 
until  about  two  years  after  the  battle  of  the 
Boyne.* 

‘ It  was  then  that  an  ingenious  physician,  to 
the  honour  as  well  as  improvement  of  his  native 
country,t  performed  what  the  English  had  been 
so  long  attempting  in  vain.  This  learned  man, 
with  the  hazard  of  his  life,  made  a voyage  to 
Liverpool,  where  he  filled  several  barrels  with 
the  choicest  spawn  of  frogs  that  could  be  found 
in  those  parts.  This  cargo  he  brought  over  very 
carefully,  and  afterward  disposed  of  it  in  several 
warm  beds,  that  he  thought  most  capable  of 
bringing  it  to  life.  The  doctor  was  a very  in- 
genious physician  and  a very  good  protestant; 
for  which  reason  to  show  his  zeal  against  popery, 
he  placed  some  of  the  most  promising  spawn  in 
the  very  fountain  that  is  dedicated  to  the  saint, 
and  known  by  the  name  of  Saint  Patrick’s  well, 
where  these  animals  had  the  impudence  to  make 
their  first  appearance.  They  have,  since  that 
time,  very  much  increased  and  multiplied  in  all 
the  neighbourhood  of  this  city.  We  have  here 
some  curious  inquirers  into  natural  history,  who 
observe  their  motions  with  a design  to  compute 
in  how  many  years  they  will  be  able  to  hop 
from  Dublin  to  Wexford  ; though,  as  I am  in- 
formed, not  one  of  them  has  yet  passed  the 
mountains  of  Wicklow. 

‘ I am  further  informed,  that  several  graziers 
of  the  county  of  Cork  have  entered  into  a pro- 
ject of  planting  a colony  in  those  parts,  at  the 
instance  of  the  French  protestants  ; and  I know 
not  but  the  same  design  may  be  on  foot  in  other 
parts  of  the  kingdom,  if  the  wisdom  of  the  Bri- 
tish nation  do  not  think  fit  to  prohibit  the  fur- 
ther importation  of  English  frogs.  I am,  sir, 
your  most  humble  servant,  T.  B.’ 

There  is  no  study  more  becoming  a rational 
creature  than  that  of  natural  philosophy ; but,  as 
several  of  our  modern  virtuosi  manage  it,  their 
speculations  do  not  so  much  tend  to  open  and 
enlarge  the  mind,  as  to  contract  and  fix  it  upon 
trifles. 

This  in  England  is  in  a great  measure  owing 
to  the  worthy  elections  that  are  so  frequently 
made  in  our  Royal  Society.  They  seem  to  be 
in  a confederacy  against  men  of  polite  genius, 
noble  thought,  and  diffusive  learning ; and 


* The  battle  of  the  Boyne  w^as  fought  July  1,  IfiPO. 
t Sir  Hans  Sloane,  who  was  of  Scotch  extraction,  but 
a native  of  Ireland,  seems  to  be  the  imjenious  physician 
alluded  to  here  ; but  the  hazardous  voyage  to  Liverpool 
seems  rather  a stroke  of  humour  than  a matter  of  fact ; 
or,  perhaps,  it  is  an  allusion  to  the  doctor’s  voyage  to 
Jamaica,  ridiculed  by  Dr.  William  King,  in  his  whimsi- 
cal tract,  intitled,  ‘ A Voyage  to  the  Island  of  Cajamai.’ 


choose  into  their  assemblies  such  as  have  no 
pretence  to  wisdom,  but  want  of  wit ; or  to  na- 
tural knowledge,  but  ignorance  of  every  thing 
else.  I have  made  observations  in  this  matter 
so  long,  that  when  I meet  with  a young  fellow 
that  is  an  humble  admirer  of  these  sciences,  but 
more  dull  than  the  rest  of  the  company,  I con- 
clude him  to  be  a Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society. 


No.  237.]  Saturday,  October  14,  1710. 

In  nova  fert  animus  mutatos  dicere  formas 
Corpora.  Ovid. 

Of  bodies  chang’d  to  various  forms  I sing.  Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  13. 

Coming  home  last  night  before  my  usual 
hour,  I took  a book  into  my  hand,  in  order  to 
divert  myself  with  it  until  bed-time.  Milton 
chanced  to  be  my  author,  whose  admirable  poem 
of*  Paradise  Lost’  serves  at  once  to  fill  the  mind 
with  pleasing  ideas,  and  with  good  thoughts, 
and  was  therefore  the  most  proper  book  for  my 
purpose.  I was  amusing  myself  wuth  that  beau- 
tiful passage  in  which  the  poet  represents  Eve 
sleeping  by  Adam’s  side,  with  the  devil  sitting 
at  her  ear,  and  inspiring  evil  thoughts,  under 
the  shape  of  a toad.  Ithuriel,  one  of  the  guar- 
dian angels  of  the  place,  walking  iiis  nightly 
rounds,  saw  the  great  enemy  of  mankind  hid  in 
this  loathsome  animal,  which  he  touched  with 
his  spear.  This  spear  being  of  a celestial  tem- 
per, had  such  a secret  virtue  in  it,  that  what- 
ever it  was  applied  to,  immediately  flung  off  all 
disguise,  and  appeared  in  its  natural  figure.  I 
am  afraid  the  reader  will  not  pardon  me,  if  I 
content  myself  with  explaining  the  passage  in 
prose,  without  giving  it  in  the  author’s  own  in- 
imitable words  : 

On  he  led  his  radiant  files. 

Dazzling  the  morn.  These  to  the  bower  direct. 

In  search  of  whom  they  sought.  Him  there  they  found, 
Squat  like  a toad,  close  at  the  ear  of  Eve  ; 

Essaying  by  his  dpvilish  art  to  reach 

The  organs  of  her  fancy,  and  with  them  forge 

Illusions  as  he  list,  phantasms  ami  dreams  ; 

Or  if,  inspiring  venom,  he  might  taint 
The  animal  spirits  (that  from  pure  blood  arise 
liike  gentle  breaths  from  rivers  pure,)  thence  raise 
At  least  distemper’d,  discontented  thoughts, 

Vain  hopes,  vain  aims,  inordinate  desires, 

Blown  up  with  high  conceits,  engendering  pride. 

Him,  thus  intent,  Ithuriel  with  his  spear 
Touch’d  lightly  ; for  no  falsehood  can  endure 
Touch  of  celestial  temper,  but  returns 
Of  force  to  his  own  likeness.  Up  he  starts 
Discover’d  and  surpris’d.  As  when  a spark 
Lights  on  a heap  of  nitrous  powder,  laid 
Fit  for  the  tun,  some  magazine  to  store 
Against  a rumour’d  war,  the  smutty  grain. 

With  sudden  blaze  ditfus’d,  inflames  the  air; 

So  started  up  in  his  own  shape  the  fiend. 

I could  not  forbear  thinking  how  happy  a 
man  would  be  in  the  possession  of  this  spear ; 
or  what  an  advantage  it  would  be  to  a minister 
of  state  were  he  master  of  such  a white  staff. 
It  would  help  him  to  discover  his  friends  from 
his  enemies,  men  of  abilities  from  pretenders  : 
it  would  hinder  him  from  being  imposed  upon 
by  appearances  and  professions ; and  might  be 
made  use  of  as  a kind  of  state-test,  which  no 
artifice  could  elude. 


388 


THE  TATLER. 


These  thoughts  made  very  lively  impressions 
on  my  imagination,  which  were  improved,  in- 
stead of  being  defaced,  by  sleep,  and  produced 
in  me  the  following  dream  : I was  no  sooner 
fallen  asleep,  but  methought  the  angel  Ithuriel 
appeared  to  tne,  and,  with  a smile  that  still  add- 
ed to  his  celestial  beauty,  made  me  a present  of 
the  spear  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  disap- 
peared. To  make  trials  of  it,  I went  into  a place 
of  public  resort. 

The  first  person  that  passed  by  me,  was  a 
lady  that  had  a particular  shyness  in  the  cast  of 
her  eye,  and  a more  than  ordinary  reservedness 
in  all  the  parts  of  her  behaviour.  She  seemed 
to  look  upon  man  as  an  obscene  creature,  with 
a certain  scorn  and  fear  of  him.  In  the  height 
of  her  airs  I touched  her  gently  with  my  wand, 
when,  to  my  unspeakable  surprise,  she  fell  in 
such  a manner  as  made  me  blush  in  my  sleep. 
As  I was  hasting  away  from  this  undisguised 
prude,  I saw  a lady  in  earnest  discourse  with 
another,  and  overheard  her  say,  with  some  ve- 
hemence, ‘Never  tell  me  of  him,  for  I am  re- 
solved to  die  a virgin  !’  I had  a curiosity  to  try 
her  ; but,  as  soon  as  I laid  my  wand  upon  her 
head,  she  immediately  fell  in  labour.  My  eyes 
were  diverted  from  her  by  a man  and  his  wife, 
who  walked  near  me  hand  in  hand  after  a very 
loving  manner.  I gave  each  of  them  a gentle 
tap,  and  the  next  instant  saw  the  woman  in 
breeches,  and  the  man  with  a fan  in  his  hand. 
It  would  be  tedious  to  describe  the  long  series 
of  metamorphoses  that  I entertained  myself 
with  in  my  night’s  adventure,  of  whigs  dis- 
guised in  tories,  and  tories  in  whigs ; men  in 
red  coats,  that  denounced  terror  in  their  coun- 
tenances, trembling  at  the  touch  of  my  spear ; 
others  in  black,  with  peace  in  their  mouths,  but 
swords  in  their  hands.  I could  tell  stories  of 
noblemen  changed  into  usurers,  and  magistrates 
into  beadles  ; of  free-thinkers  into  penitents, 
and  reformers  into  whore-masters.  I must  not, 
however,  omit  the  mention  of  a grave  citizen 
who  passed  by  me  with  a huge  clasped  bible 
under  his  arm,  and  a band  of  a most  immode- 
rate breadth  ; but,  upon  a touch  on  the  shoul- 
der, he  let  drop  his  book,  and  fell  a-picking  my 
pocket. 

In  the  general  I observed,  that  those  who  ap- 
peared good,  often  disappointed  my  expecta- 
tions ; but  that,  on  the  contrary,  those  who 
appeared  very  bad,  still  grew  worse  upon  the 
experiment ; as  the  toad  in  Milton,  which  one 
would  have  thought  the  most  deformed  part  of 
tlie  creation,  at  Ithuriel’s  stroke  became  more 
deformed,  and  started  up  into  a devil. 

Among  all  the  persons  that  I touched,  there 
was  but  one  who  stood  the  test  of  my  wand  ; 
and,  after  many  repetitions  of  the  stroke,  stuck 
to  his  form,  and  remained  steady  and  fixed  in 
his  first  appearance.  This  was  a young  man, 
who  boasted  of  foul  distempers,  wild  debauches, 
insults  upon  holy  men,  and  affronts  to  religion. 

My  heart  was  extremely  troubled  at  this 
vision.  The  contemplation  of  the  whole  species, 
so  entirely  sunk  in  corruption,  filled  my  mind 
with  a melancholy  that  is  inexpressible,  and  my 
discoveries  still  added  to  my  affliction. 

In  the  midst  of  these  sorrows  which  I had  in 
my  heart,  methought  there  passed  by  me  a 


[No.  238.  I 

couple  of  coaches  with  purple  liveries.  There  i 

sat  in  each  of  them  a person  with  a very  vene- 
rable aspect.  At  the  appearance  of  them  the  : 

people,  who  were  gathered  round  me  in  great  ! 

multitudes,  divided  into  parties,  as  they  were 
disposed  to  favour  either  of  those  reverend  per- 
sons. The  enemies  of  one  of  them  begged  me 
to  touch  him  with  my  wand,  and  assured  me 
I should  see  his  lawn  converted  into  a cloak. 

The  opposite  party  told  me  with  as  much  as- 
surance, that  if  I laid  my  wand  upon  the  other, 

I should  see  his  garments  embroidered  with 
flower-de-luces,  and  his  head  covered  with  a 
cardinal’s  hat.  I made  the  experiment,  and, 
to  my  great  joy,  saw  them  both  without  any 
change,  distributing  their  blessings  to  the  peo- 
ple, and  praying  for  those  who  had  reviled  them. 

Is  it  possible,  thought  I,  that  good  men,  who 
are  so  few  in  number,  should  be  divided  among 
themselves,  and  give  better  quarter  to  the  vicious 
that  are  in  their  party,  than  the  most  strictly 
virtuous  who  are  out  of  it  ? Are  the  ties  of 
faction  above  those  of  religion? — I was  going 
on  in  my  soliloquies,  but  some  sudden  accident 
awakened  me,  when  I found  my  hand  grasped, 
but  my  spear  gone.  The  reflection  on  so  very 
odd  a dream  made  me  figure  to  myself,  what  a 
strange  face  the  world  would  bear,  should  all 
mankind  appear  in  their  proper  shapes  and  cha- 
racters, without  hypocrisy  and  disguise  ? I am 
afraid  the  earth  we  live  upon  would  appear  to 
other  intellectual  beings  no  better  than  a planet 
peopled  with  monsters.  This  should,  methinks, 
inspire  us  with  an  honest  ambition  of  recom- 
mending ourselves  to  those  invisible  spies,  and 
of  being  what  we  would  appear.  There  was 
one  circumstance  in  my  foregoing  dream,  which 
I at  first  intended  to  conceal ; but,  upon  second 
thoughts,  I cannot  look  upon  myself  as  a can- 
did and  impartial  historian,  if  I do  not  acquaint 
my  reader,  that  upon  taking  Ithuriel’s  spear  into 
my  hand,  though  I was  before  an  old  decrepit 
fellow,  I appeared  a very  handsome,  jolly,  black 
man.  But  I know  my  enemies  will  say  this  is 
praising  my  own  beauty,  for  which  reason  I 
will  speak  no  more  of  it. 


No.  238.]  Tuesday^  October  17,  1710. 

Poetica  surgit 

Tempestus Juv.  Sat.  xii.  23. 

Thus  dreadful  rises  the  poetic  storm.  R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  16. 

Storms  at  sea  are  so  frequently  described  by 
the  ancient  poets,  and  copied  by  the  moderns, 
that  whenever  I find  the  winds  begin  to  rise  in 
a new  heroic  poem,  I generally  skip  a leaf  or 
two  until  I come  into  fair  weather.  Virgil’s 
tempest  is  a master-piece  in  this  kind,  and  is 
indeed  so  naturally  drawn,  that  one  who  has 
made  a voyage  can  scarce  read  it  without  being 
sea-sick.  Land-showers  are  no  less  frequent 
among  the  poets  than  the  former,  but  I remem- 
ber none  of  them  which  have  not  fallen  in  the 
country ; for  which  reason  they  are  generally 
filled  with  the  lov/ings  of  oxen,  and  the  bleat- 


THE  TATLER. 


389 


Mo.  239.] 

ings  of  sheep,  and  very  often  embellished  with 
a rainbow. 

Virgil’s  land-shower  is  likewise  the  best  in 
its  kind.  It  is  indeed  a shower  of  consequence, 
and  contributes  to  the  main  design  of  the  poem, 
by  cutting  off  a tedious  ceremonial,  and  bring- 
ing matters  to  a speedy  conclusion  between  two 
potentates  of  different  sexes.  My  ingenious 
kinsman,  Mr.  Humphrey  Wagstaff,  who  treats 
of  every  subject  after  a manner  that  no  other 
author  has  done,  and  better  than  any  other  can 
do,  has  sent  me  the  description  of  a city-shower. 
I do  not  question  but  the  reader  remembers  my 
cousin’s  description  of  the  morning  as  it  breaks 
in  town,  which  is  printed  in  the  ninth  Tatler, 
and  is  another  exquisite  piece  of  this  local 
poetry. 

Careful  observers  may  foretell  the  hour 
(By  sure  prognostics)  when  to  dread  a shower; 

While  rain  depends,  the  pensive  cat  gives  o’er 
Her  frolics,  and  pursues  her  tail  no  more. 

Returning  home  at  night,  you  'll  find  the  sink 
Strike  your  offended  sense  with  double  stink. 

If  you  be  wise;  then  go  not  far  to  dine. 

Yon  ’ll  spend  in  coach-hire  more  than  save  in  wine. 

A coining  shower  your  shooting  corns  presage. 

Old  aches  will  throb,  your  hollow  tooth  will  rage. 
Sauntering  in  coffee-house  is  Dulman  seen  ; 

He  damns  theclimate,  and  complains  of  spleen. 
Meanwhile  the  south,  rising  with  dabbled  wings, 

A sable  cloud  athwart  the  welkin  flings. 

That  swill'd  more  liquor  than  it  could  contain, 

And,  like  a drunkard,  gives  it  up  main. 

Brisk  Susan  whips  her  linen  from  the  rope. 

While  the  first  drizzling  shower  is  borne  aslope: 

Such  is  that  sprinkling  which  some  careless  quean 
Flirts  on  you  from  her  mop,  but  not  so  clean. 

You  fly,  invoke  the  gods;  then,  turning,  stop 
To  rail;  she,  singing,  still  whirls  on  her  mop. 

Not  yet  the  dust  had  shunn’d  th’  unequal  strife. 

But,  aided  by  the  wind,  fought  still  for  life. 

And,  w’afted  with  its  foe  by  violent  gust, 

’Tvvas  doubtful  which  w'as  rain,  and  which  was  dust. 
Ah!  where  must  needy  poet  seek  for  aid. 

When  dust  and  rain  at  once  his  coat  invade  ? 

His  only  coat,  where  dust,  confus’d  with  rain. 
Roughens  the  nap,  and  leaves  a mingled  stain?* 
Now  in  contiguous  drops  the  flood  comes  down, 
Threatening  with  deluge  this  devoted  town. 

To  shops  in  crowds  the  daggled  females  fly. 

Pretend  to  cheapen  goods,  bat  nothing  buy. 

The  templar  spruce,  while  every  spout's  alrroach, 
Stays  till  ’tis  fair,  yetseems  to  call  a coach. 

The  tuck’d-up  sempstress  walks  with  hasty  strides. 
While  streams  run  down  her  oil’d  umbrella’s  sides. 
Here  various  kinds,  by  various  fortunes  led. 
Commence  acquaintance  underneath  a shed, 
t Triumphant  Tories  and  desponding  Whigs 
Fotiret  their  feuds,  ami  join  to  save  their  wigs. 

Box’d  in  a chair,  the  beau  impatient  sits. 

While  spouts  run  clattering  o'er  the  roof  by  fits; 

And  ever-and-anon  with  frightful  din 
The  leather  sounds  ; he  tiembles  from  within 
So  when  Troy-chairmen  bore  the  wooden  steed. 
Pregnant  with  Greeks  impatient  to  be  freed 
(Those  bully  Greeks,  who,  as  the  moderns  do. 

Instead  of  payitig  chairmen,  run  them  through,) 
Laocoon  struck  the  outside  with  his  spear, 

And  each  imprison’d  hero  quak’d  for  fear. 

Now  from  all  parts  the  swelling  kennels  flow. 

And  bear  their  trophies  with  them  as  they  go: 

Filth  of  all  hues  and  odours  seem  to  tell 

What  street  they  sail’d  from,  by  their  sight  and  smell. 

They,  as  each  torrent  drives,  with  rapid  force. 

From  Smithfield  or  St.  'Pulchre’s  shape  their  course. 
And  in  huge  confluent  join’d  at  Snow-hill  ridge. 

Fall  from  the  conduit,  prone  to  Holborn-bridge. 
Sweepings  from  butchers’  stalls,  dung,  guts,  and  bloody 

* Altered,  when  Pope  published  the  Miscellanies,  thus: 
‘ Sole  coat ; w'here  dust  cemented  by  the  rain 
‘ Erects  the  nap,  and  leaves  a cloudy  stain.’ 

t Written  in  the  first  year  of  the  earl  of  Oxford’s  mi- 
nistry. 


Drown’d  puppies,  stinking  sprats,  all  drench’d  in  mud. 
Dead  cats  and  turnip-tops  come  tumbling  down  the 
flood.* 


No.  239.]  Thursday,  October  19,  1710. 

Mecum  certasse  feretur? 

Ovid.  Met.  xiii.  20. 

Shall  he  contend  with  me  to  get  a name  ? 

R.  Wynne, 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  18. 

It  is  ridiculous  for  any  man  to  criticise  on 
the  works  of  another,  who  has  not  distinguished 
himself  by  his  own  performances.  A judge 
would  make  but  an  indifferent  figure  who  had 
never  been  known  at  the  bar.  Cicero  was  re- 
puted tlie  greatest  orator  of  his  age  and  coun- 
try, before  he  wrote  a book  ‘ De  Oratore  ;’  and 
Horace  the  greatest  poet,  before  he  published 
his  ‘ Art  of  Poetry.’  This  observation  arises 
naturally  in  any  one  who  casts  his  eye  upon  this 
last-mentioned  author,  where  he  will  find  the 
criticisms  placed  in  the  latter  end  of  his  book, 
that  is,  after  the  finest  odes  and  satires  in  the 
Latin  tongue. 

A modern,  whose  name  I shall  not  mention,  be- 
cause I would  not  make  a silly  paper  sell, was  born 
a Critic  and  an  Examiner,  and,  like  one  of  the 
race  of  the  serpent’s  teeth,  came  into  the  world 
with  a sword  in  his  hand.  His  works  put  me 
in  mind  of  the  story  that  is  told  of  the  German 
monk,  who  was  taking  a catalogue  of  a friend’s 
library,  and,  meeting  with  a Hebrew  book  in  it, 
entered  it  under  the  title  of,  ‘ A book  that  has 
the  beginning  where  the  end  should  be.’  This 
author,  in  the  last  of  his  crudities,  has  amassed 
together  a heap  of  quotations,  to  prove  that  Ho- 
race and  Virgil  were  both  of  them  modester  men 
than  myself;  and  if  his  works  were  to  live  as 
long  as  mine,  they  might  possibly  give  posterity 
a notion,  that  Isaac  Bickerstaff  was  a very  con- 
ceited old  fellow,  and  as  vain  a man  as  either 
Tully  or  sir  Francis  Bacon.  Had  this  serious 
writer  fallen  upon  me  only,  I could  have  over- 
looked it;  but  to  see  Cicero  abused  is,  I must 
confess,  what  I cannot  bear.  Tlie  censure  he 
passes  upon  this  great  man  runs  thus,  ‘The 
itch  of  being  very  abusive  is  almost  inseparable 
from  vain-glory.  Tully  has  these  two  faults  in 
so  high  a degree,  tliat  nothing  but  his  being  the 
best  writer  in  the  world  can  make  amends  for 
them.’  The  scurrilous  wretch  goes  on  to  say, 
that  I am  as  bad  as  Tully.  His  words  are  these  : 
‘ And  yet  the  Tatler,  in  his  paper  of  September 
the  twenty-sixth,  has  outdone  him  in  both.  He 
speaks  of  himself  wuth  more  arrogance,  and 
with  more  insolence  of  others.’  I am  afraid,  by 
his  discourse,  this  gentleman  has  no  more  read 
Plutarch  than  he  has  Tully.  If  he  had,  he  w’ould 
have  observed  a passage  in  that  historian,  where- 
in he  has,  with  great  delicacy,  distinguished  be- 
tween two  passions  which  are  usually  compli- 
cated in  human  nature,  and  which  an  ordinary 


* These  three  last  lines  were  intended  to  ridicule  the 
practice  of  modern  poets,  who  make  three  lines  rhyme 
together,  w hich  they  call  triplets,  and  the  last  line,  two 
or  more  syllables  longer  than  the  rest,  which  they  call 
an  Alexandrine. 


390 


THE  TATLER, 


[No.  239. 


writer  would  not  have  thought  of  separating. 
Not  having  my  Greek  spectacles  by  me,  I shall 
quote  the  passage  word  for  word  as  I'  find  it 
translated  to  my  hand.  ‘ Nevertheless,  tiiough 
he  was  intemperately  fond  of  his  own  praise, 
yet  he  was  very  free  from  envying  others,  and 
most  liberally  profuse  in  commending  both  the 
ancients  and  his  contemporaries,  as  is  to  be  un- 
derstood by  his  writings;  and  many  of  those 
sayings  are  still  recorded,  as  that  concerning 
Aristotle,  “ that  he  w’as  a river  of  flowing  gold:” 
of  Plato’s  dialogue,  “ that  if  Jupiter  were  to 
speak,  he  would  discourse  as  he  did.”  7’heo- 
phrastus  he  was  wont  to  call  his  peculiar  de- 
light ; and  being  asked,  “ which  of  Demosthenes 
his  orations  he  liked  best?”  He  answered,  “ The 
longest." 

‘ And  as  for  the  eminent  men  of  his  own  time, 
either  for  eloquence  or  philosophy,  there  was  not 
one  of  them  which  he  did  not,  by  writing  or 
speaking  favourably  of,  render  more  illustrious.’ 

Thus  the  critic  tells  us,  that  Cicero  was  ex- 
cessively vain-glorious  and  abusive ; Plutarch, 
that  he  was  vain,  but  not  abusive.  Let  the 
reader  believe  which  of  them  he  pleases. 

After  this  he  complains  to  the  world,  that  I 
call  him  names,  and  that,  in  my  passion,  I said 
he  was  a flea,  a louse,  an  owl,  a bat,  a small  wit, 
a scribbler,  and  a nibbler.  When  he  has  thus 
bespoken  his  reader’s  pity,  he  falls  into  that  ad- 
mirable vein  of  mirth,  which  I shall  set  down 
at  length,  it  being  an  exquisite  piece  of  raillery, 
and  written  in  great  gayety  of  heart.  ‘After 
this  list  of  names,’  viz.  flea,  louse,  owl,  bat,  »&c. 

‘ I was  surprised  to  hear  him  say,  that  he  has 
hitherto  kept  his  temper  pretty  well ; I wonder 
how  he  will  write  when  he  has  lost  his  temper  ! 
I suppose,  as  he  is  now  very  angry  and  unman- 
nerly, he  will  then  be  exceeding  courteous  and 
good-humoured.’  If  I can  outlive  this  raillery, 
I shall  be  able  to  bear  any  thing. 

There  is  a method  of  criticism  made  use  of 
by  this  author,  for  I shall  take  care  how  I call 
him  a scribbler  again  which  may  turn  into  ridi- 
cule any  work  that  was  ever  written,  wherein 
there  is  a variety  of  thoughts.  This  tlie  reader 
will  observe  in  the  following  words:  ‘ He,’  mean- 
ing me,  ‘is  so  intent  upon  being  something  ex- 
traordinary, that  he  scarce  knows  what  he 
would  be;  and  is  as  fruitful  in  his  similes  as  a 
brother  of  his  whom  I lately  took  notice  of.  In 
the  compass  of  a few  lines  he  compares  himself 
to  a fox,  to  Daniel  Burgess,  to  the  Knight  of  the 
Red  Cross,  to  an  oak  with  ivy  about  it,  and  to  a 
great  man  with  an  equipage.’  I think  myself 
as  much  honoured  by  being  joined  in  this  part 
of  his  paper  with  the  gentleman  whom  he  here 
calls  my  brother,  as  I am  in  the  beginning  of  it, 
by  being  mentioned  with  Horace  and  Virgil. 

It  is  very  hard  that  a man  cannot  publish 
ten  papers  without  stealing  from  himself;  but 
to  show  you  that  this  is  only  a knack  of  writing, 
and  that  the  author  has  got  into  a certain  road 
of  criticism,  I shall  set  down  his  remarks  on  the 
works  of  the  gentleman  whom  he  here  glances 
upon,  as  they  stand  in  his  sixth  paper,  and  de- 
sire the  reader  to  compare  them  with  the  fore- 
going passage  upon  mine. 

‘ In  thirty  lines  his  patron  is  a river,  the 
primum  mobile,  a pilot,  a victim,  the  sun,  any 


thing,  and  nothing.  He  bestows  increase,  con- 
ceals  his  source,  makes  the  machine  move, 
teaches  to  steer,  expiates  our  offences,  raises  va- 
pours, and  looks  larger  as  he  sets.’ 

What  poem  can  be  safe  frotn  this  sort  of 
criticism  ? I think  I was  never  in  my  life  so 
much  offended,  as  at  a wag  whom  I once  met 
with  in  a coffee-house.  He  had  in  his  hand 
one  of  the  ‘ Miscellanies'  and  was  reading  the 
following  short  copy  of  verses,  vrhich,  without 
flattery  to  the  author,  is,  I think,  as  beautiful 
in  its  kind  as  any  one  in  the  English  tongue  I* 

Flavia  the  least  and  slightest  toy 
Can  with  resistless  art  employ. 

This/a?»  in  meaner  hands  would  prove 
An  engine  of  small  force  in  love; 

But  she,  with  such  an  air  and  mien. 

Not  to  he  told,  or  safely  seen, 

Directs  its  wanton  motions  so. 

That  it  wounds  more  than  Cupid’s  bow; 

Gives  coolness  to  the  matchless  dame. 

To  every  other  breast  a flame. 

When  this  coxcomb  had  done  reading  them, 

‘ Hey-day  !’  says  he,  ‘ what  instrument  is  this 
that  Flavia  employs  in  such  a manner  as  is  not 
to  be  told,  nor  safely  seen?  In  ten  lines  it  is  a 
toy,  a Cupid’s  bow,  a fan,  and  an  engine  in 
love.  It  has  wanton  motions,  it  wounds,  it 
cools,  and  inflames.’ 

Such  criticisms  make  a man  of  sense  sick, 
and  a fool  merry. 

The  next  paragraph  of  the  paper  we  are 
talking  of,  falls  upon  some  body  whom  I am 
at  a loss  to  guess  at:  but  I find  the  whole  in- 
vective turns  upon  a man  who,  it  seems,  has 
been  imprisoned  for  debt.  Whoever  he  was, 
I most  heartily  pity  him  ; but  at  the  same  time 
must  put  the  examiner  in  mind,  that  notwith- 
standing he  is  a critic,  he  still  ought  to  remem- 
ber he  is  a Christian.  Poverty  was  never 
thought  a proper  subject  for  ridicule ; and  I do 
not  remember  that  I ever  met  with  a satire  up- 
on  a beggar. 

As  for  those  little  retortings  of  my  own  ex- 
pressions, of  ‘ being  dull  by  design,  witty  in 
October,  shining,  excelling,  and  so  forth  ; they 
are  the  common  cavils  of  every  witling,  who 
has  no  other  method  of  showing  his  parts,  but 
by  little  variations  and  repetitions  of  the  man’s 
words  whom  he  attacks. 

But  the  truth  of  it  is,  the  paper  before  me, 
not  only  in  this  particular,  but  in  its  very  es- 
sence, is  like  Ovid’s  Echo, 

Q.U8D  nec  reticere  loquenti, 

Nec  prior  ipsa  loqui  clidicit Ovid.  Met.  iii.  357. 

She  wflio  in  other’s  words  her  silence  breaks. 

Nor  speaks  herself  but  when  another  speaks. 

Addison. 

I should  not  have  deserved  the  character  of  a 
Censor,  had  I not  animadverted  upon  the  above- 
mentioned  author,  by  a gentle  chastisement: 
but  I know  my  reader  will  not  pardon  me,  un- 
less I declare,  that  nothing  of  this  nature  for 
the  future,  unless  it  be  written  with  some  wit, 
shall  divert  me  from  my  care  of  the  public. 


* Dr.  Atterbury  was  the  author  of  this  copy  of  verses ; 
and  it  has  been  commonly  believed,  that  Mrs.  Anne  Old- 
field was  the  lady  here  celebrated. 


THE  TATLER. 


391 


; No.  240.] 
j No.  240.]  Saturday,  October  21,  1710. 

Ad  populum  phaleras. Pers.  Sat.  iii.30. 

Such  pageantry  be  to  the  people  shown  ; 

There  boast  thy  horse's  trappings,  and  thy  own. 

Drijden. 

From  my  oicn  Apartment,  October  20. 

I DO  not  remember  that  in  any  of  my  lucu- 
I brations  I have  touched  upon  that  useful  science 
of  physic,  notwithstanding  I have  declared  my- 
self more  than  once  a prolessor  of  it.  I have 
indeed  joined  the  study  of  astrology  with  it, 
{ because  I never  knew  a physician  recommend 
j liimself  to  the  public,  wdio  had  not  a sister  art 
to  embellish  his  knowledge  in  medicine.  It 
has  been  commonly  observed,  in  compliment  to 
the  ingenious  of  our  profession,  that  Apollo  was 
god  of  verse  as  w^ell  as  physic ; and,  in  all 
ages,  the  most  celebrated  practitioners  of  our 
country  were  the  particular  favourites  of  the 
muses.  Poetry  to  physic  is  indeed  like  the 
gilding  to  a pill ; it  makes  the  art  shine,  and 
covers  the  severity  of  the  doctor  with  the 
|f  agreeableness  of  the  companion. 

' 'I'he  very  foundation  of  poetry  is  good  sense, 
if  we  may  allow  Horace  to  be  a judge  of  the 
art. 

Scribendi  recte  sapere  estet  principium  et  fons. 

I Hor.  Ars  Poet.  309. 

Such  judgment  is  the  ground  of  writing  well, 
j Roscommon. 

i And  if  so,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  that  the 
same  man  who  writes  well  can  prescribe  well, 
if  he  has  applied  himself  to  the  studj'^  of  both. 

I Besides,  when  we  see  a man  ntaking  profession 
of  two  different  sciences,  it  is  natural  for  us  to 
believe  he  is  no  pretender  in  that  which  we  are 
I not  judges  of,  when  we  find  him  skilful  in  that 
which  we  understand. 

Ordinary  quacks  and  charlatans  are  thorough- 
ly sensible  how  necessary  it  is  to  support  them- 
selves by  these  collateral  assistances,  and  there- 
fore always  lay  their  claims  to  some  supernu- 
merary accomplishments,  which  are  wholly 
foreign  to  their  profession. 

About  tfventy  years  ago  it  was  impossible  to 
walk  the  streets  without  having  an  advertise- 
ment thrust  into  your  hand,  of  a doctor,  ‘who 
had  arrived  at  the  knowledge  of  the  green  and 
red  dragon,  and  had  discovered  the  female  fern- 
seed.’  Nobody  ever  knew  what  this  meant;  but 
the  green  and  red  dragon  so  amused  the  people, 
that  the  doctor  lived  very  comfortably  upon 
them.  About  the  same  time  there  was  pasted 
a very  hard  word  upon  every  corner  of  the 
streets.  This,  to  the  best  of  my  remembrance, 
was, 

TETRACHYMAGOGON, 

which  drew  great  shoals  of  spectators  about  it, 
who  read  the  bill  that  it  introduced  with  un- 
.speakable  curiosity  ; and,  when  they  were  sick, 
would  have  nobody  but  this  learned  man  for 
their  physician. 

I once  received  an  advertisement  of  one  ‘who 
had  studied  thirty  years  by  candle-light  for  the 
good  of  his  countrymen.’  He  might  have  stu- 


died twice  as  long  by  day-light,  and  never  have 
been  taken  notice  of.  But  lucubrations  cannot 
be  overvalued.  There  are  some  who  have 
gained  themselves  great  reputation  for  physic 
by  their  birth,  as  the  ‘seventh  son  of  a seventh 
son ;’  and  others  by  not  being  born  at  all,  as  the 
unborn  doctor,  who,  I hear,  is  lately  gone  the 
way  of  his  patients  ; having  died  worth  five 
hundred  pounds  per  annum,  though  lie  was  not 
born  to  a halfpenny. 

My  ingenious  friend  doctor  Saffold  succeeded 
my  old  contemporary  doctor  Lilly,  in  the  studies 
both  of  physic  and  astrology,  to  vvhicli  he  added 
that  of  poetry,  as  was  to  be  seen  both  upon  the 
sign  where  he  lived,  and  in  the  bills  which  he 
distributed.  He  was  succeeded  by  doctor  Case, 
who  erased  the  verses  of  his  predecessor  out  of 
the  sign  post,  and  substituted  in  their  place 
tw’o  of  his  own,  which  were  as  follow  ; 

■Within  this  place 

Lives  doctor  Case. 

He  is  said  to  have  got  more  by  this  distich, 
than  Mr.  Dryden  did  by  all  his  works.  There 
would  be  no  end  of  enutnerating  the  several 
imaginary  perfections,  and  unaccountable  arti- 
fices, by  which  this  tribe  of  men  ensnare  the 
minds  of  the  vulgar,  and  gain  crowds  of  ad- 
mirers. I have  seen  the  whole  front  of  a 
mountebank’s  stage,  from  one  end  to  the  other, 
faced  with  patents,  certificates,  medals,  and 
great  seals,  by  which  the  several  princes  of  Eu- 
rope have  testified  their  particular  respect  and 
esteem  for  the  doctor.  Every  great  man  with 
a sounding  title  has  been  his  patient.  I believe 
I have  seen  twenty  mountebanks  that  have 
given  physic  to  the  czar  of  Muscovy.  The 
great  duke  of  Tuscany  escapes  no  better.  The 
elector  of  Brandenburg  was  likewise  a very 
good  patient. 

This  great  condescension  of  the  doctor  draws 
upon  him  much  good  will  from  his  audience  ; 
and  it  is  ten  to  one,  but  if  any  of  them  be 
troubled  with  an  aching  tooth,  his  ambition  will 
prompt  him  to  get  it  drawn  by  a person  who 
has  had  so  many  princes,  kings,  and  emperors, 
under  his  hands. 

I must  not  leave  this  subject  without  ob- 
serving,  that  as  physicians  are  apt  to  deal  in 
poetry,  apothecaries  endeavour  to  recommend 
themselves  by  oratory,  and  are,  therefore,  with- 
out controversy,  the  most  eloquent  persons  in 
the  whole  British  nation.  I would  not  willingly 
discourage  any  of  the  arts,  especially  that  of 
which  I am  an  humble  professor;  but  I must 
confess,  for  the  good  of  my  native  country,  I 
could  wish  there  might  be  a suspension  of  phy- 
sic for  some  years,  that  our  kingdom,  which 
has  been  so  much  exhausted  by  the  wars,  might 
have  leave  to  recruit  itself. 

As  for  myself,  the  only  physic  which  has 
brought  me  safe  to  almost  the  age  of  man,  and 
which  I prescribe  to  all  my  friends,  is  abstinence. 
This  is  certainly  the  best  physic  for  prevention, 
and  very  often  the  most  effectual  against  a pre- 
sent distemper.  In  short,  my  recipe  is,  ‘take 
nothing.’ 

Were  the  body  politic  to  be  physicked  like 
particular  persons,  I should  venture  to  prescribe 


392 


THE  TATLER. 


to  it  after  the  same  manner.  I remember  when 
our  whole  island  was  shaken  with  an  earth- 
quake some  years  ago,  there  was  an  impudent 
mountebank  who  sold  pills,  which,  as  he  told 
the  country  people,  were  ‘ very  good  against  an 
earthquake.’  It  may,  perhaps,  be  thought  as 
absurd  to  prescribe  a diet  for  the  allaying  popu- 
lar commotions,  and  national  ferments.  But  I 
am  verily  persuaded,  that  if  in  such  a case  a 
whole  people  were  to  enter  into  a course  of  ab- 
stinence, and  eat  nothkig  but  water-gruel  for  a 
fortnight,  it  would  abate  the  rage  and  animosity 
of  parties,  and  not  a little  contribute  to  the 
cure  of  a distracted  nation.  Such  di  fast  would 
have  a natural  tendency  to  the  procuring  of 
those  ends,  for  which  a fast  is  usually  pro- 
claimed. If  any  man  has  a mind  to  enter  on 
such  a voluntary  abstinence,  it  might  not  be 
improper  to  give  liim  the  caution  of  Pythagoras 
in  particular;  Abstine  a fabis,  ‘Abstain  from 
beans that  is,  say  the  interpreters,  ‘ Meddle 
not  with  elections  beans  having  been  made 
use  of  by  the  voters  among  the  Athenians  in 
the  choice  of  magistrates. 


No.  241.]  Tuesday,  October  24,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  23. 

A METHOD  of  spending  one’s  time  agreeably, 
is  a thing  so  little  studied,  that  the  common 
amusement  of  our  young  gentlemen,  especially 
of  such  as  are  at  a distance  from  those  of  the 
first  breeding,  is  drinking.  This  way  of  enter- 
tainment has  custom  on  its  side ; but,  as  much 
as  it  has  prevailed,  I believe  there  have  been 
very  few  companies  that  have  been  guilty  of 
excess  this  way,  where  there  have  not  happened 
more  accidents  which  make  against,  than  for 
the  continuance  of  it.  It  is  very  common  that 
events  arise  from  a debauch  which  are  fatal, 
and  always  such  as  are  disagreeable.  With  all 
a man’s  reason  and  good  sense  about  him,  his 
tongue  is  apt  to  utter  things  out  of  meregayety 
of  Jieart,  which  may  displease  his  best  friends. 
Who,  then,  would  trust  himself  to  the  power  of 
wine,  without  saying  more  against  it,  than  that 
it  raises  the  imagination,  and  depresses  the 
judgment?  Were  there  only  this  single  con- 
sideration, that  w^e  are  less  masters  of  ourselves, 
when  we  drink  in  the  least  proportion  above  the 
exigencies  of  thirst;  I say,  were  this  all  that 
could  be  objected,  it  were  sufficient  to  make  us 
abhor  this  vice.  Bat  we  may  go  on  to  say,  that 
as  he  who  drinks  but  a little  is  not  master  of 
himself,  so  he  who  drinks  much  is  a slave  to 
himself.  As  for  my  part,  I ever  esteemed  a 
drunkard  of  all  vicious  persons,  the  most  vi- 
cious : for  if  our  actions  are  to  be  weighed  and 
considered  according  to  the  intention  of  them, 
what  can  we  think  of  him,  who  puts  himself 
into  a circumstance  wherein  he  can  have  no 
intention  at  all,  but  incapacitates  himself  for 
the  duties  and  offices  of  life,  by  a suspension  of 
all  his  faculties?  If  a man  considers  that  he 
cannot,  under  the  oppression  of  drink,  be  a 
friend,  a gentleman,  a master,  or  a subject ; that 
he  has  so  long  banished  himself  from  all  that  is 
dear,  and  given  up  all  that  is  sacred  to  him ; he 


[No.  241. 

I would  even  then  think  of  a debauch  with  hor- 
I ror.  But  when  he  looks  still  further,  and  ac- 
I knowledges  that  he  is  not  only  expelled  out  of 
all  the  relations  of  life,  but  also  liable  to  offend 
against  them  all ; what  words  can  express  the 
terror  and  detestation  he  would  have  of  such  a 
condition  ? And  yet  he  owns  all  this  of  him- 
self, who  says  he  was  drunk  last  night. 

As  I have  all  along  persisted  in  it,  that  all 
the  vicious  in  general  are  in  a state  of  death ; 
so  I think  I may  add  to  the  non-existence  of 
drunkards,  that  they  died  by  their  own  hands. 
He  is  certainly  as  guilty  of  suicide  who  perishes 
by  a slow,  as  he  that  is  despatched  by  an  im- 
mediate poison.  In  my  last  lucubration  I pro- 
posed the  general  use  of  water-gruel,  and  hinted 
that  it  might  not  be  amiss  at  this  very  season. 
But  as  there  are  some,  whose  cases,  in  regard 
to  their  families,  will  not  admit  of  delay,  I have 
used  my  interest  in  several  wards  of  the  city, 
that  the  wholesome  restorative  above-mentioned, 
may  be  given  in  tavern-kitchens  to  all  the 
morning-draughts-men,  within  the  walls,  when 
they  call  for  wine  before  noon.*  For  a further 
restraint  and  mark  upon  such  persons,  I have 
given  orders,  that  in  all  the  offices  where  poli- 
cies are  drawn  upon  lives,  it  shall  be  added  to 
the  article  which  prohibits  that  the  nominee 
should  cross  the  sea,  the  words,  ‘ Provided  also, 
that  the  above-mentioned  A.  B.  shall  not  drink, 
before  dinner,  during  the  term  mentioned  in 
this  indenture.’ 

I am  not  without  hopes,  that  by  this  method 
I shall  bring  some  unsizeable  friends  of  mine 
into  shape  and  breadth,  as  well  as  others,  who 
are  languid  and  consumptive,  into  health  and 
vigour,  ijlost  of  the  self-murderers  whom  I 
yet  hinted  at,  are  such  as  preserve  a certain 
regularity  in  taking  their  poison,  and  make  it 
mix  pretty  well  with  their  food.  But  the  most 
conspicuous  of  those  who  destroy  themselves, 
are  such  as  in  their  youth  fall  into  this  sort  of 
debauchery  ; and  contract  a certain  uneasiness 
of  spirit,  which  is  not  to  be  diverted  but  by 
tippling  as  often  as  they  can  fall  into  company 
in  the  day,  and  conclude  with  downright  drunk- 
enness at  night.  These  gentlemen  never  know 
the  satisfaction  of  youth ; but  skip  the  years  of 
manhood,  and  are  decrepit  soon  after  they  are 
of  age.  I was  godfather  to  one  of  these  old 
fellows.  He  is  now  three-and-thirty,  which  is 
the  grand  climacteric  of  a young  drunkard.  I 
went  to  visit  the  crazy  wretch  this  morning, 
with  no  other  purpose  but  to  rally  him  under 
the  pain  and  uneasiness  of  being  sober. 

But  as  our  faults  are  double  when  they  affect 
others  besides  ourselves,  so  this  vice  is  still 
more  odious  in  a married  than  a single  man. 
He  that  is  the  husband  of  a woman  of  honour, 
and  comes  home  over-loaded  with  wine,  is  still 
more  contemptible  in  proportion  to  the  regard 
we  have  to  the  unhappy  consort  of  his  bestiality. 
The  imagination  cannot  shape  to  itself  any 
thing  more  monstrous  and  unnatural  than  the 
familiarities  between  drunkenness  and  chastity. 
The  wretched  Astrasa,  who  is  the  perfection  of 


* To  the  honour  of  the  present  age,  the  practise  of 
morning-gills  is  almost  wholly  out  of  fashion  ; nor  is 
drunkenness  by  any  means  the  predominant  vice  of  the 
times. 


THE  TATLER. 


393 


No.  242.] 

beauty  and  innocence,  has  long  been  thus  con- 
demned for  life.  The  romantic  tales  of  virgins 
devoted  to  the  jaws  of  monsters,  have  nothing 
in  them  so  terrible  as  the  gift  of  Astrcea  to  that 
bacchanal. 

The  reflection  of  such  a match  as  spotless 
innocence  with  abandoned  lewdness,  is  what 
puts  this  vice  in  the  worst  figure  it  can  bear, 
with  regard  to  others;  but,  when  it  is  looked 
upon  wUh  respect  only  to  the  drunkard  him- 
self, it  has  deformities  enough  to  make  it  dis- 
agreeable, which  may  be  summed  up  in  a word, 
by  allowing,  that  he  who  resigns  his  reason,  is 
actually  guilty  of  all  that  he  is  liable  to  from 
the  want  of  reason. 

P.  S.  Among  many  other  enormities,  there 
are  two  in  the  following  letters  which  I think 
should  be  suddenly  amended ; but  since  they 
are  sins  of  omission  only,  I shall  not  make  re- 
marks upon  them  until  I find  the  delinquents 
persist  in  their  errors ; and  the  inserting  the 
letters  themselves,  shall  be  all  their  present  ad- 
monition. 

‘ October  10. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Several,  that  frequent 
divine  service  at  St.  Paul’s,  as  well  as  myself,  | 
having,  with  great  satisfaction,  observed  the  : 
good  eflEect  which  your  animadversion  had  on  ^ 
an  excess  in  performance  there  ; it  is  requested,  j 
that  you  will  take  notice  of  a contrary  fault,  ! 
which  is,  the  unconcerned  silence  and  the  mo-  j 
tionless  postures  of  others  who  come  thither.  [ 
If  this  custom  prevails,  the  congregation  will  I 
resemble  an  audience  at  a play-house,  or,  rather,  j 
a silent  meeting  of  quakers.  Your  censuring  , 
such  church-mutes,  in  the  manner  you  think 
fit,  may  make  these  dissenters  join  with  us,  out 
of  fear  lest  you  should  further  animadvert  upon 
their  non-conformity.  According  as  this  suc- 
ceeds, you  shall  hear  from,  sir,  your  most  hum- 
ble servant,  B.  B.’ 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I was  the  other  day  in 
company  with  a gentleman,  who,  on  reciting 
his  own  qualifications,  concluded  every  period 
with  these  words,  the  best  of  any  man  in  Eng- 
land. Thus,  for  example:  he  kept  the  best 
house  of  any  man  in  England  ; he  understood 
this,  and  that,  and  the  other,  the  best  of  any 
man  in  England.  How  harsh  and  ungrateful 
soever  this  expression  might  sound  to  one  of 
my  nation,  yet  the  gentleman  was  one  whom 
it  no  ways  became  me  to  interrupt ; but  perhaps 
a new  term  put  into  his  by-words  (as  they  call 
a sentence  a man  particularly  affects)  may  cure 
him.  I therefore  took  a resolution  to  apply  to 
you,  who,  I dare  say,  can  easily  persuade  this 
gentleman,  whom  I cannot  believe  an  enemy 
to  the  union,  to  mend  his  phrase,  and  be  here- 
after the  wisest  of  any  man  in  Great  Britain.  I 
am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

‘ SCOTO-BRITANUS.’ 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas,  Mr.  Humphrey  Trelooby,  wearing 
his  own  hair,  a pair  of  buck-skin  breeches,  a 
hunting-whip,  with  a new  pair  of  spurs,  has 
complained  to  the  Censor,  that  on  Thursday 
last  he  was  defrauded  of  half  a crown,  under 
pretence  of  a duty  to  the  sexton  for  seeing  the 
3 D 


Cathedral  of  St.  Paul,  London : it  is  hereby  or- 
dered, that  none  hereafter  require  above  six- 
pence of  any  country  gentleman  under  the  age 
of  twenty-five  for  that  liberty ; and  that  all 
which  shall  be  received  above  the  said  sum,  ol 
any  person,  for  beholding  the  inside  of  that  sa- 
cred edifice,  be  forthwith  paid  to  Mr.  John  Mor- 
phew,  for  the  use  of  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  under  pain 
of  further  censure  on  the  above-mentioned  ex- 
tortion. 


No.  242.]  Thursday,  October  26,  1710. 


-Q.uis  iniquoe 


Tam  patiens  urbis,  tarn  ferreus  ut  teneat  se? 

Juv.  Sat.  i.  30. 

To  view  so  lewd  a town,  and  to  refrain, 

Wliat  hoops  of  iron  could  my  spleen  contain. 

Dryden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  25. 

It  was  with  very  great  displeasure  I heard 
this  day  a man  say  of  a companion  of  his,  with 
an  air  of  approbation,  ‘ You  know  Tom  never 
fails  of  saying  a spiteful  thing.  lie  has  a great 
deal  of  wit,  but  satire  is  his  particular  talent. 
Did  you  mind  how  he  put  the  young  fellow  out 
of  countenance  that  pretended  to  talk  to  him  V 
Such  impertinent  applauses,  which  one  meets 
with  every  day,  put  me  upon  considering,  what 
true  raillery  and  satire  were  in  themselves  ; and 
this,  rnethought,  occurred  to  me  from  reflection 
upon  the  great  and  excellent  persons  that  were 
admired  for  talents  this  way.  When  I had  run 
over  several  such  in  my  thoughts,  I concluded, 
however  unaccountable  the  assertion  might  ap- 
pear at  first  sight,  that  good-nature  was  an  es- 
sential quality  in  a satirist,  and  that  all  the 
sentiments  wliich  are  beautiful  in  this  way  of 
writing,  must  proceed  from  that  quality  in  the 
author.  Good-nature  produces  a disdain  of  all 
baseness,  vice,  and  folly  ; which  prompts  them 
to  express  themselves  with  smartness  against 
the  errors  of  men,  without  bitterness  towards 
their  persons.  This  quality  keeps  the  mind  in 
equanimity,  and  never  lets  an  offence  unsea- 
sonably throw  a man  out  of  his  character. 
When  Virgil  said,  ‘he  that  did  not  hate  Bavius 
might  love  Mievius,’  he  was  in  perfect  good  hu- 
mour ; and  was  not  so  much  moved  at  their  ab- 
surdities, as  passionately  to  call  them  sots,  or 
blockheads  in  a direct  invective,  but  laughed  at 
them  with  a delicacy  of  scorn,  without  any 
mixture  of  anger. 

The  best  good  man  with  the  worst-natur’d  muse, 
was  the  character  among  us  of  a gentleman  as 
famous  for  his  humanity  as  his  wit.^ 

The  ordinary  subjects  for  satire  are  such  as 
incite  the  greatest  indignation  in  the  best  tem- 
pers, and  consequently  men  of  such  a make  are 
the  best  qualified  for  speaking  of  the  offences 
in  human  life.  These  men  can  behold  vice  and 
folly,  when  they  injure  persons  to  whom  they 
are  wholly  unacquainted,  with  the  same  severity 
as  others  resent  the  ills  they  do  to  themselves. 

* This  was  said  by  the  earl  of  Rochester,  of  the  cele- 
brated lord  Buckhurst,  afterwards  earl  of  Dorset.  It 
is  said  likewise  of  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  ‘ that  he  liked  an  ill- 
natured  jest  the  best  of  any  good-natured  man  in  the 
kingdom.’ 


394 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  243. 


A good-natured  man  cannot  see  an  overbearing 
fellow  put  a bashful  man  of  merit  out  of  coun- 
tenance, or  outstrip  him  in  the  pursuit  of  any 
advantage,  but  he  is  on  fire  to  succour  the 
oppressed,  to  produce  the  merit  of  the  one,  and 
confront  the  impudence  of  the  other. 

The  men  of  the  greatest  character  in  this 
kind  were  Horace  and  Juvenal.  There  is  not, 
that  I remember,  one  ill-natured  expression  in 
all  their  writings,  nor  one  sentence  of  severity, 
which  does  not  apparently  proceed  from  the  con- 
trary disposition.  Whoever  reads  them,  will, 
I believe,  be  of  this  mind  ; and  if  they  were 
read  with  this  view,  it  might  possibly  persuade 
our  young  fellows,  that  they  may  be  very  witty 
men  without  speaking  ill  of  any  but  those  who 
deserve  it.  But,  in  the  perusal  of  these  writers, 
it  may  not  be  unnecessary  to  consider,  that  they 
lived  in  very  different  times.  Horace  was  in- 
timate with  a prince  of  the  greatest  goodness 
and  humanity  imaginable,  and  his  court  was 
formed  after  his  example  : therefore  the  faults 
that  poet  falls  upon,  were  little  inconsistencies 
in  behaviour,  false  pretences  to  politeness,  or 
impertinent  affectations  of  what  men  were  not 
fit  for.  Vices  of  a coarser  sort  could  not  come 
under  his  consideration,  or  enter  the  palace  of 
Augustus.  Juvenal,  on  the  other  hand,  lived 
under  Domitian,  in  whose  reign  every  thing 
that  was  great  and  noble  was  banished  the  habi- 
tations of  the  men  in  power.  Therefore  he  at- 
tacks vice  as  it  passes  by  in  triumph,  not  as  it 
breaks  into  conversation.  The  fall  of  empire, 
contempt  of  glory,  and  a general  degeneracy  of 
manners,  are  before  his  eyes  in  all  his  writings. 
In  the  days  of  Augustus,  to  have  talked  like 
Juvenal,  had  been  madness;  or  in  those  of  Do- 
milian,  like  Horace.  Morality  and  virtue  are 
every  where  recommended  in  Horace,  as  became 
a man  in  a polite  court,  from  the  beauty,  the 
propriety,  the  convenience  of  pursuing  them. 
Vice  and  corruption  are  attacked  by  Juvenal  in 
a style  which  denotes,  he  fears  he  shall  not 
be  heard  without  he  calls  to  them  in  their  own 
language,  with  a barefaced  mention  of  the  vil- 
lanies  and  obscenities  of  his  contemporaries. 

This  accidental  talk  of  these  two  great  men, 
carries  me  from  my  design,  which  was  to  tell 
some  coxcombs  that  run  about  this  towm  with 
the  name  of  smart  satirical  fellows,  that  they 
are  by  no  means  qualified  for  the  characters  they 
pretend  to,  of  being  severe  upon  other  men  ; for 
they  want  good-nature.  There  is  no  foundation 
in  them  for  arriving  at  what  they  aim  at ; and 
they  may  as  well  pretend  to  flatter  as  rally 
agreeably,  without  being  good-natured. 

There  is  a certain  impartiality  necessary  to 
make  what  a man  says  bear  any  weight- with 
those  he  speaks  to.  This  quality,  with  respect 
to  men’s  errors  and  vices,  is  never  seen  but  in 
good-natured  men.  They  have  ever  such  a 
frankness  of  mind,  and  benevolence  to  all  men, 
that  they  cannot  receive  impressions  of  unkind- 
ness without  mature  deliberation  ; and  writing 
or  speaking  ill  of  a man  upon  personal  consi- 
derations, is  so  irreparable  and  mean  an  injury, 
that  no  one  possessed  of  this  quality  is  capable 
of  doing  it : but  in  all  ages  there  have  been  in- 
terpreters to  authors  w'hen  living,  of  the  same 
genius  with  the  commentators  into  whose  hands 


they  fall  when  dead.  I dare  say  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  any  man  of  more  wit  than  one  of  these 
to  take  any  of  the  four-and-twenty  letters,  and 
form  out  of  them  a name  to  describe  the  cha- 
racter of  a vicious  man  with  greater  life,  but 
one  of  these  would  immediately  cry,  ‘ Mr.  Such- 
a-one  is  meant  in  that  place.’  But  the  truth  of 
it  is,  satirists  describe  the  age,  and  backbiters 
assign  their  descriptions  to  private  men. 

In  all  terms  of  reproof,  when  the  sentenee  ap- 
pears to  arise  from  personal  hatred  or  passion, 
it  is  not  then  made  the  cause  of  mankind,  but  a 
misunderstanding  between  tw’o  persons.  For 
this  reason  the  representations  of  a good-natured 
man  bear  a pleasantry  in  them,  which  shows 
there  is  no  malignity  at  heart,  and  by  conse- 
quence, they  are  attended  to  by  his  hearers  or 
readers,  because  they  are  unprejudiced.  This 
deference  is  only  what  is  due  to  him  ; for  no 
man  thoroughly  nettled  can  say  a thing  ge- 
neral enough,  to  pass  off  with  the  air  of  an 
opinion  declared,  and  not  a passion  gratified.  I 
remember  a humorous  fellow  at  Oxford,  when 
he  heard  any  one  had  spoken  ill  of  him,  used  to 
say,  ‘ I will  not  take  my  revenge  of  him  until  I 
have  forgiven  him.’  What  he  meant  by  this 
was,  that  he  would  not  enter  upon  this  subject 
until  it  was  grown  as  indifferent  to  him  as  any 
other  : and  I have  by  this  rule,  seen  him  more 
than  once  triumph  over  his  adversary  with  an 
inimitable  spirit  and  humour;  for  he  came  to 
the  assault  against  a man  full  of  sore  places,  and 
he  himself  invulnerable. 

There  is  no  possibility  of  succeeding  in  a sa- 
tirical way  of  writing  or  speaking,  except  a man 
throws  himself  quite  out  of  the  question.  It  is 
great  vanity  to  think  any  one  will  attend  to  a 
thing,  because  it  is  your  quarrel.  You  must 
make  your  satire  the  concern  of  society  in  ge- 
neral if  you  would  have  it  regarded.  When  it 
is  so,  the  good-nature  of  a man  of  wit  will 
prompt  him  to  many  brisk  and  disdainful  senti- 
ments and  replies,  to  which  all  the  malice  in  the 
world  will  not  be  able  to  repartee. 


No.  243.]  Saturday,  October  28,  1710. 

Infert  se  septus  nebula,  mirabile  dictu ! 

Per  medios,  miscelque  viris,  neque  cernitur  ulli. 

rirg.  iEn.  i.  443. 

Conceal’d  in  clouds,  prodigious  to  relate  ! 

He  mix’d,  unmark’d,  among  the  busy  throng, 

and  pass’d  unseen  along. 

Dry  den. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  October  27. 

I H.WE  somewhere  made  mention  of  Gyges’s 
ring ; and  intimated  to  my  reader,  that  it  was 
at  present  in  my  possession,  though  I have  not 
since  made  any  use  of  it.  The  tradition  con- 
cerning this  ring  is  very  romantic,  and  taken 
notice  of  both  by  Plato  and  Tully,  who  each  of 
them  make  an  admirable  use  of  it  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  morality.  This  Gyges  was  the 
master  shepherd  to  king  Candaules.  As  he  was 
wandering  over  the  plains  of  Lydia,  he  saw  a 
great  chasm  in  the  earth,  and  had  the  curiosity 
to  enter  it.  After  having  descended  pretty  far 
into  it,  he  found  the  statue  of  a horse  in  brass, 


No.  243.] 


THE  TATLER. 


395 


with  doors  in  the  sides  of  it.  Upon  opening 
them,  he  found  the  body  of  a dead  man,  bigger 
than  ordinary,  with  a ring  upon  his  finger,  which 
he  took  off,  and  put  it  upon  liis  own.  The  virtues 
of  it  were  much  greater  than  he  at  first  ima- 
gined ; for,  upon  his  going  into  the  assembly  of 
shepherds,  he  observed,  tliat  he  was  invisible 
when  he  turned  the  stone  of  the  ring  within  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  and  visible  when  he  turned  it 
towards  his  company.  Had  Plato  and  Cicero 
been  as  well  versed  in  the  occult  sciences  as  I 
am,  they  would  have  found  a great  deal  of  mys- 
tic learning  in  this  tradition  : but  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  an  adept  to  be  understood  by  one  who  is 
not  an  adept. 

As  for  myself,  I have,  with  much  study  and 
application,  arrived  at  this  great  secret  of  making 
myself  invisible,  and  by  that  means  conveying 
myself  where  I please  ; or,  to  speak  in  Rosi- 
crucian  lore,  I have  entered  into  the  clifts  of 
the  earth,  discovered  the  brazen  horse,  and  rob- 
bed the  dead  giant  of  his  ring.  The  tradition 
says  further  of  Gyges,  that  by  the  means  of 
this  ring  he  gained  admission  into  the  most  re- 
tired parts  of  the  court,  and  made  such  use  of 
those  opportunities,  that  he  at  length  became 
king  of  Lydia.  For  my  own  part,  I,  who  have 
always  rather  endeavoured  to  improve  my  mind 
than  my  fortune,  have  turned  this  ring  to  no 
other  advantage,  than  to  get  a thorough  insight 
into  the  ways  of  men,  and  to  make  such  obser- 
vations upon  the  errors  of  others,  as  may  be  use- 
ful to  the  public,  whatever  effect  they  may  have 
upon  myself. 

About  a week  ago,  not  being  able  to  sleep,  I 
got  up,  and  put  on  my  magical  ring  ; and,  with 
a thought,  transported  myself  into  a chamber 
where  I saw  a light.  I found  it  inhabited  by  a 
celebrated  beauty,  though  she  is  of  that  species 
of  women  which  we  call  a slattern.  Her  head- 
dress and  one  of  her  shoes  lay  upon  a chair,  her 
petticoat  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  her  gir- 
dle, that  had  a copy  of  verses  made  upon  it  but 
the  day  before,  with  her  thread  stockings,  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor.  I was  so  foolishly  offi- 
cious, that  I could  not  forbear  gathering  up  her 
clothes  together,  to  lay  them  upon  the  chair  that 
stood  by  her  bed-side  ; when,  to  my  great  sur- 
prise, after  a little  muttering,  she  cried  out, 

‘ What  do  you  do  ? Let  my  petticoat  alone.’  I 
was  startled  at  first,  but  soon  found  that  she 
was  in  a dream  ; being  one  of  those  who,  to 
use  Shakspeare’s  expression,  ‘ are  so  loose  of 
thought,’  that  they  utter  in  their  sleep  every 
thing  that  passes  in  their  imagination.  I left 
the  apartment  of  this  female  rake,  and  went  into 
her  neighbour’s,  where  there  lay  a male  co- 
quette. He  had  a bottle  of  salts  hanging  over 
his  head,  and  upon  the  table  by  his  bed-side 
Suckling’s  poems,  with  a little  heap  of  black 
patches  on  it.  His  snuff-box  was  within  reach 
on  a chair  : but,  while  I was  admiring  the  dis- 
position which  he  made  of  the  several  parts  of 
his  dress,  his  slumber  seemed  interrupted  by  a 
pang  that  was  accompanied  by  a sudden  oath, 
as  he  turned  himself  over  hastily  in  his  bed.  I 
did  not  care  for  seeing  him  in  his  nocturnal 
pains,  and  left  the  room. 

I was  no  sooner  got  into  another  bed-chamber. 


but  I heard  very  harsh  words  uttered  in  a smooth 
uniform  tone.  I was  amazed  to  hear  so  great 
a volubility  in  reproach,  and  thought  it  too  co- 
herent to  be  spoken  by  one  asleep  ; but,  upon 
looking  nearer,  I saw  the  head-dress  of  the  per- 
son who  spoke,  which  showed  her  to  be  a fe- 
male, with  a inan  lying  by  her  side  broad 
awake,  and  as  quiet  as  a lamb.  I could  not  but 
admire  Ins  exemplary  patience,  and  discovered 
by  his  whole  behaviour,  that  he  was  then  lying 
under  the  discipline  of  a curtain-lecture. 

I was  entertained  in  many  other  places  with 
this  kind  of  nocturnal  eloquence  ; but  observed, 
that  most  of  those  whom  I found  awake,  were 
kept  so  either  by  envy  or  by  love.  Some  of 
these  were  sighing,  and  others  cursing  in  soli- 
loquy ; some  hugged  their  pillows,  and  others 
gnashed  their  teeth. 

The  covetous  I likewise  found  to  be  a very 
wakeful  people.  I happened  to  come  into  a 
room  where  one  of  them  lay  sick.  His  physician 
and  his  wife  were  in  close  whisper  near  his 
bed-side.  I overheard  the  doctor  say  to  the 
poor  gentlewoman,  ‘ he  cannot  possibly  live 
until  five  in  the  morning.’  She  received  it 
like  the  mistress  of  a family,  prepared  for  all 
events.  At  the  same  instant  came  in  a servant- 
maid,  who  said,  ‘ Madam,  the  undertaker  is  be- 
low, according  to  your  order.’  The  words  were 
scarce  out  of  her  mouth,  when  the  sick  man 
cried  out  with  a feeble  voice,  ‘ Pray,  doctor,  how 
went  bank-stock  to-day  at  ’Change  ?’  This  me- 
lancholy object  made  me  too  serious  for  divert- 
ing myself  further  this  way.  As  I was  going 
home,  I saw  a light  in  a garret,  and  entering 
into  it,  heard  a voice  crying,  and,  havd,  stand, 
hand,  fanned,  tanned.  I concluded  him  by  this, 
and  the  furniture  of  his  room,  to  be  a lunatic ; 
but,  upon  listening  a little  longer,  perceived  it 
was  a poet,  writing  a heroic  upon  the  ensuing 
peace.* 

It  was  now  towards  morning,  an  hour  when 
spirits,  witches,  and  conjurers,  are  obliged  to 
retire  to  their  own  apartments,  and,  feeling  the 
influence  of  it,  I was  hastening  home,  when  I 
saw  a man  had  got  half  way  into  a neighbour’s 
house.  I immediately  called  to  him,  and  turn- 
ing my  ring,  appeared  in  my  proper  person. 
There  is  something  magisterial  in  the  aspect  of 
the  Bickerstaffs,  which  made  him  run  away  in 
confusion. 

As  I took  a turn  or  two  in  my  own  lodging, 

I was  thinking  that,  old  as  I was,  I need  not  go 
to  bed  alone,  but  that  it  was  in  my  power  to 
marry  the  finest  lady  in  this  kingdom,  if  I would 
wed  her  with  this  ring.  For  what  a figure 
would  she  that  should  have  it  make  at  a visit, 
with  so  perfect  a knowledge  as  this  would  give 
her  of  all  the  scandal  in  the  town  ? But,  instead 
of  endeavouring  to  dispose  of  myself  and  it  in 
matrimony,  I resolved  to  lend  it  to  my  loving 
friend,  the  author  of  the  ‘ Atalantis,’t  to  furnish 
a new  ‘Secret  History  of  Secret  Memoirs.’ 


* The  person  alluded  to  here  was  perliaps  Mr.  Thomas 
Tickell,  who  probably  lived  at  this  time  under  Addison’s 
roof ; and  is  supposed  to  have  been  mentioned  before, 
under  the  name  of  Tom  Spindle.  See  Tat.  No.  47. 

t Mrs.  De  la  Riviere  Manley.  See  Tat.  No.  35,  and 
No.  63, 


396 


THE  TATLER. 


No.  244.]  Tuesday^  October  31,  1710. 

Q.uid  voveat  dulci  nutricula  majus  alumno, 

Quain  sapsre,  et  fari  ut  possit  qua;  sentiat  ? — 

Hor.  1 Ep.  iv.  8. 

What  can  the  fondest  mother  wish  for  more, 

Ev’n  for  her  darling  son,  than  solid  sense, 
Perceptions  clear,  and  flowing  eloquence  ? 

R.  Wynne. 

Will's  Coffee-house.,  October  30. 

It  is  no  easy  matter,  when  people  are  ad- 
vancing in  any  thing,  to  prevent  their  going  too 
fast  for  want  of  patience.  This  happens  in  no- 
thing more  frequently  than  in  the  prosecution  of 
studies.  Hence  it  is,  that  we  meet  crowds  who 
attempt  to  be  eloquent  before  they  can  speak. 
They  affect  the  flowers  of  rhetoric  before  they 
understand  the  parts  of  speech.  In  the  ordinary 
conversation  of  this  town,  there  are  so  many 
who  can,  as  they  call  it,  talk  well,  that  there  is 
not  one  in  tw^enty  that  talks  to  be  understood. 
This  proceedsU'rom  an  ambition  to  exeel,  or,  as 
the  term  is,  to  shine  in  company.  The  matter 
is  not  to  make  themselves  understood,  but  ad- 
mired. Tliey  come  togetlier  with  a certain  emu- 
lation, rather  than  benevolence.  When  you  fall 
among  such  companions,  the  safe  way  is  to  give 
yourself  up,  a’nd  let  the  orators  declaim  for  your 
esteem,  and  trouble  yourself  no  further.  It  is 
said,  that  a poet  must  be  born  so ; but  I think 
it  may  be  much  better  said  of  an  orator,  espe- 
cially when  we  talk  of  our  town  poets  and  ora- 
tors : but  the  town  poets  are  full  of  rules  and 
laws;  the  town  orators  go  through  thick  and 
thin,  and  are,  forsooth,  persons  of  such  eminent 
natural  parts,  and  knowledge  of  the  wmrld,  that 
they  despise  all  men  as  unexperienced  scholas- 
tics, who  v/aitfor  an  occasion  before  they  speak, 
or  who  speak  no  more  than  is  necessary.  They 
had  half  persuaded  me  to  go  to  the  tavern  the 
other  night,  but  that  a gentleman  whispered  me, 

‘ Pr’ythee,  Isaac,  go  with  us;  there  is  Tom  Var- 
nish will  be  there,  and  he  is  a fellow  that  talks 
as  well  as  any  man  in  England.’ 

I must  confess,  when  a man  expresses  him- 
self w^ell  upon  any  occasion,  and  his  falling  into 
an  account  of  any  subject  arises  from  a desire 
to  oblige  the  company,  or  from  fulness  of  the 
circumstance  itself,  so  that  his  speaking  of  it 
at  large  is  occasioned  only  by  the  openness  of  a 
companion  ; I say,  in  such  a case  as  this,  it  is 
not  only  pardonable,  but  agreeable,  when  a man 
takes  the  discourse  to  himself;  but  when  you 
see  a fellow  watch  for  opportunities  for  being 
copious,  it  is  excessively  troublesome.  A man 
that  stammers,  if  he  has  understanding,  is  to  be 
attended  to  with  patience  and  good-nature  ; but 
he  that  speaks  more  than  he  needs,  has  no  right 
to  such  an  indulgence.  The  man  who  has  a de- 
fect in  his  speech  takes  pains  to  come  to  you, 
while  a man  of  weak  capacity,  with  fluency  of 
speech,  triumphs  in  outrunning  you.  The  stam- 
merer strives  to  be  fit  for  your  company  ; the 
loquacious  man  endeavours  to  show  you,  you 
are  not  fit  for  his. 

With  thoughts  of  this  kind  do  I always  enter 
Into  that  man’s  company  who  is  recommended 
as  a person  that  talks  well ; but  if  I were  to 


[No.  244.  [» 

choose  the  people  with  whom  I would  spend  my  ! 
hours  of  conversation,  they  should  be  certainly  | 
such  as  laboured  no  farther  than  to  make  them-  t 
selves  readily  and  clearly  apprehended,  and  ; 
would  have  patience  and  curiosity  to  under-  > 
stand  me.  To  have  good  sense,  and  ability  to  i 
express  it,  are  the  most  essential  and  neces-  > 
sary  qualities  in  companions.  When  thoughts  ■ 
rise  in  us  fit  to  utter,  among  familiar  friends 
there  needs  but  very  little  care  in  clothing 
them. 

Urbanus  is,  I take  it,  a man  one  might  live 
with  whole  years,  and  enjoy  all  the  freedom  and 
improvement  imaginable,  and  yet  be  insensible 
of  a contradiction  to  you  in  all  the  mistakes  you 
can  be  guilty  of.  His  great  good-wull  to  his 
friends,  has  produced  in  him  such  a general  de- 
ference in  his  discourse,  that  if  he  differs  from 
you  in  his  sense  of  any  thing,  he  introduces  his 
own  thoughts  by  some  agreeable  circumlocu- 
tion ; or,  ‘ he  has  often  observed  such  and  such 
a circumstance  that  made  him  of  another  opi- 
nion.’ Again,  where  another  would  be  apt  to 
say,  ‘ this  I am  confident  of,  I may  pretend  to 
judge  of  this  matter  as  well  as  any  body  ;’  Ur- 
banus says,  ‘ I am  verily  persuaded  ; I believe 
one  may  conclude.’  In  a word,  tliere  is  no  man 
more  clear  in  his  thoughts  and  expressions  than 
he  is,  or  speaks  with  greater  diffidence.  You 
shall  hardly  find  one  man  of  any  consideration, 
but  you  shall  observe  one  of  less  consequence 
form  himself  after  him.  This  happens  to  Urba- 
nus; but  the  man  who  steals  from  him  almost 
every  sentiment  he  utters  in  a whole  week,  dis- 
guises the  theft  by  carrying  it  with  a quite  dif- 
ferent air.  Un)bratilis  knows  Urbanus’s  doubt- 
ful way  of  speaking  proceeds  from  good-nature 
and  good-breeding,  and  not  from  uncertainty  in 
his  opinions.  Umbratilis,  therefor  e,  has  no  more 
to  do  but  to  repeat  the  thoughts  of  Urbanus  in  a 
positive  manner,  and  appear  to  the  undiscerning 
a wuser  man  than  the  person  from  whom  ha 
borrows : but  those  w'ho  know  him,  can  see  the 
servant  in  his  master’s  habit ; and  the  more  he 
struts,  the  less  do  his  clothes  appear  his  owm. 

In  conversation,  the  medium  is  neither  to  af- 
fect silence  or  eloquence ; not  to  value  our  ap- 
probation, and  to  endeavour  to  excel  us  who  are 
of  your  company,  are  equal  injuries.  The  great 
enemies  therefore  to  good  company,  and  those 
who  transgress  most  against  the  laws  of  equality 
which  is  the  life  of  it,  are,  the  clown,  the  wit, 
and  the  pedant.  A clown,  when  he  has  sense, 
is  conscious  of  his  want  of  education,  and  w’ith 
an  awkward  bluntness,  hopes  to  keep  himself  in 
countenance  by  overthrowing  the  use  of  all  po-  < 
lite  behaviour.  He  takes  advantage  of  the  re- 
straint good-breeding  lays  upon  others  not  to 
offend  him,  to  trespass  against  them,  and  is  un- 
der the  man’s  own  shelter  while  he  intrudes  up- 
on him.  The  fellows  of  this  class  are  very  fre- 
quent  in  the  repetition  of  the  words  rough  and 
manly.  When  these  people  happen  to  be  by 
their  fortunes  of  the  rank  of  gentlemen,  they 
defend  their  other  absurdities  by  an  impertinent 
courage  ; and,  to  help  out  the  defect  of  their  be- 
haviour, add  their  being  dangerous  to  their  be- 
ing disagreeable.  This  gentleman  (though  he 
displeases,  professes  to  do  so  ; and  knowing  that 
he  dares  still  go  on  to  do  so)  is  not  so  painful  a t 


No.  245.] 


THE  TATLER. 


397 


companion,  as  he  who  will  please  you  against 
your  will,  and  resolves  to  be  a wit. 
j This  man,  upon  all  occasions,  and  whoever  he 
I falls  in  company  with,  talks  in  the  same  circle, 
j and  in  the  same  round  of  chat  which  he  has 
I learned  at  one  of  the  tables  of  this  coffee-house, 
j As  poetry  is  in  itself  an  elevation  above  ordina- 
I ry  and  common  sentiments;  so  there  is  no  fop 
so  very  near  a madman  in  indifferent  company 
j as  a poetical  one.  He  is  not  apprehensive  that 
j the  generality  of  the  world  are  intent  upon  the 
I business  of  their  own  fortune  and  profession, 
and  have  as  little  capacity  as  curiosity  to  enter 
into  matters  of  ornament  or  speculation.  I re- 
member at  a full  table  in  the  city,  one  of  tiiese 
ubiquitary  wits  was  entertaining  the  company 
i with  a soliloquy,  for  so  I call  it  when  a man 
talks  to  those  who  do  not  understand  him,  con- 
cerning wit  and  humour.  An  honest  gentleman 
who  sat  next  to  me,  and  was  worth  half  a plumb, 
stared  at  him,  and  observing  there  was  some 
; sense,  as  he  thought,  mixed  with  his  imperti- 
; nence,  whispered  me,  ‘Take  my  word  for  it, 

' this  fellow  is  more  knave  than  fool.’  This  was 
f all  my  good  friend’s  applause  of  the  wittiest  man 
I of  talk  that  I was  ever  present  at,  w'hich  wanted 
I nothing  to  make  it  excellent,  but  that  there  was 
j no  occasion  for  it. 

The  pedant  is  so  obvious  to  ridicule,  that  it 
would  be  to  be  one  to  offer  to  explain  him.  He 
is  a gentleman  so  well  known,  that  there  is  none 
but  those  of  his  own  class  who  do  not  laugh  at 
and  avoid  him.  Pedantry  proceeds  from  much 
reading  and  little  understanding.  A pedant 
among  men  of  learning  and  sense,  is  like  an 
I ignorant  servant  giving  an  account  of  a polite 
conversation.  You  may  find  he  has  brought 
with  him  more  than  could  have  entered  into  his 
head  without  being  there,  but  still  that  he  is  not 
a bit  wiser  than  if  he  had  not  been  there  at  all. 


No.  245.]  Thursday,  November  2,  1710. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  1. 

The  lady  hereafter-mentioned,  having  come 
to  me  in  very  great  haste,  and  paid  me  much 
above  the  usual  fee,  as  a cunning-rnan,  to  find 
her  stolen  goods,  and  also  having  approved  my 
late  discourse  of  advertisements,  obliged  me  to 
draw  up  this,  and  insert  it  in  the  body  of  mv 
paper. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 


eight  night-shifts,  four  pair  of  silk  stockings  cu- 
riously darned,  six  pair  of  laced  shoes,  new  and 
old,  with  the  heels  of  half  two  inches  higher 
than  their  fellows;  a quilted  petticoat  of  the 
largest  size,  and  one  of  canvas  with  whale-bone 
hoops  ; three  pair  of  stays,  bolstered  below  the 
left  shoulder,  two  pair  of  hips  of  the  newest 
fashion,  six  round-about  aprons  with  pockets, 
and  four  striped  muslin  night-rails  very  little 
frayed  ; a silver  pot  for  coffee  or  chocolate,  the 
lid  much  bruised  ; a broad  brimmed  fiat  silver 
plate  for  sugar  with  Rhenish  wine ; a silver  la- 
dle for  plumb-porridge  ; a silver  cheese-toaster 
with  three  tongues,  an  ebony  handle,  and  sil- 
vering at  the  end  ; a silver  posnet  to  butter  eggs; 
one  caudle  and  two  cordial-water  cups,  two 
cocoa-cups,  and  an  ostrich’s  egg,  with  rims  and 
feet  of  silver,  a marrow-spoon  wnth  a scoop  at 
the  other  end,  a silver  orange-strainer,  eight 
sweet-meat  spoons  made  with  forks  at  the  end, 
an  agate  handle  knife  and  fork  in  a sheath,  a 
silver  tongue-scraper,  a silver  tobacco-box,  wuth 
a tulip  graved  on  the  top;  and  a bible  bound  in 
shagreen,  with  gilt  leaves  and  clasps,  never 
opened  but  once.  Also  a small  cabinet,  with 
six  drawers  inlaid  with  red  tortoise-shell,  and 
brass  gilt  ornaments  at  the  four  corners,  in 
which  were  two  leather  forehead-cloths,  three 
pair  of  oiled  dog-sldn  gloves,  seven  calces  of 
superfine  Spanish  wool,  half-a-dozen  of  Portugal 
dishes,  and  a (]uire  of  paper  from  thence  ; two 
pair  of  bran-new  plumpers,  four  black-lead 
combs,  three  pair  of  fashionable  eye-brows,  two 
sets  of  ivory  teeth,  little  the  worse  for  w'earing, 
and  one  pair  of  box  for  common  use  ; Adam 
and  Eve  in  bugle  work,  without  hg-leaves,  upon 
canvas,  curiously  wrouglit  with  her  ladyship’s 
own  hand ; several  filligrane  curiosities ; a 
crotchet  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-two  dia- 
monds, set  strong  and  . deep  in  silver,  with  a 
rump-jewel  after  the  same  fashion;  bracelets  of 
braided  hair,  pomander  and  seed-pearl ; a large 
old  purple  velvet  purse,  embroidered,  and  shut- 
ting with  a spring,  containing  two  pictures  in 
miniature,  the  features  visible ; a broad  thick 
gold  ring  with  a hand-in-hand  engraved  upon  it, 
and  within  this  poesy,  ‘While  life  does  last. 
I’ll  hold  thee  fast;’  another,  set  round  with 
small  rubies  and  sparks,  six  wanting;  another 
of  Turkey  stone,  cracked  through  the  middle; 
an  Elizabeth  and  four  Jacobus’s,  one  guinea, 
the  first  of  the  coin,  an  angel  with  a hole  bored 
through,  a broken  half  of  a Spanish  piece  of 
gold,  a crown  jiiece  with  the  breeches,  an  old 
nine-pence  bent  both  ways  by  Lilly  the  alma- 
nack maker,  for  luck  at  langteraloo,  and  twelve 
of  the  shells  called  blackmoor’s  teeth  ; one  small 
amber  box  with  apoplectic  balsam,  and  one  sil- 
ver gilt  of  a larger  size  for  cashu  and  carraway 
comfits,  to  be  taken  at  long  sermons,  the  lid 
enamelled,  representing  a cupid  fishing  for 
hearts,  with  a piece  of  gold  on  his  hook;  over 
his  head  this  rhyme,  ‘ Only  with  gold,  you  me 
shall  hold.’  In  the  lower  drawer  was  a large 
new  gold  repeating  watch  - made  by  a French- 
man ; a gold  chain,  and  all  the  proper  appurte- 
nances hung  upon  steel  swivels,  to  wit,  lockets 
with  the  hair  of  dead  and  living  lovers,  seals 
with  arms,  emblems,  and  devices  cut  in  corne- 
lian, a'gate,  and  onyx,  with  cupids,  hearts,  darts, 


Whereas  Bridget  Howd’ye,  late  servant  to  the 
Lady  Fardingale,  a short,  thick,  lively,  hard- 
favoured  wench  of  about  twenty-nine  years  of 
age,  her  eyes  small  and  bleared,  and  nose  very 
broad  at  bottom,  and  turning  up  at  the  end,  her 
mouth  wide,  and  lips  of  an  unusual  thickness, 
two  teeth  out  before,  the  rest  black  and  uneven, 
the  tip  of  her  left  ear  being  of  a mouse  colour, 
her  voice  loud  and  shrill,  quick  of  speech,  and 
something  of  a Welsh  accent,  withdrew  herself 
on  Wednesday  last  from  her  ladyship’s  dwell- 
ing-house, and,  with  the  help  of  her  consorts, 
carried  off  the  following  goods  of  her  said  ladv ; 
viz.  a thick  wadded  calico  ivrapper,  a musk- 
coloured  velvet  mantle  lined  with  squirrel  skins. 


398 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  246. 


altars,  flames,  rocks,  pickaxes,  roses,  thorns,  and 
sun-flowers  ; as  also  variety  of  ingenious  French 
mottos ; together  with  gold  etuys  for  quills, 
scissars,  needles,  thimbles,  and  a sponge  dipped 
in  Hungary  water,  left  but  the  night  before  by 
a young  lady  going  upon  a frolic  incog.  There 
was  also  a bundle  of  letters,  dated  between  the 
years  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  seventy, 
and  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  eighty-two, 
most  of  them  signed  Philander,  the  rest  Stre- 
phon,  Amyntas,  Cory  don,  and  Adonis;  together 
with  a collection  of  receipts  to  make  paste  for 
the  hands,  pomatums,  lip-salves,  white-pots, 
beautifying  creams,  water  of  talc,  and  frog 
spawn  water ; decoctions  for  clearing  the  com- 
plexion, and  an  approved  medicine  to  procure 
abortion. 

Whoever  can  discover  the  aforesaid  goods,  so 
that  they  may  be  had  again,  shall  have  fifty 
guineas  for  the  whole,  or  proportionably  for  any 
part. 

N.  B.  Her  Ladyship  is  pleased  to  promise 
ten  pounds  for  the  pacquet  of  letters  over  and 
above,  or  five  for  Philander’s  only,  being  her  first 
love.  ‘ My  lady  bestows  those  of  Strephon  to 
the  finder,  being  so  written,  that  they  may  serve 
to  any  woman  who  reads  them.’ 

P.  S.  As  I am  a patron  of  persons  who  have 
no  other  friend  to  apply  to,  I cannot  suppress 
the  following  complaint : 

‘ Sir, — I am  a blackmoor  boy,  and  have,  by 
my  lady’s  order,  been  christened  by  the  chap- 
lain. The  good  man  has  gone  further  witli  me, 
and  told  me  a great  deal  of  good  news  ; as,  that  I 
am  as  good  as  my  lady  herself,  as  I am  a Chris- 
tian, and  many  other  things : but  for  all  this, 
the  parrot,  who  came  over  with  me  from  our 
country,  is  as  much  esteemed  by  her  as  I am. 
Besides  this,  the  shock-dog  has  a collar  that 
cost  almost  as  much  as  mine.  I desire  also  to 
know,  whether,  now  I am  a Christian,  I am 
obliged  to  dress  like  a Turk,  and  wear  a tur- 
bant — I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
‘POxMPEY.’ 


No.  246.]  Saturday.,  November  4,  1710. 

Vitiis  nemo  sine  nascitur  ; optimns  ille 

Q,ui  minimis  urgetur  Hor.  1 Sat.  iii.  68. 

We  have  all  our  vices,  and  tlie  best 

Is  he,  who  with  the  fewest  is  opprest. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment.,  November  3. 

When  one  considers  the  turn  which  conver- 
sation takes  in  almost  every  set  of  acquaintance, 
club,  or  assembly,  in  this  town  or  kingdom,  one 
cannot  but  observe,  that  in  spite  of  what  I am 
every  day  saying,  and  all  the  moral  writers 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world  have  said,  the 
subject  of  discourse  is  generally  upon  one  an- 
other’s faults.  This  in  a great  measure  pro- 
ceeds from  self-conceit,  which  were  to  be  en- 
dured in  one  or  other  individual  person  ; but 
the  folly  has  spread  itself  almost  over  all  the 
species ; and  one  cannot  only  say,  Tom,  Jack, 
or  Will,  but  in  general,  ‘ that  man  is  a cox- 


comb.’ From  this  source  it  is,  that  any  excel- 
lence is  faintly  received,  any  imperfection  un- 
mercifully exposed.  But  if  things  were  put  in 
a true  light,  and  we  would  lake  time  to  con- 
sider, that  man,  in  his  very  nature,  is  an  im- 
perfect being,  our  sense  of  this  matter  would 
be  immediately  altered,  and  the  word  imperfec- 
tion would  not  carry  an  unkinder  idea  than  the 
word  humanity.  It  is  a pleasant  story  that  we 
forsooth,  who  are  the  only  imperfect  creatures 
in  the  universe,  are  the  only  beings  that  will  not 
allow  of  imperfection.  Somebody  has  taken 
notice  that  we  stand  in  the  middle  of  existences, 
and  are  by  this  one  circumstance,  the  most  un- 
happy of  all  others.  The  brutes  are  guided  by 
instinct,  and  know  no  sorrow  ; the  angels  have 
knowledge,  and  they  are  happy ; but  men  are 
governed  by  opinion,  which  is  I know  not  what 
mixture  of  instinct  and  knowledge,  and  are 
neither  indolent  nor  happy.  It  is  very  observa- 
ble, that  critics  are  a people  between  the  learned 
and  the  ignorant,  and  by  that  situation  enjoy 
the  tranquillity’’  of  neither.  As  critics  stand 
among  men,  so  do  men  in  general  between 
brutes  and  angels.  Thus  every  man,  as  he  is 
a critic  and  a coxcomb,  until  improved  by  rea- 
son and  speculation,  is  ever  forgetting  himself, 
and  laying  open  the  faults  of  others. 

At  tlie  same  time  that  I am  talking  of  the 
cruelty  of  urging  people’s  faults  with  severity, 
I cannot  but  bewail  some  which  men  are  guilty 
of  for  want  of  admonition.  These  are  such  as 
they  can  easily  mend,  and  nobody  tells  them  of, 
for  which  reason  I shall  make  use  of  the  penny 
post  (as  I have  with  success  to  several  young 
ladies  about  turning  their  eyes,  and  holding  up 
their  heads)  to  certain  gentlemen,  whom  I re- 
mark habitually  guilty  of  what  they  may  re- 
form in  a moment.  There  is  a fat  fellow,  whom 
I have  long  remarked  wearing  his  breast  open 
in  the  midst  of  winter,  out  of  an  affectation  of 
youth.  I have  therefore  sent  him  just  now  the 
following  letter  in  my  physical  capacity  : 

‘ Sir, — From  the  twentieth  instant  to  the  first 
of  May  next,  both  days  inclusive,  I beg  of  you 
to  button  your  waistcoat  from  ymur  collar  to 
your  waistband.  I am  your  most  humble  ser- 
vant, 

‘ ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF,  Philomath.’ 

There  is  a very  handsome  well-shaped  youth 
that  frequents  the  coffee-houses  about  Charing- 
cross,  and  ties  a very  pretty  ribbon  with  a cross 
of  jewels  at  his  breast.*  This  being  something 
new,  and  a thing  in  which  the  gentleman  may 
offend  the  Heralds-office,  I have  addressed  my- 
self to  him  as  I am  Censor. 

‘ De.vr  Countryman, — Was  that  ensign  of 
honour  which  you  wear  given  you  by  a prince, 
or  a lady  that  you  have  served  ? If  you  bear  it 
as  an  absent  lover,  please  to  hang  it  on  a black 
ribbon  : if  as  a rewarded  soldier,  you  may  have 
my  license  to  continue  the  red. — Your  faithful 
servant, 

‘ BICKERSTAFF,  Censor.’ 

* Perhaps  the  prince  of  puppies,  Col.  Anibrose  Edjr- 
worth,  wlio  became  a madman,  and  died  in  Bridewell 
at  Dublin. 


No.  247.] 


THE  TATLER. 


399 


These  little  intimations  do  great  service,  and 
are  very  useful,  not  only  to  tlie  persons  them- 
selves, but  to  inform  others  how  to  conduct 
themselves  towards  them. 

Instead  of  this  honest  private  method,  or  a 
friendly  one  face  to  face,  of  acquainting  people 
with  things  in  their  power  to  explain  or  amend, 
the  usual  way  among  people  is  to  take  no  no- 
tice of  things  you  can  help,  and  nevertheless 
expose  you  tor  those  you  cannot. 

Plumbeus  and  Levis  are  constantly  in  each 
other’s  company  : they  would,  if  they  took  pro- 
per methods,  be  very  agreeable  companions ; 
but  they  so  extravagantly  aim  at  what  they  are 
unfit  for,  and  each  of  them  rallies  the  other  so 
much  in  the  wrong  place,  that  instead  of  doing 
each  other  the  offices  of  friends,  they  do  but  in- 
struct the  rest  of  the  world  to  laugh  at  them 
with  more  knowledge  and  skill,  Plumbeus  is 
of  a saturnine  and  sullen  complexion ; Levis  of 
a mercurial  and  airy  disposition.  Both  these 
gentlemen  have  but  very  slow  parts,  but  would 
make  a very  good  figure  did  they  pursue  what 
they  ought.  If  Plumbeus  would  take  to  busi- 
ness, he  would,  in  a few  years,  know  the  forms 
of  order  so  well  as  to  direct  and  dictate  with  so 
much  ease,  as  to  be  thought  a solid,  able,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  a sure  man  of  despatch.  Le- 
vis, with  a little  reading,  and  coming  more  into 
company,  would  soon  be  able  to  write  a song, 
or  lead  up  a country-dance.  Instead  of  these 
proper  pursuits,  in  obedience  to  their  respective 
geniuses,  Plumbeus  endeavours  to  be  a man  of 
pleasure,  and  Levis  the  man  of  business.  This 
appears  in  their  speech,  and  in  their  dress ; 
Plumbeus  is  ever  egregiously  fine,  and  talking 
something  like  wit ; Levis  is  ever  extremely 
grave,  and,  with  a silly  face,  repeating  maxims. 
These  two  pardon  each  other  for  aftecting  what 
each  is  incapable  of,  the  one  to  be  wise,  and  the 
other  gay ; but  are  extremely  critical  in  their 
judgments  of  each  other  in  their  way  towards 
what  they  pretend  to.  Plumbeus  acknowledges 
Levis  to  be  a man  of  great  reach,  because  it  is 
what  Plumbeus  never  cared  for  being  thought 
himself,  and  Levis  allows  Plumbeus  to  be  an 
agreeable  rake  for  the  same  reason.  Now, 
were  these  dear  friends  to  be  free  with  each 
other,  as  they  ought  to  be,  they  would  change 
characters,  and  be  both  as  commendable,  instead 
of  being  as  ridiculous,  as  their  capacities  will 
admit  of. 

Were  it  not  too  grave,  all  that  I would  urge 
on  this  subject  is,  that  men  are  bewildered  when 
they  considar  themselves  in  any  other  view  than 
that  of  strangers,  who  are  in  a place  where  it  is 
no  great  matter  whether  they  can,  or  unreason- 
able to  expect  they  should,  have  every  thing 
about  them  as  well  as  at  their  own  home.  This 
way  of  thinking  is,  perhaps,  the  only  one  that 
can  put  this  being  in  a proper  posture  for  the 
ease  of  society.  It  is  certain,  that  this  would 
reduce  all  faults  into  those  which  proceed  from 
malice,  or  dishonesty  : it  would  quite  change 
our  manner  of  beholding  one  another,  and  no- 
thing that  was  not  below  a man’s  nature,  would 
be  below  his  character.  The  arts  of  this  life 
would  be  proper  advances  towards  the  next ; 
and  a very  good  man  would  be  a very  fine  gen- 
tleman. As  it  is  now,  human  life  is  inverted. 


and  we  have  not  learned  half  the  knowledge  of 
this  world  before  we  are  dropping  into  another. 
Thus,  instead  of  the  raptures  and  contempla- 
tions which  naturally  attend  a well-spent  life 
from  the  approach  of  eternity,  even  we  old  fel- 
lows are  afraid  of  the  ridicule  of  those  who  are 
born  since  us,  and  ashamed  not  to  understand, 
as  well  as  peevish  to  resign,  the  mode,  the 
fashion,  the  ladies,  the  fiddles,  the  balls,  and 
what  not.  Dick  Reptile,  who  does  not  want 
humour,  is  very  pleasant  at  our  club  when  he 
sees  an  old  fellow  touchy  at  being  laughed  at  for 
anj’^  thing  that  is  not  in  the  mode  ; and  bawls 
in  his  ear,  ‘ Pr’ythee  do  not  mind  him ; tell 
him  thou  art  mortal.’ 


No.  247.]  Tuesday,  November  7,  1710. 

Edepol,  iiae  nos  sque  sumus  omnes  invisffi  viris 
Propter  paucas,  quse  omnes  faciunt  dignaj  at  videamur 
nialo.  Ter.  Plecyr.  II.  iii.  1. 

How  unjustly 

Do  liusbands  stretch  their  censure  to  all  wives 

For  the  oftences  of  a few,  whose  vices 

iletlect  dishonour  on  the  rest.  Colman. 

BY  MRS.  JENNY  DISTAFF,  HALF-SISTER  TO 
MR.  BICKERSTAFF. 

Fro?n  my  own  Apartment,  November  6. 

My  brother  having  written  the  above  piece 
of  Latin,  desired  me  to  take  care  of  the  rest  of 
the  ensuing  paper.  Towards  this  he  bid  me 
answer  the  following  letter,  and  said,  nothing  I 
could  write  properly  on  the  subject  of  it  would 
be  disagreeable  to  the  motto.  It  is  the  cause  of 
my  sex,  and  I therefore  enter  upon  it  with  great 
alacrity.  The  epistle  is  literally  thus  : 

‘ Edenburgh,  Oct.  23. 

‘ Mil.  Bickerstaff, — I presume  to  lay  before 
you  an  affair  of  mine,  and  begs  you’le  be  very 
sinceir  in  giving  me  your  judgment  and  advice 
in  this  matter,  which  is  as  follows  : 

‘A  very  agreeable  young  gentleman,  who  is 
endowed  with  all  the  good  qualities  that  can 
make  a man  complete,  has  this  long  time  maid 
love  to  me  in  the  most  passionate  manner  that 
was  posable.  He  has  left  nothing  unsaid  to  make 
me  believe  his  affections  real ; and,  in  his  let- 
ters, expressed  himself  so  hansomly  and  so 
tenderly,  that  I had  all  the  reason  imaginable 
to  believe  him  sinceir.  In  short,  he  positively 
has  promised  me  he  would  marry  me  : but  I 
find  all  he  said  nothing  ; for  when  the  question 
was  put  to  him,  he  would  not ; but  still  would 
continue  my  humble  servant,  and  would  go  on 
at  the  ould  rate,  repeating  the  assurances  of  his 
fidelity,  and  at  the  same  time  has  none  in  him. 
He  now  writs  to  me  in  the  same  endearing  style 
he  ust  to  do,  would  have  me  speak  to  no  man 
but  himself.  His  estate  is  in  his  own  hand,  his 
father  being  dead.  My  fortune  at  my  own  dis- 
posal, mine  being  also  dead,  and  to  the  full  an- 
swers his  estate.  Pray,  sir,  be  ingeinous,  and 
tell  me  cordially,  if  you  don’t  think  I shall  do 
myself  an  injury  if  I keep  company,  or  a cor- 
raspondance  any  longer  with  this  gentleman.  I 
hope  you  will  favour  an  honest  North-Britain, 
as  I am,  with  your  advice  in  this  amour;  for  I 


400 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  248. 


am  resolved  just  to  follow  your  directions.  Sir, 
you  will  do  me  a sensable  pleasure,  and  very 
great  honour,  if  you  will  please  to  insert  this 
poor  scrole,  with  your  answer  to  it,  in  your 
Tatler.  Pray  fail  not  to  give  me  your  answer  ; 
for  on  it  depends  the  happiness  of  disconsalat 
‘ ALMEIRA.’ 

‘ Madam, — I have  frequently  read  over  your 
letter,  and  am  of  opinion,  that,  as  lamentable  as 
it  is,  it  is  the  most  common  of  any  evil  that  at- 
tends our  sex.  I am  very  much  troubled  for  the 
tenderness  you  express  towards  your  lover,  but 
rejoice  at  the  same  time  that  you  can  so  far  sur- 
mount your  inclination  for  him,  as  to  resolve  to 
dismiss  him  when  you  have  my  brother’s  opinion 
for  it.  His  sense  of  the  matter  he  desired  me  to 
communicate  to  you.  Oh  Almeira ! the  com- 
mon failing  of  our  sex  is  to  value  the  merit  of 
our  lovers  rather  from  the  grace  of  their  address, 
than  the  sincerity  of  their  hearts.  He  has  ex- 
pressed himself  so  handsomely  ! Can  you  say 
that,  after  you  have  reason  to  doubt  his  truth  ? 
It  is  a melancholy  thing,  that  in.  this  circum- 
stance of  love,  which  is  the  most  important  of 
all  others  in  female  life,  we  women,  who  are, 
they  say,  always  weak,  are  still  weakest.  The 
true  way  of  valuing  a man,  is  to  consider  his 
reputation  among  the  men.  For  want  of  this 
necessary  rule  towards  our  conduct,  when  it  is 
too  late,  we  find  ourselves  married  to  the  out- 
cast of  that  sex  ; and  it  is  generaKy  from  being 
disagreeable  among  men,  that  fellows  endeavour 
to  make  themselves  pleasing  to  us.  The  little 
accomplishments  of  coming  into  a room  with  a 
good  air,  and  telling,  while  they  are  with  ns, 
what  vve  cannot  hear  among  ourselves,  usually 
make  up  the  whole  of  a woman’s  man’s  merit. 
But  if  we,  when  we  began  to  reflect  upon  our 
lovers,  in  the  first  place,  considered  what  figures 
they  make  in  the  camp,  at  the  bar,  on  the  ex- 
change, in  their  country,  or  at  court,  we  should 
behold  them  in  quite  another  view  than  at  pre- 
.sent. 

‘ Were  we  to  behave  ourselves  according  to 
this  rule,  we  should  not  have  the  just  imputa- 
tion of  favouring  the  silliest  of  mortals,  to  the 
great  scandal  of  the  wisest,  who  value  our  fa- 
vour as  it  advances  their  pleasure,  not  their  re- 
putation. In  a word,  madam,  if  you  would  judge 
aright  in  love,  you  must  look  upon  it  as  in  a 
case  of  friendship.  Were  this  gentleman  treat- 
ing with  you  for  any  thing  but  yourself,  when 
you  had  consented  to  his  offer,  if  he  fell  off,  you 
would  call  him  a cheat  and  an  impostor.  There 
is,  therefore,  nothing  left  for  you  to  do  but  to 
despise  him,  and  yourself  for  doing  it  with  re- 
gret. I am,  madam,  &c.’ 

I have  heard  it  often  argued  in  conversation, 
that  this  evil  practice  is  owing  to  the  perverted 
taste  of  the  wits  in  the  last  generation.  A liber- 
tine on  the  throne  could  very  easily  make  the 
language  and  the  fashion  turn  his  own  way. 
Hence  it  is  that  woman  is  treated  as  a mistress, 
and  not  a wife.  It  is  from  the  writings  of  those 
times,  and  the  traditional  accounts  of  the  de- 
bauches of  their  men  of  pleasure,  that  the  cox- 
combs now-a-days  take  upon  them,  forsooth,  to 
be  false  swains,  and  perjured  lovers.  Methinks 
I feel  all  the  woman  rise  in  me,  when  I reflect 


upon  the  nauseous  rogues  that  pretend  to  de- 
ceive  us.  Wretches,  that  can  never  have  it  in 
their  power  to  overreach  any  thing  living  but 
their  mistresses  ! In  the  name  of  goodness,  if 
we  are  designed  by  nature  as  suitable  compa- 
nions  to  the  other  sex,  why  are  we  not  treated 
accordingly  ? If  we  have  merit,  as  some  allow, 
w'hy  is  it  not  as  base  in  men  to  injure  us,  as  one 
another  ? If  we  are  the  insignificants  that 
others  call  us,  where  is  the  triumph  in  deceiv- 
ing  us  ? But,  when  I look  at  the  bottom  of  this 
disaster,  and  recollect  the  many  of  my  acquaint- 
ance whom  I have  known  in  the  same  condi- 
tion  with  the  ‘ Northern  Lass’  that  occasions 
this  discourse,  I must  own  I have  ever  found 
the  perfidiousness  of  men  has  been  generally 
owing  to  ourselves,  and  we  have  contributed  to 
our  own  deceit.  7’he  truth  is,  we  do  not  con- 
duct  ourselves  as  we  are  courted,  buf  as  we  are 
inclined.  When  we  let  our  imaginations  take 
this  unbridled  swing,  it  is  not  he  that  acts  best 
is  most  lovely,  but  he  that  is  most  lovely  acts 
best.  When  our  humble  servants  make  their 
addresses,  we  do  not  keep  ourselves  enough  dis- 
engaged to  be  judges  of  their  merit ; and  we 
seldom  give  cur  judgment  of  our  lover,  until  we 
have  lost  our  judgment  for  him. 

While  Clarinda  was  passionately  attended 
and  addressed  to  by  Strephon,  who  is  a man  of 
sense  and  knowledge  in  the  world,  and  Cassio, 
w’ho  has  a plentiful  fortune,  and  an  excellent 
understanding,  she  fell  in  love  with  Damon  at  a 
ball.  From  that  moment,  she  that  was  before 
the  most  reasonable  creature  of  all  my  acquaint- 
ance,  cannot  hear  Strephon  speak,  but  it  is 
something  ‘ so  out  of  the  way  of  ladies’  conver- 
sation :’  and  Cassio  has  never  since  opened  his 
mouth  before  us,  but  she  whispers  me,  ‘ How' 
seldom  do  riches  and  sense  go  together  !’  The 
issue  of  all  this  is,  that  for  the  love  of  Damon, 
who  has  neither  experience,  understanding,  nor 
wealth,  she  despises  those  advantages  in  the 
other  two  which  she  finds  w^anting  in  her  lover ; 
or  else  thinks  he  has  them  for  no  other  reason 
but  because  he  is  her  lover.  This  and  many 
other  instances,  may  be  given  in  this  town ; but 
I hope  thus  much  may  suffice  to  prevent  the 
growth  of  such  evils  at  Edinburgh. 


No.  248.]  Th7irsday,  November  9,  1710. 

Media  sese  tulit  ohvia  silvia, 

Virginis  os  habitumque  gerens.  Virg.  ^n.  i.  318. 

Lo ! in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  wood 
Before  iny  eyes  a beauteous  form  appears, 

A virgin’s  dress  and  modest  looks  she  wears. 

R.  Wynne. 

BY  ISAAC  BICKERSTAFF,  ESQUIRE. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  8. 

It  may  perhaps  appear  ridiculous,  but  I must 
confess,  this  last  summer,  as  I was  riding  in 
Enfield-chase,  I met  a young  lady  whom  I could 
hardly  get  out  of  my  head,  and  for  ought  I know, 
my  heart,  ever  since.  She  was  mounted  on  a 
pad,  with  a very  well-fancied  furniture  : she  set 
her  horse  with  a very  graceful  air  ; and,  when 
I saluted  her  with  my  hat,  she  bowed  to  me  so 
obligingly,  that  whether  it  was  her  civility  or 


THE  TATLER. 


401 


( i No.  248.] 

i 

' ' heauty  that  touched  me  so  much,  I know  not ; 
•ftut  I am  sure  I shall  never  forget  her.  She 
dwells  in  my  imagination  in  a figure  so  much 
to  her  advantage,  that  if  I were  to  draw  a pic- 
ture  of  youth,  health,  beauty,  or  rnodesty,  I 
should  represent  any,  or  all  of  them,  in  the  por- 
tion of  that  young  woman. 

I do  not  find  that  there  are  any  descri[,tions 
I in  the  ancient  poets  so  beautiful  as  those  they 
I draw  of  nymphs  in  their  pastoral  dresses  and 
exercises.  Virgil  gives  Venus  the  habit  of  a 
Spartan  huntress  when  she  is  to  put  ^neas  in 
his  way,  and  relieve  liis  cares  with  the  most 
agreeable  object  imaginable.  Diana  and  her 
train  are  always  described  as  inhabitants  of  the 
woods,  and  followers  of  the  chase.  To  be  well 
diverted,  is  the  safest  guard  to  innocence ; and, 

! methinks,  it  should  be  one  of  the  first  things 

' to  be  regarded  among  people  of  condition,  to 

find  out  proper  amusements  for  young  ladies. 
I cannot  but  think  this  of  riding  might  easily 
be  revived  among  them,  when  they  consider 
how  much  it  must  contribute  to  their  beauty. 
This  w'ould  lay  no  the  best  portion  they  could 
bring  into  a family,  a good  stock  of  health,  to 
transmit  to  their  posterity.  Such  a charming 
bloom  as  this  gives  the  countenance,  is  very 
much  preferable  to  the  real  or  affected  feeble- 
ness or  softness,  which  appear  in  the  faces  of 
our  modern  beauties. 

The  comedy,  called  ‘The  Ladies’  Cure,’  re- 
presents the  affectation  of  wan  looks  and  lan- 
guid glances  to  a very  entertaining  extrava- 
gance. There  is,  as  the  lady  in  the  play 
complains,  something  so  robust  in  perfect 
health,  that  it  is  with  her  a point  of  breeding 
and  delicacy,  to  appear  in  public  with  a sickly 
air.  But  the  natural  gayety  and  spirit  which 
shine  in  the  complexion  of  such  as  form  to 
themselves  a sort  of  diverting  industry,  by 
choosing  recreations  that  are  exercises,  surpass 
all  the  false  ornaments  and  graces  that  can  be 
put  on,  by  applying  the  whole  dispensary  of  a 
toilet.  A healthy  body,  and  a cheerful  mind, 
give  charms  as  irresistible  as  inimitable.  The 
beauteous  Dyctinna,  who  came  to  town  last 
week,  has,  from  the  constant  prospect  in  a de- 
licious country,  and  the  moderate  exercise  and 
journeys  in  the  visits  she  made  round  it,  con- 
tracted a certain  life  in  her  countenance,  which 
will  in  vain  employ  both  the  painters  and  the 
I poets  to  represent.  The  becoming  negligence 
in  her  dress,  the  severe  sweetness  of  her  looks, 
and  a certain  innocent  boldness  in  all  her  beha- 
viour, are  the  effect  of  the  active  recreations  I 
am  talking  of. 

But  instead  of  such,  or  any  other  as  innocent 
and  pleasing  method  of  passing  away  their  time 
with  alacrity,  we  have  many  in  town  who  spend 
their  hours  in  an  indolent  state  of  body  and 
! mind,  without  either  recreations  or  reflections. 
I am  apt  to  believe  there  are  some  parents 
imagine  their  daughters  will  be  accomplished 
enough,  if  nothing  interrupts  their  growth,  or 
their  shape.  According  to  this  method  of  edu- 
cation, I could  name  you  twenty  families, 
where  all  the  girls  hear  of,  in  this  life,  is,  that 
it  is  time  to  rise  and  to  come  to  dinner,  as  if 
they  were  so  insignificant  as  to  be  wholly  pro- 
vided for  when  they  are  fed  and  clothed. 

3 E 


It  is  with  great  indignation  that  I see  such 
crowds  of  the  female  world  lost  to  human  so- 
ciety,  and  condemned  to  a laziness,  which 
makes  life  pass  away  with  less  relish  than  in 
the  hardest  labour.  Palestris,  in  her  drawing, 
room,  is  supported  by  spirits  to  keep  off  the 
returns  of  spleen  and  melancholy,  before  she 
can  get  over  half  of  the  day  for  want  of  some- 
thing to  do,  while  the  wench  in  the  kitchen 
sings  and  scours  from  morning  to  night. 

The  next  disagreeable  thing  to  a lazy  lady, 
is  a very  busy  one.  A man  of  business  in  good 
company,  who  gives  an  account  of  his  abilities 
and  despatches,  is  hardly  more  insupportable 
than  her  they  call  a notable  woman,  and  a ma- 
nager. Lady  Good-day,  where  I visited  the 
other  day,  at  a very  polite  circle,  entertained  a 
great  lady  with  a recipe  for  a poultice,  and  gave 
us  to  understand,  that  she  had  done  extraordi- 
nary cures  since  she  was  last  in  town.  It  seems 
a countryman  had  wounded  himself  with  his 
scythe  as  he  was  mowing ; and  we  were  obliged 
to  hear  of  her  charity,  her  medicine,  and  her 
humility,  in  the  harshest  tone  and  coarsest 
language  imaginable. 

What  I would  request  in  all  this  prattle  is, 
that  our  females  would  either  let  us  have  their 
persons,  or  their  minds,  in  such  perfection  as 
nature  designed  them. 

The  way  to  this  is,  that  those  who  are  in  the 
quality  of  gentlewomen,  should  propose  to 
themselves  some  suitable  method  of  passing 
away  their  time.  This  would  furnish  them 
with  reflections  and  sentiments  proper  for  the 
companions  of  reasonable  men,  and  prevent  the 
unnatural  marriages  which  happen  every  day 
between  the  most  accomplished  women  and  the 
veriest  oafs,  the  worthiest  men  and  the  most  in- 
significant females.  Were  the  general  turn  of 
women’s  education  of  another  kind  than  it  is  at 
present,  we  should  want  one  another  for  more 
reasons  than  we  do,  as  the  world  now  goes. 
The  common  design  of  parents,  is  to  get  their 
girls  off  as  well  as  they  can ; and  they  make  no 
conscience  of  putting  into  our  hands  a bargain 
for  our  whole  life,  which  will  make  our  hearts 
ache  every  day  of  it.  I shall,  therefore,  take 
this  matter  into  serious  consideration,  and  will 
propose,  for  the  better  improvement  of  the  fair 
sex,  a ‘ Female  Library.’*  This  collection  of 
books  shall  consist  of  such  authors  as  do  not 
corrupt  while  they  divert,  but  shall  tend  more 
immediately  to  improve  them  as  they  are  wo- 
men. They  shall  be  such  as  shall  not  hurt  a 
feature  by  the  austerity  of  their  reflections,  nor 
cause  one  impertinent  glance  by  the  wantonness 
of  them.  They  shall  all  tend  to  advance  the 
value  of  their  innocence  as  virgins,  improve 
their  understanding  as  wives,  and  regulate  their 
tenderness  as  parents.  It  has  been  very  often 
said  in  these  lucubrations,  ‘ that  the  ideas  which 
most  frequently  pass  through  our  imaginations, 
leave  traces  of  themselves  in  our  countenances.* 
There  shall  be  a strict  regard  had  to  this  in 
my  Female  Library,  which  shall  be  furnished 
with  nothing  that  shall  give  supplies  to  ostenta- 
tion or  impertinence  ; but  the  whole  shall  be  so 
digested  for  the  use  of  my  students,  that  they 

* Steele,  in  1714,  published  three  volumes  in  8vo.  un- 
der the  title  of  ‘ The  Lady’s  Library.’ 

34* 


402 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  249. 


V 


shall  not  go  out  of  character  in  their  inquiries, 
but  their  knowledge  appear  only  a cultivated 
innocence. 


No.  249.]  Saturday,  November  11,  1710. 

Per  varies  casus,  per  tot  discrimina  renim, 

Tendimus. Virg.  ^n.  i.  208. 

Ttu"ough  various  hazards,  and  events  we  move. 

Dnjden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  10. 

I w.\s  last  night  visited  by  a friend  of  mine, 
who  has  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  discourse,  and 
never  fails  to  entertain  his  company  with  a va- 
riety of  thoughts  and  hints  that  are  altogether 
new  and  uncommon.  Whether  it  were  in  com- 
plaisance to  my  way  of  living,  or  his  real  opi- 
nion, he  advanced  the  following  paradox  : that 
it  required  much  greater , talents  to  fillup  and 
become  a retired  Tife,  than  a life  of  business. 
Upon  this  occasion  he  rallied,  very  agreeat)ly, 
the  busy  men  of  the  age,  who  only  valued  them- 
selves for  being  in  motion,  and  passing  through 
a series  of  trifling  and  insignificant  actions.  In 
the  heat  of  his  discourse,  seeing  a piece  of 
money  lying  on  my  table,  ‘ I defy,’  says  he,  ‘ any 
of  these  active  persons  to  produce  half  the  ad- 
ventures that  tliis  twelve  penny-piece  has  been 
engaged  in,  were  it  possible  for  him  to  give  us 
an  account  of  his  life.’ 

My  friend’s  talk  made  so  odd  an  impression 
upon  my  mind,  that  soon  after  I was  a-bed  I 
fell  insensibly  into  an  unaccountable  reverie,  that 
had  neither  moral  nor  design  in  it,  and  cannot 
be  so  properly  called  a dream  as  a delirhim. 

Methought  the  shilling  that  lay  upon  the 
table  reared  itself  upon  its  edge,  and,  turning 
the  face  towards  me,  opened  its  mouth,  and  in  a 
soft  silver  sound,  gave  me  the  following  account 
of  his  life  and  adventures  : 

‘ I was  born,’  says  he,  ‘ on  the  side  of  a moun- 
tain, near  a little  village  of  Peru,  and  made  a 
voyage  to  England  in  an  ingot,  under  the  con- 
voy of  sir  Francis  Drake.  I was,  soon  after  my 
arrival,  taken  out  of  my  Indian  habit,  refined, 
naturalized,  and  put  into  the  British  mode,  with 
the  face  of  queen  Elizabeth  on  one  side,  and  the 
arms  of  the  country  on  the  other.  Being  thus 
equipped,  I found  in  me  a wonderful  inclination 
to  ramble,  and  visit  all  the  parts  of  the  new 
world  into  which  I was  brought.  The  people 
very  much  favoured  my  natural  disposition, 
and  shifted  me  so  fast  from  hand  to  hand,  that, 
before  I was  five  years  old,  I had  travelled  into 
almost  every  corner  of  the  nation.  But  in  the 
beginning  of  my  sixth  year,  to  my  unspeakable 
grief,  I fell  into  the  hands  of  a miserable  old 
fellow,  who  clapped  me  into  an  iron  chest,  where 
I found  five  hundred  more  of  my  own  quality, 
wdio  lay  under  the  same  confinement.  The  only 
relief  we  had,  was  to  be  taken  out  and  counted 
over  in  the  fresh  air  every  morning  and  eve- 
ning. After  an  imprisonment  of  several  years, 
we  heard  somebody  knocking  at  our  chest  and 


breaking  it  open  with  a hammer.  This  we  I 
found  was  the  old  man’s  heir,  who,  as  his  father  I 
lay  dying,  was  so  good  as  to  come  to  onr  re-  I 
lease.  He  separated  us  that  very  day.  What  I 
was  the  fate  of  my  companions  I know  not ; as  9 
for  myself,  I was  sent  to  the  apothecary's  shop  [ 
for  a pint  of  sack.  The  apothecary  gave  me  to  { 
an  herb-woman,  the  herb-woman  to  a butcher,  ; 
the  butcher  to  a brewer,  and  the  brewer  to  his  i 
wife,  who  made  a present  of  me  to  a non-con-  , 
formist  preacher.  After  this  manner  I made  i. 
my  way  merrily  through  the  world,  for,  as  I | 
told  you  before,  we  shillings  love  nothing  so 
much  as  travelling.  I sometimes  fetched  in  a i 
shoulder  of  mutton,  sometimes  a play-book,  and 
often  had  the  satisfaction  to  treat  a templar  at  a 
twelve-penny  ordinary,  or  carry  him  with  three 
friends  to  Westminster-hall. 

‘ In  the  midst  of  this  pleasant  progress  which 
I made  from  place  to  place,  I was  arrested  by  a 
superstitious  old  woman,  who  shut  me  up  in  a 
greasy  purse,  in  pursuance  of  a foolish  saying, 

“ that  while  she  kept  a queen  Elizabeth’s  chil- 
ling about  her,  she  should  never  be  without 
money.”  I continued  here  a close  prisoner  for 
many  months,  until  at  last  I was  exchanged  for 
eight-and-forty  farthings. 

‘ I thus  rambled  from  pocket  to  pocket,  until 
the  beginning  of  the  civil  wars,  when,  to  my 
shame  be  it  spoken,  I was  employed  in  raising 
soldiers  against  the  king : for,  being  of  a very 
tempting  breadth,  a serjeant  made  use  of  me  to 
inveigle  country  fellows,  and  list  them  into  the 
service  of  the  parliament. 

‘ As  soon  as  he  had  made  one  man  sure,  his 
way  was,  to  oblige  him  to  take  a shilling  of  a 
more  homely  figure,  and  then  practise  the  same 
trick  upon  another.  Thus  I continued  doing 
great  mischief  to  the  crown,  until  my  officer 
chancing  one  morning  to  walk  abroad  earlier 
than  ordinary,  sacrificed  me  to  his  pleasures, 
and  made  use  of  me  to  seduce  a milk-maid. 
This  wench  bent  me,  and  gave  me  to  her  sweet- 
heart, applying  more  properly  than  she  intended 
the  usual  form  of,  “ to  my  love,  and  from  my 
love.”  This  ungenerous  gallant  marrying  her 
within  a few  days  after,  pawned  me  for  a dram 
of  brandy  ; and  drinking^e  out  next  day  I was 
beaten  flat  with  a hammer,  and  again  set  a-run- 
ning. 

‘After  many  adventures,  which  it  would  be 
tedious  to  relate,  I was  sent  to  a young  spend- 
thrift, in  company  with  the  will  of  his  deceased 
father.  The  young  fellow,  who  I found  was 
very  extravagant,  gave  great  demonstrations  of 
joy  at  receiving  the  will;  but  opr-’ing  it,  he 
found  himself  disinherited,  and  cut  off  from  the 
possession  of  a fair  estate,  by  virtue  of  my  being 
made  a present  to  him.  This  put  him  into  such 
a passion,  that  after  having  taken  me  into  his 
hand,  and  cursed  me,  he  squirred  me  away 
from  him  as  far  as  he  could  fling  me.  I chanced 
to  light  in  an  unfrequented  place,  under  a dead 
wall,  where  I lay  undiscovered  and  useless 
during  the  usurpation  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

‘ About  a year  after  the  king’s  return,  a poor 
cavalier,  that  was  walking  there  about  dinner- 
time, fortunately  cast  his  eye  upon  me,  and,  to 
the  great  joy  of  us  both,  carried  me  to  a cook’s 


No.  250.] 


THE  TATLER. 


403 


shop,  where  he  dined  upon  me,  and  drank  the 
king’s  health.  When  I came  again  into  the 
world,  I found  that  I had  been  happier  in  my 
retirement  than  I thought,  having  probably  by 
that  means  escaped  wearing  a monstrous  pair 
of  breeches.* * * § 

‘ Being  now  of  great  credit  and  antiquity,  I 
was  rather  looked  upon  as  a medal  than  an  or- 
dinary coin ; for  which  reason  a gamester  laid 
hold  of  me,  and  converted  me  to  a counter,  hav- 
ing got  together  some  dozens  of  us  for  that  use. 
We  led  a melancholy  life  in  his  possession,  being 
busy  at  those  hours  wherein  current  coin  is  at 
rest,  and  partaking  the  fate  of  our  master ; 
being  in  a few  moments  valued  at  a crown,  a 
pound,  or  a sixpence,  according  to  the  situation 
in  which  the  fortune  of  the  cards  placed  us.  I 
had  at  length  the  good  luck  to  see  my  mas- 
ter break,  by  which  means  I was  again  sent 
abroad  under  my  primitive  denomination  of  a 
shilling. 

‘ I shall  pass  over  many  other  accidents  of 
less  moment,  and  hasten  to  that  fatal  catastrophe 
when  I fell  into  the  hands  of  an  artist,  who  con- 
veyed me  under  ground,  and,  with  an  unmerci- 
ful pair  of  sheers,  cut  off  my  titles,  clipped  my 
brims,  retrenched  my  shape,  rubbed  me  to  my 
inmost  ring  ; and,  in  short,  so  spoiled  and  pil- 
laged me,  that  he  did  not  leave  me  worth  a groat. 
You  may  think  what  confusion  I was  in  to  see 
myself  thus  curtailed  and  disfigured.  I should 
have  been  ashamed  to  have  shown  my  head,  had 
not  all  my  old  acquaintance  been  reduced  to  the 
same  shameful  figure,  excepting  some  few  that 
were  punched  through  the  belly.  In  the  midst 
of  this  general  calamity,  when  every  body 
thought  our  misfortune  irretrievable,  and  our 
case  desperate,  we  were  thrown  into  the  furnace 
together,  and,  as  it  often  happens  with  cities 
rising  out  of  a fire,  appeared  with  greater  beauty 
and  lustre  than  we  could  ever  boast  of  before. 
What  has  happened  to  me  since  this  change  of 
sex  which  you  now  see,  I shall  take  some  other 
opportunity  to  relate.  In  the  mean  time,  I shall 
only  repeat  two  adventures,  as  being  very  ex- 
traordinary, and  neither  of  them  having  ever 
happened  to  me  above  once  in  my  life.  The 
first  was,  my  being  in  a poet’s  pocket,  who  was 
so  taken  with  the  brightness  and  novelty  of  my 
appearance,  that  it  gave  occasion  to  the  finest 
burlesque  poem  in  the  British  language,  enti- 
tled, from  me.  The  splendid  Shilling.^  The  se- 
cond adventure,  which  I must  not  omit,  hap- 
pened to  me  in  the  year  1703,  when  I was  given 
away  in  charity  to  a blind  man  ; but  indeed  this 
was  by  mistake,  the  person  who  gave  me  having 
thrown  me  heedlessly  into  the  hatf  among  a 
penny-worth  of  farthings.§ 


* The  two  shields  on  Oliver’s  shillings,  vulgarly  called 
breeches,  somewhat  resemble  the  vast  trunk-hose,  with 
which,  and  a ruff  as  monstrous,  James  I.  went  a-hunt- 
ing. 

t By  Mr.  John  Phillips,  a poet  of  considerable  emi- 
nence, and  a very  good  man,  who  was  born  September 
30,  1R76,  and  died  February  15,  1708. 

j TAe  hat,  and  this  shilling,  were,  it  seems,  nearly  co- 
eval ; for  Granger  says,  that  ‘ the  first  English  portrait 
he  remembered  to  have  seen  with  a hat,  was  one  of  a 
Mr.  Brightman,  in  the  reign  of  queen  Elizabeth. 

§ This  paper  gave  birth  to  an  ingenious  dramatic  ro- 
mance, entitled,  ‘Chrysal,  or  the  adventures  of  a Guinea,’ 
attributed  to  Dr.  Shebbaire. 


No.  250.]  Tuesday^  November  14,  1710. 

Scis  enim  justum  gemina  suspendere  lance 

Ancipitis  libne?  Pers.  Sat.  iv.  10. 

Know’st  thou,  with  equal  hand,  to  hold  the  scale? 

Drijden. 

From  my  own  Apartment,,  November  13. 

I LAST  winter  erected  a court  of  justice  for 
the  correcting  of  several  enormities  in  dress  and 
behaviour,  which  are  not  cognizable  in  any  other 
courts  of  this  realm.  The  vintner’s  case,  which 
I there  tried,  is  still  fresh  in  every  man’s  me- 
mory. That  of  the  petticoat  gave  also  a gene- 
ral satisfaction  : not  to  mention  the  more  im- 
portant points  of  the  cane  and  perspective  ; in 
which,  if  I did  not  give  judgments  and  decrees 
according  to  the  strictest  rules  of  equity  and 
justice,  I can  safely  say,  I acted  according  to 
the  best  of  my  understanding.  But  as  for  the 
proceedings  of  that  court,  I shall  refer  my  read- 
er to  an  account  of  them,  written  by  my  secre- 
tary; which  is  now  in  the  press,  and  will  short- 
ly be  published  under  the  title  of  Lillie’s  ‘ Re- 
ports.’ 

As  I last  year  presided  over  a court  of  justice, 
it  is  my  intention  this  year  to  set  myself  at  the 
head  of  a court  of  honour.  There  is  no  court 
of  this  nature  any  where  at  present,  except  in 
France  ; where,  according  to  the  best  of  my  in- 
telligence, it  consists  of  such  only  as  are  mar- 
shals of  that  kingdom.  I am  likewise  informed, 
that  there  is  not  one  of  that  honourable  board 
at  present,  who  has  not  been  driven  out  of  the 
field  by  the  duke  of  Marlborough  : but  whether 
this  be  only  an  accidental  or  a necessary  quali- 
fication, I must  confess,  I am  not  able  to  deter- 
mine. 

As  for  the  court  of  honour,  of  which  I am 
here  speaking,  I intend  to  sit  myself  in  it  as 
president,  with  several  men  of  honour  on  my 
right  hand,  and  women  of  virtue  on  my  left,  as 
my  assistants.  The  first  place  on  the  bencli  I 
have  given  to  an  old  Tangereen  captain  with  a 
wooden  leg.  The  second  is  a gentleman  of  a 
long  twisted  periwig  without  a curl  in  it,  a muff 
with  very  little  hair  upon  it,  and  a thread-bare 
coat  with  new  buttons  ; being  a person  of  great 
worth,  and  second  brother  to  a man  of  quality. 
The  third  is  a gentleman-usher,  extremely  well 
read  in  romances,  and  grandson  to  one  of  the 
greatest  wits  in  Germany,  who  was  some  time 
master  of  the  ceremonies  to  the  duke  of  Wolf- 
em  bottle. 

As  for  those  who  sit  further  on  my  right  hand, 
as  it  is  usual  in  public  courts,*  they  are  such  as 
will  fill  up  the  number  of  faces  upon  the  bench, 
and  rather  serve  for  ornament  than  use. 

The  chief  upon  my  left  hand  are. 

An  old  maiden  lady,  that  preserves  some  of 
the  best  blood  of  England  in  her  veins. 

A Welsh  woman  of  a little  stature,  but  high 
spirit. 

An  old  prude,  that  has  censured  every  mar- 


‘ This  alludes  to  the  masters  in  chancery,  who  sit 
on  the  bench  with  the  lord  chancellor,  sole  judge  of  the 
eowxi.'—Loveda^j. 


404 


THE  TATLER. 


riage  for  these  thirty  years,  and  is  lately  wedded 
to  a young  rake. 

Having  thus  furnished  my  bench,  I shall  es- 
tablish  correspondences  with  the  horse-guards, 
and  the  veterans  of  Chelsea-college  : the  former 
to  furnish  me  with  twelve  men  of  honour  as 
often  as  I shall  have  occasion  for  a grand  jury  ; 
and  the  latter,  with  as  many  good  men  and  true, 
for  a petty  jury 

As  for  the  women  of  virtue,  it  will  not  be 
difficult  for  me  to  find  them  about  midnight  at 
crimp  and  basset. 

Having  given  this  public  notice  of  my  court, 
I must  further  add,  that  I intend  to  open  it  on 
this  day  sevennight,  being  Monday  the  twen- 
tieth instant;  and  do  hereby  invite  all  such  as 
have  suffered  injuries  and  affronts,  that  are  not 
to  be  redressed  by  the  common  laws  of  this  land, 
whether  they  be  short  bows,  cold  salutations, 
supercilious  looks,  unreturned  smiles,  distant 
behaviour,  or  forced  familiarity  ; as  also  all  such 
as  have  been  aggrieved  by  any  ambiguous  ex- 
pression, accidental  justle,  or  unkind  repartee  ; 
likewise  all  such  as  have  been  defrauded  of  their 
right  to  the  wall,  tricked  out  of  the  upper  end 
of  the  table,  or  have  been  suffered  to  place  them- 
selves, in  their  own  wrong,  on  the  back  seat  of 
the  coach.  These,  and  all  of  these,  I do  as  I 
above. said,  invite  to  bring  in  their  several  cases 
and  complaints,  in  which  they  shall  be  relieved 
with  all  imaginable  expedition. 

I am  very  sensible,  that  the  office  I have  now 
taken  upon  me,  will  engage  me  in  the  disqui- 
sition of  many  weighty  points,  that  daily  per- 
plex the  youth  of  the  British  nation;  and,  there- 
fore, I have  already  discussed  several  of' them 
for  my  future  use  : as,  ‘ how  far  a man  may 
brandish  his  cane  in  telling  a story  without  in- 
sulting his  hearer;  ‘ what  degree  of  contradic- 
tion amounts  to  the  lie  ;’  ‘ how  a man  shall  re- 
sent another’s  staring  and  cocking  a hat  in  his 
face  ;’  ‘ if  asking  pardon  is  an  atonement  for 
treading  upon  one’s  toes  ;’  ‘ whether  a man  may 
put  up  with  a box  on  the  ear,  received  from 
a stranger  in  the  dark  ;’  or,  ‘ whether  a 
man  of  honour  may  take  a blow  of  his  wife;’ 
with  several  other  subtilties  of  the  like  na- 
ture. 

For  my  direction  in  the  duties  of  my  office, 

I have  furnished  myself  with  a certain  astrolo- 
gical pair  of  scales,  which  I have  contrived  for 
this  purpose.  In  one  of  them  I lay  the  injuries, 
in  the  other  the  reparations.  The  first  are  re- 
presented by  little  weights  made  of  a metal  re- 
sembling iron,  and  the  other  of  gold.  These  are 
not  only  lighter  than  the  weights’  made  use  of 
in  avoirdupois,  but  also  such  as  are  used  in  troy- 
weight.  The  heaviest  of  those  that  represent 
the  injuries,  amount  but  to  a scruple;  and  de- 
crease by  so  many  subdivisions,  that  there  are 
several  imperceptible  weights  which  cannot  be 
seen  without  the  help  of  a very  fine  microscope. 

I might  acquaint  my  reader,  that  these  scales 
were  made  under  the  influence  of  the  sun  when 
he  was  in  Libra,  and  describe  many  signatures 
on  the  weights  both  of  injury  and  reparation  : 
but  as  this  would  look  rather  to  proceed 
from  an  ostentation  of  my  own  art,  than  any 
care  for  the  public,  I shall  pass  it  over  in  si- 
lence. 


[No.  251. 

No.  251.]  Thursday,  November  16,  1710. 

Quisnam  igitur  liber?  Sapiens,  sibi  qui  imperiosus, 
Q,uem  neque  pauperies,  neque  mors,  nec  vincula  tei 
rent : 

Responsare  cupidinibus.  contemnere  honores 
Fortis,  et  in  seipso  totus ; teres  atque  rotundus,, 
Externi  ne  quid  valeat  per  Iseve  morari ; 

In  quern  manca  ruit  semper  fortuna. 

Hor.  2 Sat.  vii.  63. 

Who  then  is  free  ?— The  wise,  who  well  maintains 
An  empire  o’er  himself;  whom  neither  chains, 

Nor  want,  nor  death,  with  slavish  fear  inspire, 

Who  boldly  answers  to  his  warm  desire. 

Who  can  ambition’s  vainest  gifts  despise, 

Firm  in  himself  who  on  himself  relies. 

Polish’d  and  round  who  runs  his  proper  course, 

And  breaks  misfortune  with  superior  force.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  15. 

It  is  necessary  to  an  easy  and  happy  life,  to 
possess  our  minds  in  such  a manner  as  to  be 
always  well  satisfied  with  our  own  reflections. 
The  way  to  this  state  is  to  measure  our  actions 
by  our  own  opinion,  and  not  by  that  of  the  rest 
of  the  world.  The  sense  of  other  men  ought 
to  prevail  over  us  in  things  of  less  considera- 
tion, but  not  in  concerns  where  truth  and  ho- 
nour are  engaged.  When  we  look  into  the 
bottom  of  things,  what  at  first  appears  a para- 
dox, is  a plain  truth  ; and  those  professions, 
which,  for  want  of  being  duly  weighed,  seem  to 
proceed  from  a sort  of  romantic  philosophy,  and 
ignorance  of  the  world,  after  a little  reflection, 
are  so  reasonable,  that  it  is  direct  madness  to 
walk  by  any  other  rules.  Thus,  to  contradict 
our  desires,  and  to  conquer  the  impulses  of  our 
ambition,  if  they  do  not  fall  in  with  what  we  in 
our  inward  sentiments  approve,  is  so  much  our 
interest,  and  so  absolutely  necessary  to  our  real 
happiness,  that  to  contemn  all  the  wealth  and 
power  in  the  world,  where  they  stand  in  com- 
petition  with  a man’s  honour,  is  rather  good 
sense  than  greatness  of  mind. 

Did  we  consider  that  the  mind  of  a man  is 
the  man  himself,  we  should  think  it  the  most 
unnatural  sort  of  self-murder  to  sacrifice  the 
sentiment  of  the  soul  to  gratify  the  appetites  of 
the  body.  Bless  us ! is  it  possible,  that  when 
the  necessities  of  li.^e  are  supplied,  a man  would 
flatter  to  be  rich,  or  circumvent  to  be  powerful ! 
When  we  meet  a poor  wretch,  urged  with  hun. 
ger  and  cold,  asking  an  alms,  we  are  apt  to  think 
this  a state  we  could  rather  starve  than  submit 
to : but  yet  how  much  more  despicable  is  his 
condition,  who  is  above  necessity,  and  yet  shall 
resign  his  reason  and  his  integrity  to  purchase 
superfluities  ! Both  these  are  abject  and  com- 
mon beggars ; but  sure  it  is  less  despicable  to 
beg  a supply  to  a man’s  hunger  than  his  vanity. 
But  custom  and  general  prepossessions  have  so 
far  prevailed  over  an  unthinking  world,  that 
those  necessitous  creatures,  who  cannot  relish 
life  without  applause,  attendance,  and  equipage, 
are  so  far  from  making  a contemptible  figure, 
that  distressed  virtue  is  less  esteemed  than  suc- 
cessful vice.  But  if  a man’s  appeal,  in  cases 
that  regard  his  honour,  were  made  to  his  own 
soul,  there  would  be  a basis  and  standing  rule 
for  our  conduct,  and  we  should  always  endea- 
vour rather  to  be,  than  appear  honourable.  Mr. 
Collier,  in  his  ‘ Essay  on  Fortitude,’  has  treated 


1. 


THE  TATLER. 


405 


No.  252.] 

this  subject  with  great  wit  and  magnanimity. 
‘ What,’  says  he,  ‘ can  be  more  honourable  than 
to  have  courage  enough  to  execute  the  com- 
mands of  reason  and  conscience ; to  maintain 
the  dignity  of  our  nature,  and  the  station  as- 
signed us  ? to  be  proof  against  poverty,  pain, 
and  death  itself?  I mean  so  far  as  not  to  do  any 
thing  that  is  scandalous  or  sinful  to  avoid  them. 
To  stand  adversity  under  all  shapes  with  decen- 
cy and  resolution ! To  do  this,  is  to  be  great 
above  title  and  fortune.  This  argues  the  soul 
of  a heavenly  extraction,  and  is  worthy  the  off- 
spring of  the  Deity.’ 

What  a generous  ambition  has  this  man  point- 
ed to  us  ? When  men  have  settled  in  themselves 
a conviction,  by  such  noble  precepts,  that  there 
is  nothing  honourable  which  is  not  accompanied 
with  innocence ; nothing  mean  but  what  has 
guilt  in  it : I say,  when  they  have  attained  thus 
much,  though  poverty,  pain,  and  death,  may 
I still  retain  their  terrors;  yet  riches,  pleasures, 

I and  honours,  will  easily  lose  their  charms,  if 
they  stand  between  us  and  our  integrity, 
j What  is  here  said  with  allusion  to  fortune 
I and  fame,  may  as  justly  be  applied  to  wit  and 
I beauty  ; for  these  latter  are  as  adventitious  as 
the  other,  and  as  little  concern  the  essence  of 
I the  soul.  They  are  all  laudable  in  the  man  who 
possesses  them,  only  for  the  just  application  of 
them.  A bright  imagination,  while  it  is  sub- 
servient to  an  honest  and  noble  soul,  is  a faculty 
which  makes  a man  justly  admired  by  mankind, 
and  furnishes  him  with  reflections  upon  his  own 
actions,  which  add  delicates  to  the  feast  of  a 
good  conscience : but  when  wit  descends  to 
wait  upon  sensual  pleasures,  or  promote  the 
base  purposes  of  ambition,  it  is  then  to  be  con- 
temned in  proportion  to  its  excellence.  If  a man 
will  not  resolve  to  place  the  foundation  of  his 
happiness  in  his  own  mind,  life  is  a bewildered 
and  unhappy  state,  incapable  of  rest  or  tranquil- 
lity. For  to  such  a one,  the  general  applause 
of  valour,  wit,  nay  of  honesty  itself,  can  give  him 
but  a very  feeble  comfort;  since  it  is  capable  of 
being  interrupted  by  any  one  who  wants  either 
understanding  or  good-nature  to  see  or  acknow- 
ledge such  excellencies.  This  rule  is  so  neces- 
sary, that  one  may  very  safely  say,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  know  any  true  relish  of  our  being  with- 
out it.  Look  about  you  in  common  life  among 
the  ordinary  race  of  mankind,  and  you  will  find 
merit  in  every  kind  is  allowed  only  to  those  who 
are  in  particular  districts  or  sets  of  company  ; 
but,  since  men  can  have  little  pleasure  in  these 
faculties  which  denominate  them  persons  of  dis- 
tinction, let  them  give  up  such  an  empty  pur- 
suit, and  think  nothing  essential  to  happiness 
but  what  is  in  their  own  power  ; the  capacity  of 
reflecting  with  pleasure  on  their  own  actions, 
however  they  are  interpreted. 

It  is  so  evident  a truth,  that  it  is  only  in  our 
own  bosoms  we  are  to  search  for  any  thing  to 
make  us  happy,  that  it  is,  methinks  a disgrace 
to  our  nature  to  talk  of  taking  our  measures 
from  thence  only,  as  a matter  of  fortitude. 
When  all  is  well  there,  the  vicissitudes  and  dis- 
tinctions of  life  are  the  mere  scenes  of  a drama ; 
and  he  will  never  act  his  part  well,  who  has  his 
thoughts  more  fixed  upon  the  applause  of  the 
audience  than  the  design  of  his  part. 


The  life  of  a man  who  acts  with  a steady  in- 
tegrity, without  valuing  the  interpretation  of 
his  actions,  has  but  one  uniform  regular  path 
to  move  in,  w'hero  he  cannot  meet  opposition, 
or  fear  ambuscade.  On  the  other  side,  the  least 
deviation  from  the  rules  of  honour  introduces  a 
train  of  numberless  evils,  and  involves  him  in 
inexplicable  mazes.  He  that  has  entered  into 
guilt  has  bid  adieu  to  rest ; and  every  criminal 
has  his  share  of  the  misery  expressed  so  em--' 
phatically  in  the  tragedian, 

Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more! 

It  was  with  detestation  of  any  other  grandeur 
but  the  calm  command  of  his  own  passions,  that 
the  excellent  Mr.  Cowley  cries  out  with  so  much 
justice : 

If  e’er  ambition  did  my  fancy  cheat 
With  any  thought  so  mean  as  to  be  great, 
Continue,  heaven,  still  from  me  to  remove 
The  humble  blessings  of  that  life  I love! 


No.  252.]  Saturday,  November  18,  1710. 

Narratur  et  prisci  Catonis 

Ssepe  mero  caluisse  virtus.  Hor.  3 Od.  xxi.  11. 

of  old 

Cato’s  virtue,  we  are  told. 

Often  with  a bumper  glow’d. 

And  with  social  raptures  flow’d.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  17. 

The  following  letter,  and  several  others  to  the 
same  purpose,  accuse  me  of  a rigour  of  which  I 
am  far  from  being  guilty,  to  wit,  the  disallowing 
the  cheerful  use  of  wine. 

‘ From  my  Country-house,  October  25. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — Your  discourse  against 
drinking,  in  Tuesday’s  Tatler,  I like  well  enough 
in  the  main  ; but,  in  my  humble  opinion,  you 
are  become  too  rigid,  where  you  say  to  this  ef- 
fect : “ Were  there  only  this  single  considera- 
tion, that  we  are  the  less  masters  of  ourselves  if 
we  drink  the  least  proportion  beyond  the  exi- 
gence of  thirst.”  I hope  no  one  drinks  wine  to 
allay  this  appetite.  This  seems  to  be  designed 
for  a loftier  indulgence  of  nature ; for  it  were 
hard  to  suppose  that  the  Author  of  Nature,  who 
imposed  upon  her  her  necessities  and  pains,  does 
not  allow  her  her  proper  pleasures  ; and  we  may 
reckon  among  the  latter  the  moderate  use  of  the 
grape.  Though  I am  as  much  against  excess,  or 
whatever  approaches  it  as  yourself,  yeticonceive 
one  may  safely  go  farther  than  the  bounds  you 
there  prescribe,  not  only  without  forfeiting  the 
title  of  being  one’s  own  master,  but  also  to  pos- 
sess it  in  a much  greater  degree.  If  a man’s 
expressing  himself  upon  any  subject  with  more 
life  and  vivacity,  more  variety  of  ideas,  more  co- 
piously, more  fluently,  and  more  to  the  purpose, 
argues  it ; he  thinks  clearer,  speaks  more  ready, 
and  with  greater  choice  of  comprehensive  and 
significant  terms.  I have  the  good  fortune  now 
to  be  intimate  with  a gentleman*  remarkable 
for  this  temper,  who  has  an  inexhaustible 
source  of  wit  to  entertain  the  curious,  the  grave. 


* Mr.  Addison. 


406 


THE  TATLER. 


the  humorous,  and  the  frdic.  He  can  transform 
himself  into  different  shapes,  and  adapt  himself 
to  every  company;  in  a coffee-house,  or  in 
the  ordinary  coarse  of  affairs,  he  appears  rather 
dull  than  spr’ghtly.  You  can  seldom  get  him 
to  the  taverri*;  but  when  once  he  is  arrived  to 
his  pint,  and  begins  to  look  about  and  like  his 
company,  you  admire  a thousand  things  in  him, 
which  before  lay  buried.  Then  you  discover 
the  brightness  of  his  mind,  and  the  strength  of 
his  judgment,  accompanied  with  the  most  grace- 
ful mirth.  In  a word,  by  this  enlivening  aid, 
he  is  whatever  is  polite,  instructive,  and  divert- 
ing. What  makes  him  still  more  agreeable  is, 
that  he  tells  a story,  serious  or  comical,  with  as 
much  delicacy  of  humour  as  Cervantes  himself. 
And  for  all  this,  at  other  times,  even  after  a long 
knowledge  of  him,  you  shall  scarce  discern  in 
this  incomparable  person,  a whit  more,  than 
what  might  be  expected  from  one  of  a common 
capacity.  Doubtless,  there  are  men  of  great 
parts  that  are  guilty  of  downright  bashfulness, 
that  by  a strange  hesitation  and  reluctance  to 
speak,  murder  the  finest  and  most  elegant 
thoughts,  and  render  the  most  lively  conceptions 
flat  and  heavy. 

‘ In  this  case,  a certain  quantity  of  my  white 
or  red  cordial,  which  you  will,  is  an  easy,  but 
an  infallible  remedy.  It  awakens  the  judgment, 
quickens  the  memory,  ripens  the  understanding, 
disperses  melancholy,  cheers  the  heart ; in  a 
word,  restores  the  whole  man  to  himself  and  his 
friends,  without  the  least  pain  or  indisposition 
to  the  patient.  To  be  taken  only  in  the  evening, 
in  a reasonable  quantity,  before  going  to  bed. 
Note  : My  bottles  are  sealed  with  three  flower- 
de-luces  and  a bunch  of  grapes.  Beware  of  coun- 
terfeits. I am  your  most  humble  servant,  &-c.’ 

Whatever  has  been  said  against  the  use  of 
wine  upon  the  supposition  that  it  enfeebles  the 
mind,  and  renders  it  unfit  for  the  duties  of  life, 
bears  forcibly  to  the  advantage  of  that  delicious 
juice  in  cases  where  it  only  heightens  conver- 
sation, and  brings  to  light  agreeable  talents, 
which  otherwise  would  have  lain  concealed  un- 
der the  oppression  of  an  unjust  modesty.  I must 
acknowledge  I have  seen  many  of  the  temper 
mentioned  by  this  correspondent,  and  own  wine 
may  very  allowably  be  used,  in  a degree  above 
the  supply  of  mere  necessity,  by  such  as  labour 
under  melancholy,  or  are  tongue-tied  by  mo- 
desty. It  is  certainly  a very  agreeable  ehange, 
when  we  see  a glass  raise  a lifeless  conversa- 
tion into  all  the  pleasures  of  wit  and  good- 
humour.  But  when  Caska  adds  to  his  natural 
impudence  the  fluster  of  a bottle,  that  which 
fools  called  fire  when  he  was  sober,  all  men  ab- 
hor as  outrage  when  he  is  drunk.  Thus  he,  that 
in  the  morning  was  only  saucy,  is  in  the  evening 
tumultuous.  It  makes  one  sick  to  hear  one  of 
these  fellows  say,  ‘ they  love  a friend  and  a bot- 
tle.’ Noisy  mirth  has  something  too  rustic  in 
it  to  be  considered  without  terror  by  men  of  po- 
liteness: but,  while  the  discourse  improves  in  a 
well  chosen  eompany,  from  the  addition  of  spi- 
rits which  flow  from  moderate  cups,  it  must  be 
acknowledged,  that  leisure  time  cannot  be  more 
agreeably,  or  perhaps  more  usefully,  employed, 
than  at  such  meetings.  There  is  a certain  pru- 


[No.  253. 

dence  in  this,  and  all  other  circumstances,  which 
makes  right  or  wrong  in  the  conduct  of  ordina- 
ry life.  Sir  Jeoffrey  VVildacre  has  nothing  so 
much  at  heart,  as  that  his  son  should  know  the 
world  betimes.  For  this  end  he  introduces  him 
among  the  sots  of  his  own  age,  where  the  boy 
learns  to  laugh  at  his  father  from  the  familiarity 
with  which  he  sees  him  treated  by  his  equals. 
This  the  old  fellow  calls  ‘ living  well  with  his 
heir,  and  teaching  him  to  be  too  much  his  friend 
to  be  impatient  for  his  estate.’  But,  for  the  more 
exact  regulation  of  society  in  this  and  other  mat- 
ters, I shall  publish  tables  of  the  characters  and 
relations  among  men,  and  by  them  instruct  the 
town  in  making  sets  and  companies  for  a bottle. 
This  humour  of  sir  Jeoffrey  shall  be  taken  no- 
tice of  in  the  first  place ; for  there  is,  methinks, 
a sort  of  incest  in  drunkenness,  and  sons  are  not 
to  behold  fathers  stripped  of  all  reverence. 

It  is  shocking  in  nature  for  the  young  to  see 
those,  whom  they  should  have  an  awe  for,  in 
circumstances  of  contempt.  I shall  therefore 
utterly  forbid,  that  those  whom  nature  sliould 
admonish  to  avoid  too  gross  familiarities,  shall 
be  received  into  parties  of  pleasure  where  there 
is  the  least  danger  of  excess.  I should  run 
through  the  whole  doctrine  of  drinking,  but  that 
my  thoughts  are  at  present  too  much  employed 
in  the  modelling  my  ‘ Court  of  Honour,’  and  al- 
tering the  seats,  benches,  bar,  and  canopy  from 
that  of  the  court  wherein  I,  last  winter  sat,  upon 
causes  of  less  moment.  By  the  way,  I shall 
take  an  opportunity  to  examine,  what  method 
is  to  be  taken  to  make  joiners  and  other  arti- 
ficers  get  out  of  a house  they  have  once  entered; 
not  forgetting  to  tie  them  under  proper  regula- 
tions.  It  is  for  want  of  such  rules  that  I have, 
a day  or  two  longer  than  I expected,  been  tor- 
mented and  deafened  with  hammers  ; insomuch, 
that  I neither  can  pursue  this  discoure  nor  an- 
swer the  following,  and  many  other  letters  of 
the  highest  importance. 

‘Mr.  Bickerstaff, — We  are  man  and  wife, 
and  have  a boy  and  a girl ; the  lad  seventeen, 
the  maiden  sixteen.  We  are  quarrelling  about 
some  parts  of  their  education.  I,  Ralph,  cannot 
bear  that  I must  pay  for  the  girl’s  learning  on 
the  spinnet,  when  I know  she  has  no  ear.  I, 
Bridget,  have  not  patience  to  have  my  son 
whipped  because  he  cannot  make  verses,  when 
I know  he  is  a blockhead.  Pray,  sir,  inform  us, 
is  it  absolutely  necessary  that  all  who  wear 
breeches  must  be  taught  to  rhyme;  all  in  pet- 
ticoats to  touch  an  instrument  ? Please  to  inter- 
pose in  this  and  the  like  cases,  to  end  much 
solid  distress  which  arises  from  trifling  causes, 
as  it  is  common  in  wedlock,  and  you  will  very 
much  oblige  us  and  ours, 

‘‘ BUDGET  j yokefellow.- 


No.  253.]  Tuesday^  November  21,  1710. 

Pietate  gravem  ac  meritis  si  forte  virum  quera 

Conspexere,  silent,  anectisque  auribus  astant. 

Virg.  ^u.  i.  155. 

If  then  some  grave  and  pious  man  appear, 

They  hush  their  noise  and  lend  a listening  ear. 

Drydcn. 


407 


No.  253.1  THE  TATLER. 


From  my  own  Apartment^  November  20. 

•EXTRACT  OF  THE  JOURNAL  OF  TflE  COURT 
OF  HONOUR,  1710. 

Diffi  Lunm,  vicesimo  Novemluis,  hora  nona  ante-ine- 
ridiaua. 

The  court  being  sat,  an  oath,  prepared  by  the 
Censor,  was  administered  to  the  assistants  on 
I his  right  hand,  who  were  all  sworn  upon  their 
honour.  The  women  on  his  left  hand  took  the 
same  oath  upon  their  reputation.  Twelve  gen- 

I tlemen  of  the  horse-guards  were  impanelled, 
j having  unanimously  chosen  Mr.  Alexander 
i Truncheon,  who  is  their  right-hand  man  in 

the  troop,  for  their  foreman  in  the  jury.  Mr. 
Truncheon  immediately  drew  his  sword,  and, 
holding  it  with  the  point  towards  his  own  body, 
presented  it  to  the  Censor.  Mr.  BickerstafF  re- 
ceived it ; and,  after  having  surveyed  the  breadth 
of  the  blade,  and  sharpness  of  the  point,  with 
more  than  ordinary  attention,  returned  it  to  the 
foreman  in  a very  graceful  manner.  The  rest 
' of  the  jury,  upon  the  delivery  of  the  sword  to 
their  foreman,  drew  all  of  them  together  as  one 
man,  and  saluted  the  bench  with  such  an  air, 
as  signified  the  most  resigned  submission  to 

II  those  who  commanded  them,  and  the  greatest 
magnanimity  to  execute  what  they  should  com- 
mand. 

Mr.  BickerstafF,  after  having  received  the 

I compliments  on  his  right  hand,  cast  his  eye  upon 
the  left,  where  the  whole  female  jury  paid  their 
respects  by  a low  courtesy,  and  by  laying  their 
hands  upon  their  mouths.  Their  forewoman 
was  a professed  Platonist,*  that  had  spent  much 
of  her  time  in  exhorting  the  sex  to  set  a just 
I value  upon  their  persons,  and  to  make  the  men 
know  themselves. 

There  followed  a profound  silenee,  when  at 
length,  after  some  recolleetion,  the  Censor,  who 
continued  hitherto  uncovered,  put  on  his  hat 
with  great  dignity;  and,  after  having  composed 
the  brims  of  it  in  a manner  suitable  to  the  gra- 
vity of  his  character,  he  gave  the  following 
charge  ; which  was  received  with  silence  and 
attention,  that  being  the  only  applause  which 
he  admits  of,  or  is  ever  given  in  his  presence  : 

‘ The  nature  of  my  office,  and  the  solemnity 
of  this  occasion,  requiring  that  I should  open 
iny  first  session  with  a speech,  I shall  cast  what 
I have  to  say  under  two  principal  heads. 

‘ Under  the  first  I shall  endeavour  to  show  the 
necessity  and  usefulness  of  this  new  erected 
court;  and,  under  the  second,  I shall  give  a 
word  of  advice  and  instruction  to  every  con- 
stituent part  of  it. 

‘ As  for  the  first,  it  is  well  observed  by  Phee- 
drus,  a heathen  poet : 

Nisi  utile  est  quod  facimus,  frustra  est  gloria. 

‘ Which  is  the  same,  ladies,  as  if  I should  say, 
it  would  be  of  no  reputation  for  me  to  be  presi- 
dent of  a court  which  is  of  no  benefit  to  the 
public.  Now  the  advantages  that  may  arise  to 
the  weal  public  from  this  institution  will  more 
plainly  appear,  if  we  consider  what  it  suffers  for 


the  want  of  it.  Are  not  our  streets  dally  filled 
with  wild  pieces  of  justice,  and  random  penal- 
ties ? Are  not  crimes  undetermined,  and  repa- 
rations disproportioned  ? How  often  have  we 
seen  the  lie  punished  by  death,  and  the  liar  him- 
self deciding  his  own  cause!  nay  not  only  act- 
ing the  judge,  but  the  executioner  ! Have  we 
not  known  a box  on  the  ear  more  severely  ac- 
counted for  than  manslaughter  ? In  these  extra- 
judicial proceedings  of  mankind,  an  unmannerly 
jest  is  frequently  as  capital  as  a premeditated 
murder. 

‘ But  the  most  pernicious  circumstance  in  this 
case  is,  that  the  man  who  suffers  the  injury 
must  put  himself  upon  the  same  foot  of  danger 
with  him  that  gave  it,  before  he  can  have  his 
just  revenge;  so  that  the  punishment  is  alto- 
gether accidental,  and  may  fall  as  well  upon  the 
innocent  as  the  guilty. 

‘ I shall  only  mention  a case  which  happens 
frequently  among  the  more  polite  nations  of  the 
world,  and  which  I the  rather  mention,  because 
both  sexes  are  concerned  in  it,  and  which,  there- 
fore, you  gentlemen,  and  you  ladies  of  the  jury, 
will  the  rather  take  notice  of;  I mean,  that 
great  and  known  case  of  cuckoldom.  Supposing 
the  person  who  has  suffered  insults  in  his  dearer 
and  belter  half;  supposing,  I say,  this  person 
should  resent  the  injuries  done  to  his  lender 
wife;  what  is  the  reparation  he  may  expect? 
Why,  to  be  used  wor.se  than  his  poor  lady,  run 
through  the  body,  and  left  breathless  upon  the 
bed  of  honour.  What  then,  will  you  on  my 
right  hand  say,  must  the  man  do  that  is  affront- 
ed? Must  our  sides  be  elbowed,  our  shins 
broken  ? Must  the  wall,  or  perhaps  our  mis- 
tress, be  taken  from  us  ? May  a man  knit  his 
forehead  into  a frown,  toss  up  his  arm,  or  pish 
at  what  we  say,  and  must  the  villain  live  after 
it  ? Is  there  no  redress  for  injured  honour  ? 
Yes,  gentlemen,  that  is  the  design  of  the  judi- 
cature we  have  here  established. 

‘ A court  of  conscience,  we  very  well  know, 
was  first  instituted  for  the  determining  of  seve- 
ral points  of  property,  that  were  too  little  and 
trivial  for  the  cognizance  of  higher  courts  of 
justice.  In  the  same  manner,  our  court  of  ho- 
nour is  appointed  for  the  examination  of  several 
niceties  and  punctilios,  that  do  not  pass  for 
wrongs  in  the  eye  of  our  common  laws.  But 
notwithstanding  no  legislators  of  any  nation 
have  taken  into  consideration  these  little  cir- 
cumstances, they  are  such  as  often  lead  to 
crimes  big  enough  for  their  inspection,  though 
they  come  before  them  too  late  for  their  re- 
dress. 

‘ Besides,  I appeal  to  you,  ladies,  {here  Mr. 
Bickerstaff  turned  to  his  left  hand)  if  these  are 
not  the  little  stings  and  thorns  in  life,f  that 
make  it  more  uneasy  than  its  most  substantial 
evils  ? Confess  ingenuously,  did  you  never  lose 
a morning’s  devotions  because  you  could  not 
offer  them  up  from  the  highest  place  of  the  pew  ? 
Have  you  not  been  in  pain  even  at  a ball,  be- 
cause another  has  been  taken  out  to  dance  be- 
fore you  ? Do  you  love  any  of  your  friends  so 
much  as  those  that  are  below  you  ? Or,  have 
you  any  favourites  that  walk  on  your  right 


* Another  allusion  to  Mrs.  Mary  Astell,  and  to  her 
book,  entitled,  ‘ A serious  Proposal  to  the  Ladies,’  &c. 


t See  Dr.  Johnson’s  ‘ Lives  of  the  English  Poets,’  &c. 


408 


THE  TATLER. 


hand  ? You  have  answered  me  in  your  looks  ; 
I ask  no  more. 

‘ I come  now  to  the  second  part  of  my  dis- 
course, which  obliges  me  to  address  myself  in 
particular  to  the  respective  members  of  the 
court,  in  which  I shall  be  very  brief. 

‘ As  for  you,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  my  as- 
sistants and  grand  juries,  I have  made  choice 
of  you  on  my  right  hand,  because  I know  you 
very  jealous  of  your  honour ; and  you  on  my 
left,  because  I know  you  very  much  concerned 
for  the  reputation  of  others  ; for  which  reason  I 
expect  great  exactness  and  impartiality  in  your 
verdicts  and  judgments. 

‘ I must,  in  the  next  place,  address  myself 
to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  council : you  all  know 
that  I have  not  chosen  you  for  your  knowledge 
in  the  litigious  parts  of  the  law ; but  because 
you  have  all  of  you  formerly  fought  duels,  of 
which  I have  reason  to  think  you  have  repent- 
ed, as  being  now  settled  in  the  peaceable  state 
of  benchers.  My  advice  to  you  is,  only  that  in 
your  pleadings  you  will  be  short  and  expressive. 
To  whicli  end,  you  are  to  banish  out  of  your 
discourses  all  synonymous  terms,  and  unneces- 
sary multiplication  of  verbs  and  nouns.  I do 
moreover  forbid  you  the  use  of  the  words  also 
and  likeimse  ; and  must  further  declare,  that  if 
I catch  any  one  among  you,  upon  any  pretence 
whatsoever,  using  the  particle  or,  I shall  in- 
stantly order  him  to  be  stripped  of  his  gown, 
and  thrown  over  the  bar.  This  is  a true  copy. 

‘CHARLES  LILLIE.’ 

N.  B.  The  sequel  of  the  proceedings  of  this 
day  will  be  published  on  Tuesday  next. 


No.  254.]  Thursday^  November  23,  1710. 

Splendide  mendax.  Hor.  2 Od.  iii.  35. 

Gloriously  false.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  22. 

There  are  no  books  which  I more  delight  in 
than  in  travels,  especially  those  that  describe 
remote  countries,  and  give  the  writer  an  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  his  parts  without  incurring 
any  danger  of  being  examined  or  contradicted. 
Among  all  the  authors  of  this  kind,  our  re- 
nowned countryman,  sir  John  Mandeville^  has 
distinguished  himself  by  the  copiousness  of  his 
invention,  and  the  greatness  of  his  genius.  The 
second  to  sir  John  I take  to  have  been  Ferdi- 
nand Mendez  Pinto, t a person  of  infinite  ad- 
venture, and  unbounded  imagination.  One 
reads  the  voyages  of  these  two  great  wits  with 
as  much  astonishment  as  the  travels  of  Ulysses 
in  Homer,  or  of  the  Red-cross  Knight  in  Spen- 
ser. All  is  enchanted  ground  and  fairy-land. 

I have  got  into  my  hands,  by  great  chance. 


* Sir  John  Mandeville  was  born  at  St.  Alban’s  in  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century,  of  a family,  whose 
ancestor  is  said  to  have  come  into  England  with  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror. 

t Ferdinand  Mendez  Pinto,  a Portuguese  of  low  birth, 
a great  adventurer,  and  no  common  genius,  who  wrote 
voyages  and  travels,  remarkable  for  their  marvellous 
exaggeration. 


[No.  254. 

several  manuscripts  of  these  two  eminent  au- 
thors, which  are  filled  with  greater  wonders 
than  any  of  those  they  have  communicated  to 
the  public ; and  indeed,  were  they  not  so  well 
attested,  they  would  appear  altogether  improba- 
ble. I am  apt  to  think  the  ingenious  authors 
did  not  publish  them  with  the  rest  of  their 
works,  lest  they  should  pass  for  fictions  and 
fables  : a caution  not  unnecessary,  when  the 
reputation  of  their  veracity  was  not  yet  esta- 
blished in  the  world.  But  as  this  reason  has 
now  no  further  weight,  I shall  make  the  public 
a present  of  these  curious  pieces,  at  such  times 
as  I shall  find  myself  unprovided  with  other  | 
subjects.  I 

The  present  paper  I intend  to  fill  with  an  ' 
extract  from  sir  John’s  journal,  in  which  that  1 
learned  and  worthy  knight  gives  an  account  of  1 
the  freezing  and  thawing  of  several  short  I 
speeches,*  which  he  made  in  the  territories  of 
Nova  Zembla.  I need  not  inform  my  reader 
that  the  author  of  Hudibras  alludes  to  this  | 
strange  quality  in  that  cold  climate,  when, 
speaking  of  abstracted  notions  clothed  in  a i 
visible  shape,  he  adds  that  apt  simile  : — 

‘Like  words  congealed  in  northern  air.’f 

Not  to  keep  my  reader  any  longer  in  sus- 
pense, the  relation,  put  into  modern  language,  , 
is  as  follows  : 

‘ We  were  separated  by  a storm  in  the  lati- 
tude of  seventy-three,  insomuch,  that  only  the 
ship  which  I was  in,  with  a Dutch  and  French 
vessel,  got  safe  into  a creek  of  Nova  Zembla. 

We  landed,  in  order  to  refit  our  vessels,  and  store 
ourselves  with  provisions.  The  crew  of  each  ' 
vessel  made  themselves  a cabin  of  turf  and 
wood  at  some  distance  from  each  other,  to 
fence  themselves  against  the  inclemencies  of 
the  weather,  which  was  severe  beyond  imagina- 
tion, We  soon  observed,  that  in  talking  to  one 
another  we  lost  several  of  our  words,  and  could 
not  hear  one  another  at  above  two  yards  dis- 
tance, and  that  too  when  w^e  sat  very  near  the 
fire.  After  much  perplexity,  I found  that  our 
words  froze  in  the  air  before  they  could  reach 
the  ears  of  the  persons  to  whom  they  were 
spoken.  I was  soon  confirmed  in  this  conjec- 
ture, when,  upon  the  increase  of  the  cold,  the 
whole  company  grew  dumb,  or  rather  deaf;  for 
every  man  was  sensible,  as  we  afterwards  found, 
that  he  spoke  as  well  as  ever ; but  the  sounds 
no  sooner  took  air  than  they  w’ere  condensed 
and  lost.  It  was  now  a miserable  spectacle  to 
see  us  nodding  and  gaping  at  one  another, 
every  man  talking,  and  no  man  heard.  One 
might  observe  a seaman  that  could  hail  a ship 
at  a league’s  distance,  beckoning  with  his  hand, 
straining  his  lungs,  and  tearing  his  throat ; but 
all  in  vain : 

‘ Nec  vox  nec  verba  sequunlur.  Ovid. 

‘ Nor  voice,  nor  words  ensued. 

‘ We  continued  here  three  weeks  in  this  dis- 
mal plight.  At  length,  upon  a turn  of  wind. 


* Oeuvres  de  Rabelais,  liv.  iv.  ch.  55,  &c. 
t Hudibras,  part  i.  canto  j.  line  148. 


No.  255.] 


THE  TATLER. 


409 


the  air  about  us  beg^an  to  thaw.  Our  cabin  was 
immediately  filled  with  a dry  clattering  sound, 
whicli  I al'terwards  found  to  be  the  crackling  of 
consonants  that  broke  above  our  heads,  and 
were  often  mixed  witli  a gentle  hissing,  which 
I imputed  to  tlje  letter  s,  that  occurs  so  fre- 
quently in  the  English  tongue.  I soon  after 
Iclt  a breeze  of  whispers  rushing  by  my  ear ; 
for  those,  being  of  a soft  and  gentle  substance, 
immediately  liquified  in  the  warm  wind  that 
blew  across  our  cabin.  These  were  soon  fol- 
lowed by  syllables  and  short  words,  and  at 
length  by  entire  sentences,  that  melted  sooner 
or  later , as  they  were  more  or  less  congealed : 
so  tliat  tve  now  heard  every  thing  that  had  been 
spoken  during  the  whole  three  weeks  that  we 
had  be  m silent,  if  I may  use  that  expression. 
It  was  now  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  yet 
to  my  surprise,  I heard  somebody  say,  “Sir 
John,  it  is  midnight,  and  time  for  the  ship’s 
crew  to  go  to-bed.”  This  I knew  to  be  the 
pilot’fi  voice  ; and,  upon  recollecting  myself,  I 
concluded  that  he  had  spoken  these  words  to 
me  some  days  before,  though  I could  not  hear 
them  until  the  present  thaw.  My  reader  will 
easily  imagine  how  the  whole  crew  was  amazed 
to  hear  every  man  talking,  and  see  no  man 
opening  his  mouth.  In  the  midst  of  this  great 
surprise  we  were  all  in,  we  heard  a volley  of 
oaths  and  curses,  lasting  for  a long  while,  and 
uttered  in  a very  hoarse  voice,  which  I knew 
belonged  to  the  boatswain,  who  was  a very 
choleric  fellow,  and  had  taken  his  opportunit}’- 
of  cursing  and  swearing  at  me  when  he 
thought  I could  not  hear  him;  for  I had  several 
times  given  him  the  strappado  on  that  account, 
as  I did  not  fail  to  repeat  it  for  these  his  pious 
soliloquies,  when  I got  him  on  ship-board. 

‘ I must  not  omit  the  names  of  several  beau- 
ties in  VVapping,  which  were  heard  every  now 
and  then,  in  the  midst  of  a long  sigh  that  ac- 
companied them  ; as,  “ Dear  Kate  !”  “ Pretty 
Mrs.  Peggy !”  “ When  shall  I see  my  Sue 
again  !”  This  betrayed  several  amours  which 
had  been  concealed  until  that  time,  and  furnished 
us  with  a great  deal  of  mirth  in  our  return  to 
England. 

‘ When  this  confusion  of  voices  was  pretty 
well  over,  though  I was  afraid  to  offer  at  speak- 
ing, as  fearing  I should  not  be  heard,  I proposed 
a visit  to  the  Dutch  cabin,  which  lay  about  a 
mile  farther  up  in  the  country.  My  crew  were 
extremely  rejoiced  to  find  they  had  again  re- 
covered their  hearing ; though  every  man  ut- 
tered his  voice  with  the  same  apprehensions 
that  I had  done, 

Et  timiJe  verba  intermissu  retentat. 

Ovid.  Met.  i.747. 

‘ And  try’d  his  tongue,  his  silence  softly  broke. 

Dryden. 

‘ At  about  half-a-mile’s  distance  from  our  ca- 
bin we  heard  the  groanings  of  a bear,  which 
at  first  startled  us  ; but,  upon  inquiry,  we  were 
informed  by  some  of  our  company,  that  he  was 
dead,  a»d  now  lay  in  salt,  having  been  killed 
upon  that  very  spot  about  a fortnight  before  in 
the  time  of  the  frost.  Not  far  from  the  same 
place,  we  were  likewise  entertained  with  some 
posthumous  snarls,  and  barkings  of  a fox. 

3F 


‘ We  at  length  arrived  at  the  little  Dutch  set- 
tlement ; and,  upon  entering  the  room,  found 
it  filled  with  sighs  that  smelt  of  brandy,  and 
several  other  unsavoury  sounds,  that  were  al- 
together inarticulate.  My  valet,  who  was  an 
Irishman,  fell  into  so  great  a rage  at  what  ho 
heard,  that  he  drew  his  sword;  but  not  knowing 
where  to  lay  the  blame,  he  put  it  up  again. 
We  were  stunned  with  these  confused  noises, 
but  did  not  hear  a single  word  until  about  half 
an  hour  after  ; which  I ascribed  to  the  harsh 
and  obdurate  sounds  of  that  language,  which 
wanted  more  time  than  ours  to  melt,  and  be- 
come audible. 

‘ After  having  here  met  with  a very  hearty 
welcome,  we  went  to  the  cabin  of  the  French, 
who,  to  make  amends  for  their  three  weeks’ 
silence,  were  talking  and  disputing  with  greater 
rapidity  and  confusion  than  I ever  heard  in  an 
assembly,  even  of  that  nation.  Their  language 
as  I found,  upon  the  first  giving  of  the  weather, 
fell  asunder  and  dissolved.  I was  here  con- 
vinced of  an  error  into  which  I had  before 
fallen  : for  I fancied,  that  for  the  freezing  of 
the  sound,  it  was  necessary  for  it  to  be  wrapped 
up,  and,  as  it  were,  preserved  in  breath : but  I 
found  my  mistake  when  I heard  the  sound  of  a 
kit  playing  a minuet  over  our  heads.  I asked 
the  occasion  of  it ; upon  which  one  of  the  com- 
pany told  me  that  it  would  play  there  above  a 
week  longer  ; “ for,”  says  he,  “ finding  ourselves 
bereft  of  speech,  we  prevailed  upon  one  of  the 
company,  who  had  his  musical  instrument 
about  him,  to  play  to  us  from  morning  to  night ; 
all  which  time  we  employed  in  dancing,  in  order 
to  dissipate  our  chagrin,  et  tuer  le  temps."  ’ 

Here  sir  John  gives  very  good  philosophical 
reasons,  why  the  kit  could  net  be  heard  during 
the  frost ; but,  as  they  are  something  prolix,  I 
pass  them  over  in  silence,  and  shall  only  ob- 
serve,  that  the  honourable  author  seems,  by  his 
quotations  to  have  been  well  versed  in  the  an- 
cient poets,  which  perhaps  raised  his  fancy 
above  the  ordinary  pitch  of  historians,  and  very 
much  contributed  to  the  embellishment  of  his 
writings. 


No.  255.]  Saturday,  November  25,  1710. 

Nec  te  tua  plurima,  Pantheu, 

Labentem  pietas,  iiec  Apollinis  insula  texit. 

Firg.  ^11.  ii.  429. 

Comes  course  the  last,  the  red’ning  doctor  now 

Slides  off  reluctant,  with  his  meaning  bow'; 

Dress,  letters,  wit,  and  merit,  plead  in  vain, 

For  bear  he  must,  indignity  and  pain. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  24. 

‘ To  the  Censor  of  Great  Britain. 

‘Sir, — I am  at  present  under  very  great  diffi- 
culties, which  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  any  one, 
besides  yourself,  to  redress.  Whether  or  no 
you  shall  think  it  a proper  case  to  come  before 
your  court  of  honour,  I cannot  tell ; but* thus  it 
is.  I am  chaplain  to  an  honourable  family,  ve- 
ry regular  at  the  hours  of  devotion,  and,  I hope, 
of  an  unblameable  life ; but  for  not  offering  to 
rise  at  the  second  course,  I found  my  patron 
35 


410 


THE  TATLER. 


and  his  lady,  very  sullen  and  out  of  humour, 
though  at  first  I did  not  know  the  reason  of  it. 
At  length,  when  I happened  to  help  myself  to 
a jelly,  the  lady  of  the  house,  otherwise  a de- 
vout woman,  told  me,  that  it  did  not  become  a 
man  of  my  cloth  to  delight  in  such  frivolous 
food  ; but  as  I still  continued  to  sit  out  the  last 
course,  I was  yesterday  informed  by  the  butler 
that  his  lordship  had  no  further  occasion  for  my 
service.  All  which  is  humbly  submitted  to 
your  consideration  by,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  &c.’ 

The  case  of  this  gentleman  deserves  pity ; 
especially  if  he  loves  sweetmeats,  to  which,  if 
I may  guess  by  his  letter,  he  is  no  enemy.  In 
the  mean  time,  I have  often  wondered  at  the 
indecency  of  discharging  the  holiest  man  from 
the  table  as  soon  as  the  most  delicious  parts  of 
the  entertainment  are  served  up,  and  could 
never  conceive  a reason  for  so  absurd  a custom. 
Is  it  because  a liquorish  palate,  or  a sweet 
tooth,  as  they  call  it,  is  not  consistent  with  the 
sanctity  of  his  character?  This  is  but  a trifling 
pretence.  No  man,  of  the  most  rigid  virtue, 
gives  offence  by  any  excesses  in  plum-pudding 
or  plum-porridge,  and  that  because  they  are  the 
first  parts  of  the  dinner.  Is  there  any  thing 
that  tends  to  incitation  in  sweetmeats  more 
than  in  ordinary  dishes?  Certainly  not.  Sugar- 
plums are  a very  innocent  diet,  and  conserves 
of  a much  colder  nature  than  your  common 
pickles.  I have  sometimes  thought  that  the 
ceremony  of  the  chaplain’s  flying  away  from 
the  desert,  was  typical  and  figurative,  to  mark 
out  to  the  company  how  they  ought  to  retire 
from  all  the  luscious  baits  of  temptation,  and 
deny  their  appetites  the  gratifications  that  are 
most  pleasing  to  them ; or,  at  least,  to  signify 
that  we  ought  to  stint  ourselves  in  our  most 
lawful  satisfactions,  and  not  make  our  pleasure, 
but  our  support,  the  end  of  eating.  But  most 
certainly,  if  such  a lesson  of  temperance  had 
been  necessary  at  a table,  our  clergy  would 
have  recommended  it  to  all  the  lay-masters  of 
families,  and  not  have  disturbed  other  men’s 
tables  with  such  unseasonable  examples  of 
abstinence.  The  original,  therefore,  of  this 
barbarous  custom,  I take  to  have  been  merely 
accidental.  The  chaplain  retired,  out  of  pure 
complaisance,  to  make  room  for  the  removal  of 
the  dishes,  or  possibly  for  the  ranging  of  the 
desert.  This  by  degrees  grew  into  a duty,  until 
at  length,  as  the  fashion  improved,  the  good 
man  found  himself  cut  off  from  the  third  part 
of  the  entertainment ; and,  if  the  arrogance  of 
the  patron  goes  on,  it  is  not  impossible,  but  in 
the  next  generation,  he  may  see  himself  re- 
duced to  the  tythe,  or  tenth  dish  of  the  table ; a 
sufficient  caution  not  to  part  with  any  privilege 
we  are  once  possessed  of.  It  was  usual  for  the 
priest,  in  old  times,  to  feast  upon  the  sacrifice, 
nay,  the  honey-cake,  while  the  hungry  laity 
looked  upon  him  with  great  devotion  ; or,  as  the 
late  lord  Rochester  describes  it,  in  a very  lively 
manner. 

And  while  the  priest  did  eat,  the  people  star’d. 

At  present  the  custom  is  inverted ; the  laity 
feast,  while  the  priest  stands  by  as  an  humble 
spectator.  This  necessarily  puts  a good  man 


[No.  255.  I 

upon  making  great  ravages  on  all  the  dishes  i 
that  stand  near  him ; and  distinguishing  him-  j 
self  by  voraciousness  of  appetite,  as  knowing  i 
that  his  time  is  short.  I would  fain  ask  these 
stiff-necked  patrons,  whether  they  would  not  | 
take  it  ill  of  a chaplain,  that  in  his  grace  after  | 
meat,  should  return  thanks  for  the  whole  en-  I 
tainment,  with  an  exception  to  the  desert?  And  i 
yet  I cannot  but  think  that,  in  such  a proceed- 
ing, he  would  but  deal  with  them  as  they  de- 
served. What  would  a Roman  Catholic  priest 
think,  who  is  always  helped  first,  and  placed 
next  the  ladies,  should  he  see  a clergyman 
giving  his  company  the  slip  at  the  first  appear- 
ance of  the  tarts  or  sweetmeats  ? Would  not 
he  believe  that  he  had  the  same  antipathy  to  a 
candied  orange,  or  a piece  of  puff-paste,  as  some 
have  to  a Cheshire  cheese;  or  a breast  of  mut- 
ton ? Yet,  to  so  ridiculous  a height  is  this 
foolish  custom  grown,  that  even  the  Christmas  | 
pye,  which,  in  its  very  nature  is  a kind  of  con- 
secrated cake,  and  a badge  of  distinction,  is 
often  forbidden  to  the  druid  of  the  family. — 
Strange ! that  a surloin  of  beef,  whether  boiled 
or  roasted,  when  entire,  is  exposed  to  his  ut- 
most depredations  and  incisions  ; but,  if  minced 
into  small  pieces,  and  tossed  up  with  plums  and 
sugar,  changes  its  property,  and  forsooth,  is 
meat  for  his  master. 

In  this  case  I know  not  which  to  censure, 
the  patron  or  the  chaplain  ; the  insolence  of 
power  or  the  abjectness  of  dependence.  For 
my  own  part,  I have  often  blushed  to  see  a 
gentleman,  whom  I knew  to  have  much  more 
wit  and  learning  than  myself,  and  who  was 
bred  up  with  me  at  the  university,  upon  the 
same  foot  of  a liberal  education,  treated  in  such 
an  ignominious  manner,  and  sunk  beneath 
those  of  his  own  rank,  by  reason  of  that  cha- 
racter which  ought  to  bring  him  honour.  This 
deters  men  of  generous  minds  from  placing 
themselves  in  such  a station  of  life,  and  by  that 
means,  frequently  excludes  persons  of  quality 
from  the  improving  and  agreeable  conversation 
of  a learned  and  obsequious  friend. 

Mr.  Oldham*  lets  us  know,  that  he  was  af. 
frighted  from  the  thought  of  such  an  employ- 
ment, by  the  scandalous  sort.of  treatment  which 
often  accompanies  it : 

Some  think  themselves  exalted  to  the  sky. 

If  they  light  in  some  noble  family  : 

Diet,  a horse,  and  thirty  pounds  a-year, 

Besides  th’  advantage  of  his  lordship’s  ear, 

The  credit  of  the  business, and  the  state, 

Are  things  that  in  a youngster’s  sense  sound  great. 

Little  the  unexperienc'd  wretch  does  know 
What  slavery  he  oft  must  undergo. 

Who,  though  in  silken  scarf,  and  cassock  drest. 

Wears  but  a gayer  livery  at  best. 

When  dinner  calls,  the  implement  must  wait 
With  holy  words  to  consecrate  the  meat. 

But  hold  it  for  a favour  seldom  known. 

If  he  be  deign’d  the  honour  to  sit  down. 

Soon  as  the  tarts  appear  ; ‘ Sir  Crape,  withdraw, 

Those  dainties  are  not  for  a spiritual  maw. 

Observe  your  distance,  and  be  sure  to  stand 
Hard  by  the  cistern  with  your  cap  in  hand  : 

There  for  diversion  you  may  pick  your  teeth,  i 

Till  the  kind  voider  comes  for  your  relief.’ 

Let  others,  who  such  meannesses  can  brook. 

Strike  countenance  to  every  great  man’s  look ; 

I rate  my  freedom  higher. 


* In  ‘ A Satyr,  addressed  to  a PTiend  that  is  about  to 
leave  the  University,’  <fec. 


THE  TATLER. 


411 


No.  256.] 

This  author’s  raillery  is  the  raillery  of  a 
friend,  and  does  not  turn  the  sacred  order  into 
ridicule  ; but  is  a just  censure  on  such  persons 
as  take  advantage,  from  the  necessities  of  a man 
of  merit,  to  impose  on  him  hardships  that  are 
by  no  means  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  his  pro- 
fession. 


No.  256.]  Tuesday,  Novemher  28,  1710. 

Nostrum  est  tantas  componere  lites. 

Virg.  Eel.  iii.  108. 

’Tis  ours  such  warm  contentious  to  decide. 

R.  Wynne. 

The  Proceedings  of  the  Court  of  Honour,  held 
in  Sheer-lane,  on  Monday,  the  twentieth  of 
November,  1710,  before  Isaac  Bicker  staff, 
Esquire,  Censor  of  Great  Britain. 

Peter  Plumb,  of  London,  merchant,  was  in- 
dicted by  the  honourable  Mr.  Thomas  Gules, 
of  Gule-hall,  in  the  county  of  Salop,  for  that 
the  said  Peter  Plumb  did,  in  Lombard-street, 
London,  between  the  hours  of  two  and  three  in 
the  afternoon,  meet  the  said  Mr.  Thomas  Gules, 
and,  after  a short  salutation,  put  on  his  hat, 
value  five-pence,  while  the  honourable  Mr. 
Gules  stood  bare-headed  for  the  space  of  two 
seconds.  It  was  further  urged  against  the  cri- 
minal, that,  during  his  discourse  with  the  pro- 
secutor, he  feloniously  stole  the  wall  of  him, 
having  clapped  his  back  against  it  in  such  a 
manner,  that  it  was  impossible  for  Mr.  Gules  to 
recover  it  again  at  his  taking  leave  of  him.  The 
prosecutor  alleged,  that  he  was  the  cadet  of  a 
very  ancient  family  ; and  that,  according  to  the 
principles  of  all  the  younger  brothers  of  the  said 
family,  he  had  never  sullied  himself  with  busi- 
ness, but  had  chosen  rather  to  starve,  like  a man 
of  honour,  than  do  any  thing  beneath  his  qua- 
lity. He  produced  several  witnesses,  that  he 
had  never  employed  himself  beyond  the  twist- 
ing of  a whip,  or  the  making  a pair  of  nut- 
crackers, in  which  he  only  worked  for  his 
diversion,  in  order  to  make  a present  now  and 
then  to  his  friends.  The  prisoner  being  asked, 
‘ what  he  could  say  for  himself,’  cast  several 
reflections  upon  the  honourable  Mr.  Gules ; as, 
‘ that  he  was  not  worth  a groat ; that  nobody 
in  the  city  would  trust  him  for  a half-penny ; 
that  he  owed  him  money,  which  he  had  pro- 
mised to  pay  him  several  times,  but  never  kept 
his  word : and,  in  short,  that  he  was  an  idle, 
beggarly  fellow,  and  of  no  use  to  the  public.’ 
This  sort  of  language  was  very  severely  repri- 
manded by  the  Censor,  who  told  the  criminal, 
‘that  he  spoke  in  contempt  of  the  court,  and 
that  he  should  be  proceeded  against  for  contu- 
macy, if  he  did  not  change  his  style.’  The 
prisoner,  therefore,  desired  to  be  heard  by  his 
counsel,  who  urged  in  his  defence,  ‘ that  he  put 
on  his  hat  through  ignorance,  and  took  the  wall 
by  accident.’  They  likewise  produced  several 
witnesses,  that  he  made  several  motions  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  which  are  generally  under- 
stood as  an  invitation  to  the  person  we  talk 
with  to  be  covered  ; and  that,  the  gentleman  not 
taking  the  hint,  he  was  forced  to  put  on  his 
liat,  as  being  troubled  with  a cold.  There  was 


likewise  an  Irishman,  who  deposed,*  that  he  had 
heard  him  cough  ihree-and-twenty  times  that 
morning.’  And  as  for  the  wall,  it  was  alleged, 
that  he  had  taken  it  inadvertently,  to  save  him- 
self from  a shower  of  rain  which  was  then 
falling.  The  Censor  having  consulted  the  men 
of  honour,  who  sat  at  his  right  hand  on  the 
bench,  found  they  were  all  of  opinion,  that  the 
defence  made  by  the  prisoner’s  counsel,  did 
rather  aggravate  than  extenuate  his  crime; 
that  the  motions  and  intimations  of  the  hat 
were  a token  of  superiority  in  conversation, 
and  therefore  not  to  be  used  by  the  criminal  to 
a man  of  the  prosecutor’s  quality,  who  was  like- 
wise vested  with  a double  title  to  the  wall  at 
the  time  of  their  conversation,  both  as  it  was 
the  upper  hand,  and  as  it  was  a shelter  from  the 
weather.  The  evidence  being  very  full  and 
clear,  the  jury,  without  going  out  of  court,  de- 
clared their  opinion  unanimously,  by  the  mouth 
of  their  foreman,  ‘ that  the  prosecutor  was 
bound  in  honour  to  make  the  sun  shine  through 
the  criminal,’  or,  as  they  afterwards  explained 
themselves,  ‘ to  whip  him  through  the  lungs.’ 
The  Censor  knitting  his  brows  into  a frown, 
and  looking  very  sternly  upon  the  jury,  after  a 
little  pause,  gave  them  to  know,  ‘ that  this  court 
was  erected  for  the  finding  out  of  penalties 
suitable  to  offences,  ^^and  to  restrain  the  outrages 
of  private  justice^  and  that  he  expected  they 
should  moderate  their  verdict.’  The  jury 
therefore  retired,  and  being  willing  to  comply 
with  the  advices  of  the  Censor,  after  an  hour’s 
conversation,  delivered  their  opinion  as  follows  : 
‘ That,  in  consideration  this  was  Peter 
Plumb’s  first  offence,  and  that  there  did  not 
appear  any  malice  prepense  in  it,  as  also  that 
he  lived  in  good  reputation  among  his  neigh- 
bours, and  that  his  taking  the  wall  was  only 
se  defendendo,  the  prosecutor  should  let  him 
escape  with  life,  and  content  himself  with  the 
slitting  of  his  nose  and  the  cutting  off  both  his 
ears.’  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  smiling  upon  the  court, 
told  them,  ‘ that  he  thought  the  punishment, 
even  under  its  present  mitigation,  too  severe ; 
and  that  such  penalties  might  be  of  ill  conse- 
quence in  a trading  nation.’  He  therefore 
pronounced  sentence  against  the  criminal  in  the 
following  manner  : ‘ that  his  hat,  which  was  the 
instrument  of  offence,  should  be  forfeited  to  the 
court ; that  the  criminal  should  go  to  the  ware- 
house, from  whence  he  came,  and  thence,  as 
occasion  should  require,  proceed  to  the  Ex- 
change, or  Garraway’s  coffee-house,,  in  what 
manner  he  pleased;  but  that  neither  he,  nor 
any  of  the  family  of  the  Plumbs,should  hereafter 
appear  in  the  streets  of  London,  out  of  their 
coaches,  that  so  the  foot- way  might  be  left  open 
and  undisturbed  for  their  betters.’ 

Dathan,  a pedling  Jew,  and  T.  R , a 

Welshman,  were  indicted  by  the  keeper  of  an 
alehouse  in  Westminster,  for  breaking  the  peace 
and  two  earthen  mugs,  in  a dispute  about  the 
antiquity  of  their  families,  to  the  great  detri- 
ment of  the  house,  and  disturbance  of  the  whole 
neighbourhood.  Dathan  said  for  himself,  ‘ that 
he  was  provoked  to  it  by  the  Welshman,  who 
pretended  that  the  Welsh  were  an  ancienter 
people  than  the  Jews  ; whereas,’  says  he,  ‘ I can 
show  by  this  genealogy  in  my  hand,  that  I am 


412 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  257. 


the  son  of  Meshech,  that  was  the  son  of  Naboth, 
that  was  the  son  of  Shalein,  that  was  the  son  of 

.’  The  Welshman  here  interrupted  him, 

and  told  him,  ‘ that  he  could  produce  shennalogy 
as  well  as  himself;’  for  ‘that  he  was  John  ap 
Rice,  ap  Shenken,  ap  Sliones.’  He  then  turned 
himself  to  the  Censor,  and  told  him  in  the  same 
broken  accent,  and  with  much  warmth,  ‘ that 
the  Jew  would  needs  uphold,  that  king-  Cadwal- 
lader  was  younger  than  Issachar.’  Mr.  Bick- 
erstaff  seemed  very  much  inclined  to  give  sen- 
tence against  Dathan,  as  being  a Jew ; but  find- 
ing reasons,  by  some  expressions  which  the 
Welshman  let  fall  in  asserting  the  antiquity  of 
his  familjq  to  suspect  that  the  said  Welshman 
was  a Prse-Adarnite,  he  suffered  the  jury  to  go 
out,  without  any  previous  admonition.  After 
some  time  they  returned,  and  gave  their  verdict 
‘ that  it  appearing  the  persons  at  the  bar  did 
neither  of  them  wear  a sword,  and  that  conse- 
quently they  had  no  right  to  quarrel  upon  a point 
of  honour  ; to  prevent  such  frivolous  appeals  for 
the  future,  they  should  both  of  them  be  tossed  in 
the  same  blanket,  and  there  adjust  the  superi- 
ority as  they  could  agree  on  it  between  them- 
selves.’ The  Censor  confirmed  the  verdict. 

Richard  Newman  was  indicted  by  major  Pun- 
to,  for  having  used  the  words,  ‘perhaps  it  may 
be  so,’  in  a dispute  with  thoejsaid  major.  The 
major  urged,  ‘ that  the  word  perhaps  was  ques- 
tioning his  veracity,  and  that  it  was  an  indirect 
manner  of  giving  him  the  lie.’  Richard  New- 
man had  nothing  more  to  say  for  himself,  than 
that  ‘he  intended  no  such  thing;’  and  threw 
himself  upon  the  mercy  of  the  court.  The  jury 
brought  in  their  verdict  special. 

Mr.  Bickerstaff  stood  up,  and,  after  having 
cast  his  eyes  over  the  whole  assembly,  hemmed 
thrice.  He  then  acquainted  them,  ‘ that  he  had 
laid  down  a rule  to  himself,  which  he  -was  re- 
solved never  to  depart  from,  and  which,  as  he 
conceived,  would  very  much  conduce  to  the 
shortening  the  business  of  the  court : I mean, 
says  he,  ‘ never  to  allow  of  the  lie  being  given 
by  construction,  implication,  or  induction,  but 
by  the  sole  use  of  the  word  itself.’  lie  then 
proceeded  to  show  the  great  mischiefs  that  had 
arisen  to  the  English  nation  from  that  pernicious 
monosyllable  ; that  it  had  bred  the  most  fatal 
quarrels  between  the  dearest  friends  ; that  it  had 
frequently  thinned  the  guards,  and  made  great 
havock  in  the  army  ; that  it  had  sometimes 
weakened  the  city  trained-bands ; and,  in  a 
word,  had  destroyed  many  of  the  bravest  men 
in  the  isle  of  Great  Britain.  For  the  prevention 
of  which  evils  for  the  future,  he  instructed  the 
jury  to  present  the  word  itself  as  a nuisance  in 
the  English  tongue  ; and  further  promised  them, 
that  he  would,  upon  such  their  preferment,  pub- 
lish an  edict  of  tlie  court,  for  the  entire  banish- 
ment and  exclusion  of  it  out  of  the  discourses 
and  conversation  of  all  civil  societies. 

CHARLES  LILLIE. 

This  is  a true  copy. 

Monday  next  is  set  apart  for  the  trial  of  seve- 
ral female  causes. 

N.  B.  The  case  of  the  hassock  will  come  on 
between  the  hours  of  nine  and  ten. 


No.  257.]  Thursday,  November  30,  1710. 

In  nova  fert  animus  mutatas  dicere  formas 
Corpora  ; Dii,  coeptis,  nara  vos  mutastis  et  illas. 

Aspirate  meis  ! Odd.  Met.  i.  1. 

Of  bodies  chang’d  to  various  forms  I sing, 

Ye  gods,  from  whom  these  miracles  did  spring. 
Assist  me  in  this  arduous  task! 

From  my  own  Apartment,  November  29. 

Every  nation  is  distinguished  by  productions 
that  are  peculiar  to  it.  Great  Britain  is  parti- 
cularly fruitful  in  religions,  that  shoot  up  and 
flourish  in  this  climate  more  than  in  any  other. 
We  are  so  famous  abroad  for  our  great  variety 
of  sects  and  opinions,  that  an  ingenious  friend 
of  mine,  who  is  lately  returned  from  his  travels, 
assures  me,  there  is  a show  at  this  time  carried 
up  and  down  in  Germany,  whieh  represents  all 
tlie  religions  of  Great  Britain  in  wax-w’ork. 
Notwithstanding  that  the  pliancy  of  the  matter, 
in  which  the  images  are  wrought,  makes  it  ea- 
pable  of  being  moulded  into  all  shapes  and 
figures ; my  friend  tells  me,  th.at  he  did  not 
think  it  possible  for  it  to  be  twisted  and  tortured 
into  so  many  screw’ed  faces,  and  w’ry  features, 
as  appeared  in  several  of  the  figures  that  com- 
posed the  show\  I w’as  indeed  so  pleased  with 
the  design  of  the  German  artist,  that  I begged 
my  friend  to  give  me  an  account  of  it  in  all  its 
particulars,  which  he  did  after  the  following 
manner  : 

‘ I have  often,’  says  he,  ‘ been  present  at  a 
show  of  elephants,  eamels,  dromedaries,  and 
other  strange  creatures,  but  I never  saw  so 
great  an  assembly  of  spectators  as  were  met  to- 
gether at  the  opening  of  this  great  piece  of  wax- 
w’ork.  We  were  all  placed  in  a large  hall,  ac- 
cording to  the  price  that  we  had  paid  for  our 
seats.  The  curtain  that  hung  before  the  show, 
W’as  made  by  a master  of  tapestry,  w’ho  had  w’o- 
ven  it  in  the  figure  of  a monstrous  hydra  that 
had  several  heads,  which  brandished  out  their 
tongues,  and  seemed  to  hiss  at  each  other.  Some 
of  these  heads  were  large  and  entire  : and  w’here 
any  of  them  had  been  lopped  aw’ay,  there  sprout- 
ed up  several  in  the  room  of  them ; insomuch, 
that  for  one  head  cut  off,  a man  might  see  ten, 
twenty,  or  a hundred,  of  a smaller  size,  creeping 
through  the  w’ound.  In  short,  the  whole  picture 
W’as  nothing  but  confusion  and  bloodshed.  ‘ On 
a sudden,’  says  my  friend,  ‘ I was  startled  with 
a flourish  of  many  musical  instruments  that  I 
had  never  heard  before,  which  was  followed  by 
a short  tune,  if  it  might  be  so  called,  wholly 
made  up  of  jars  and  discords.  Among  the  rest, 
there  was  an  organ,  a bag-pipe,  a groaning 
board,*  a stentorophonic  trumpet,  with  several 
W’ind  instruments  of  a most  disagreeable  sound, 
which  I do  not  so  much  as  know  the  names  of. 
After  a short  flourish,  the  curtain  was  drawn  up, 
and  we  W’ere  presented  w’ith  the  most  extraor- 


* At  the  si^n  of  the  Woolssack  in  Newgate  market, 
is  to  be  seen  a strange  and  wonderful  thing,  w hich  is,  an 
elm-board ; being  touched  with  a hot  iron,  it  doth  e.x- 
I press  itself,  as  if  it  were  a man  dying  with  groans  and 
trembling,  to  the  great  admiration  of  all  hearers.  It 
I hath  been  presented  b;^fote  the  king  and  his  nobles,  and 
j ha;-h  given  great  satisfaction.  jIii  adoerlisementin  168-2, 
I at  the  top  of  rrhickarc  the  king's  arms  and  C-  li-  Sloan. 
i JilSS.  4te.  958.  Brit.  Jifvscum. 


No.  257.] 


THE  TATLER. 


413 


dinary  assembly  of  figures  that  ever  entered 
into  a man’s  imagination.  The  design  of  the 
workman  was  so  well  expressed  in  the  dumb 
show  before  us,  tliat  it  was  not  hard  for  an  Eng- 
lishman to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  it. 

‘ The  principal  figures  were  placed  in  a row, 
consisting  of  seven  persons.  The  middle  figure, 
which  immediately  attracted  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  company,  and  was  much  bigger  than  tlie 
rest,  was  formed  like  a matron,  dressed  in  the 
habit  of  an  elderly  woman  of  quality  in  queen 
Elizabeth’s  days.  The  most  remarkable  parts 
of  her  dress  were,  the  beaver  with  the  steeple 
crown,  the  scarf  that  was  darker  than  sable,  and 
the  lawn  apron  that  was  whiter  than  ermine. 
Her  gown  was  of  the  richest  black  velvet ; and, 
just  upon  her  heart,  studded  with  large  diamonds 
of  an  inestimable  value,  disposed  in  the  form  of 
a cross.  She  bore  an  inexpressible  cheerfulness 
and  dignity  in  her  aspect ; and,  though  she 
seemed  in  years,  appeared  with  so  much  spirit 
and  vivacity,  as  gave  her  at  the  same  time  an 
air  of  old  age  and  immortality.  I found  my 
lieart  touched  with  so  much  love  and  reverence 
at  the  sight  of  her,  that  the  tears  ran  down  my 
face  as  I looked  upon  her ; and  still  the  more  I 
looked  .upon  her,  the  more  my  heart  was  melted 
with  the  sentiments  of  filial  tenderness  and  duty. 
I discovered  every  moment  something  so  charm- 
ing in  this  figure,  that  I could  scarce  take  my 
eyes  off  it.  On  its  right  hand  there  sat  the 
figure  of  a woman  so  covered  with  ornaments, 
that  her  face,  her  body,  and  her  hands,  were  al- 
most entirely  hid  under  them.  The  little  you 
could  see  of  her  face  was  painted  : and,  what  I 
thought  very  odd,  had  something  in  it  like  artifi- 
cial  wrinkles ; but  I was  the  less  surprised  at  it, 
when  I saw  upon  her  forehead  an  old-fashioned 
tower  of  gray  hairs.  Her  head-dress  rose  very 
high  by  three  several  stories  or  degrees;  her  gar- 
ments had  a thousand  colours  in  them,  and  were 
embroidered  with  crosses  in  gold,  silver,  and 
silk.  She  had  nothing  on  so  much  as  a glove  or 
a slipper,  which  was  not  marked  with  this 
figure  ; nay,  so  superstitiously  fond  did  she  ap- 
pear of  it,  that  she  sat  cross-legged.  I was 
quickly  sick  of  this  tawdry  composition  of  rib- 
bands,  silks,  and  jewels,  and  therefore  cast  my 
eye  on  a dame  which  was  just  the  reverse  of  it. 

I need  not  tell  my  reader,  that  the  lady  before 
described  was  Popery,  or  that  she  I am  going  to 
describe  is  Presbytery.  She  sat  on  the  left  hand 
of  the  venerable  matron,  and  so  much  resembled 
her  in  the  features  of  her  countenance,  that  she 
seemed  her  sister ; but  at  the  same  time  that 
one  observed  a likeness  in  her  beauty,  one  could 
not  but  take  notice,  that  there  was  something  in 
it  sickly  and  splenetic.  Her  face  had  enough 
to  discover  the  relation ; but  it  was  drawn  up 
into  a peevish  figure,  soured  with  discontent,  and 
overcast  with  melancholy.  She  seemed  offend- 
ed at  the  matron  for  the  shape  of  her  hat,  as  too 
much  resembling  the  triple  coronet  of  the  per- 
son who  sat  by  her.  One  might  see  likewise, 
that  she  dissented  from  the  white  apron  and  the 
cross ; for  which  reasons  she  had  made  herself 
a plain  homely  dowdy,  and  turned  her  face  to- 
wards the  sectaries  that  sat  on  her  left  hand,  as 
being  afraid  of  looking  upon  the  matron,  lest 
she  should  see  the  harlot  by  her.  I 


‘ On  the  right  hand  of  Popery  sat  Judaism,  re- 
presented by  an  old  man  embroidered  with  phy- 
lacteries, and  distinguished  by  many  typical 
figures,  which  I had  not  skill  enough  to  unrid- 
dle. He  was  placed  among  the  rubbish  of  a 
temple;  but,  instead  of  weeping  over  it,  which, 
I should  have  expected  from  him,  he  was  count- 
ing out  a bag  of  money  upon  the  ruins  of  it. 

‘ On  his  right  hand  was  Deism,  or  Natural  Re- 
ligion. This  was  a figure  of  a half-naked  awk- 
ward country  wench,  who,  with  proper  orna- 
ments and  education,  would  have  made  an 
agreeable  and  beautiful  appearance  ; but,  for 
want  of  those  advantages,  was  such  a spectacle 
as  a man  would  blush  to  look  upon. 

‘ I have  now,’  continued  my  friend,  ‘ given 
you  an  account  of  those  who  were  placed  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  matron,  and  who,  accord- 
ing to  the  order  in  which  they  sat,  were  Deism,, 
Judaism,  and  Popery.  On  the  left  hand,  as  I 
told  you,  appeared  Presbytery.  The  next  to 
her  was  a figure  which  somewhat  puzzled  me 
it  was  that  of  a man  looking,  with  horror  in  his 
eyes,  upon  a silver  bason  filled  with  water.  Ob- 
serving something  in  his  countenance  that  look- 
ed like  lunacy,  I fancied  at  first,  that  he  was  to 
express  that  kind  of  distraction  which  the  phy- 
sicians call  the  Hydrophobia  ; but  considering 
what  the  intention  of  the  show  was,  I immedi- 
ately recollected  myself,  and  concluded  it  to  be 
Anabaptism. 

‘ The  next  figure  was  a man  that  sat  under  a 
most  profound  composure  of  mind.  He  wore  a 
hat  whose  brims  were  exactly  parallel  with  the 
horizon.  His  garment  had  neither  sleeve  nor 
skirt,  nor  so  much  as  a superfluous  button- 
What  they  called  his  cravat,  was  a little  piece 
of  white  linen  quilled  with  great  exactness,  and 
hanging  below  his  chin  about  two  inches.  See- 
ing a book  in  his  hand,  I asked  our  artist  what 
it  was  ; who  told  me  it  was  “ The  Quaker’s 
religion  upon  which  I desired  a sight  of  it. 
Upon  perusal,  I found  it  to  be  nothing  but  a 
new-fashioned  grammar,  or  an  art  of  abridging 
ordinary  discourse.  The  nouns  were  reduced 
to  a very  small  number,  as  the  Light,  Friend, 
Babylon.  The  principal  of  his  pronouns  was 
thou  : and  as  for  you,  ye,  and  yours,  I found  they 
were  not  looked  upon  as  parts  of  speech  in  this 
grammar.  All  the  verbs  wanted  the  second 
person  plural ; the  participles  ended  all  in  ing 
or  ed,  which  were  marked  with  a particular  ac- 
cent. There  were  no  adverbs  besides  yea  and 
nay.  The  same  thrift  was  observed  in  the  pre- 
positions.  The  conjunctions  were  only  hem  ! 
and  ha  ! and  the  interjections  brought  under  the 
three  heads  of  sighing,  sobbing,  and  groaning. 

‘ There  was  at  the  end  of  the  grammar  a 
little  nomenclature,  called,  “ The  Christian 
Man’s  Vocabulary,”  which  gave  new  appella- 
tions, or,  if  you  will,  Christian  names,  to  almost 
every  thing  in  life.  I replaced  the  book  in  the 
hand  of  the  figure,  not  without  admiring  the 
simplicity  of  its  garb,  speech,  and  behaviour. 

‘ Just  opposite  to  this  row  of  religions,  there 
was  a statue  dressed  in  a fool’s  coat  with  a cap 
of  bells  upon  his  head,  laughing  and  pointing 
at  the  figures  that  stood  before  him.  This  idiot 
is  supposed  to  say  in  his  heart  what  David’s 
fool  did  some  thousands  of  years  ago,  and  was 
35* 


414 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  258. 


therefore  designed  as  a proper  representative  of 
those  among  us  who  are  called  Atheists  and 
Infidels  by  others,  and  Free-thinkers  by  them- 
selves. 

‘ There  were  many  other  groups  of  figures 
which  I did  not  know  the  meaning  of ; but  see- 
ing a collection  of  both  sexes  turning  their  backs 
upon  the  company,  and  laying  their  heads  very 
close  together,  I inquired  after  their  religion, 
and  found  that  they  called  themselves  the  Phila- 
delphians, or  the  family  of  love. 

‘ In  the  opposite  corner  there  sat  another 
little  congregation  of  strange  figures,  opening 
their  mouths  as  wide  as  they  could  gape,  and 
distinguished  by  the  title  of  the  sweet  singers 
of  Israel. 

‘ I must  not  omit,  that  in  this  assembly  of 
wax  there  were  several  pieces  that  moved  by 
clock-work,  and  gave  great  satisfaction  to  the 
spectators.  Behind  the  matron  there  stood  one 
of  these  figures,  and  behind  Popery  another, 
which,  as  the  artist  told  us,  were  each  of  them 
the  genius  of  the  person  they  attended.  That 
behind  Popery  represented  persecution,  and  the 
other  moderation.  The  first  of  these  moved  by 
secret  springs  towards  a great  heap  of  dead 
bodies,  that  lay  piled  upon  one  another  at  a con- 
siderable distance  behind  the  principal  figures. 
There  were  written  on  the  foreheads  of  these 
dead  men,  several  hard  words,  as.  Free- Adam- 
ites^ Sabbatarians^  Cameronians,  Muggletoni- 
ans,  Broionists,  Indej)endants,  Masonites,  Garni- 
sars,  and  the  like.  At  the  approach  of  persecu- 
tion, it  was  so  contrived,  that,  as  she  held  up 
her  bloody  flag,  the  whole  assembly  of  dead 
men,  like  those  in  the  “ Rehearsal,”  started  up 
and  drew  their  swords.  This  was  followed  by 
great  clashings  and  noise,  when,  in  the  midst 
of  the  tumult,  the  figure  of  moderation  moved 
gently  towards  this  new  army,  which,  upon  her 
holding  up  a paper  in  her  hand,  inscribed 
“ Liberty  of  conscience,”  immediately  fell  into 
a heap  of  carcasses,  remaining  in  the  same 
quiet  posture,  in  which  they  lay  at  first.’ 


No.  258.]  Saturday,  December  2,  1710. 

Occidit  miseros  crambe  repetita — 

Juv.  Sat.  vii.  154. 

Tlie  same  stale  viands,  serv’d  up  o’er  and  o’er, 

Tlie  stomach  nauseates R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  1. 

When  a man  keeps  a constant  table,  he  may 
be  allowed  sometimes  to  serve  up  a cold  dish 
of  meat,  or  toss  up  the  fragments  of  a feast  in  a 
ragout.  I have  sometimes,  in  a scarcity  of  pro- 
visions, been  obliged  to  take  the  same  kind  of 
liberty,  and  to  entertain  my  reader  with  the 
leavings  of  a former  treat.  I must  this  day 
have  recourse  to  the  same  method,  and  beg  my 
guests  to  sit  down  to  a kind  of  Saturday’s  din- 
ner. To  let  the  metaphor  rest ; I intend  to  fill 
up  this  paper  with  a bundle  of  letters,  relating 
to  subjects  on  which  I have  formerly  treated  ; 
and  have  ordered  my  bookseller  to  print,  at  the 
end  of  each  letter,  the  minutes  with  which  I 
indorsed  it,  after  the  first  perusal  of  it. 


‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire. 

' Nov.  22, 1710. 

‘ Sir, — Dining  yesterday  with  Mr.  South- 
British  and  Mr.  William  North- Briton,  two  gen- 
tlernen,  who,  before  you  ordered  it  otherwise, 
were  known  by  the  names  of  Mr.  English,  and 
Mr.  William  Scot : among  other  things,  the  maid 
of  the  house,  who,  in  her  time  I believe  may 
have  been  a North  British  warming-pan,  brought 
us  up  a dish  of  North-British  collops.  We  liked 
our  entertainment  very  well ; only  we  observed 
the  table-cloth,  being  not  so  fine  as  we  could 
have  wished,  was  North-British  cloth.  But  the 
worst  of  it  was,  we  were  disturbed  all  dinner- 
time by  the  noise  of  the  children,  who  were 
playing  in  the  paved  court  at  North-British 
hoppers ; so  we  paid  our  North-Briton  sooner 
than  we  designed,  and  took  coach  to  North- 
Briton  Yard,  about  which  place  most  of  us  live. 
We  had  indeed  gone  a-foot,  only  we  were  under 
some  apprehensions  lest  a North-British  mist 
should  wet  a South-British  man  to  the  skin. 

‘ We  think  this  matter  properly  expressed, 
according  to  the  accuracy  of  the  new  style, 
settled  by  you  in  one  of  your  late  papers.  You 
will  please  to  give  your  opinion  upon  it  to,  sir, 
your  most  humble  servants, 

‘ J.  S. 
‘M.  P. 
‘N.  R.’ 

See  if  this  letter  be  conformable  to  the  direc- 
tions given  in  the  Tatler  above-mentioned. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire. 

‘ Kent,  Nov.  22,  1710. 

‘ Sir, — A gentleman  in  my  neighbourhood, 
who  happens  to  be  brother  to  a lord,  though 
neither  his  father  nor  grandfather  were  so,  is 
perpetually  making  use  of  this  phrase,  “ a 
person  of  my  quality.”  He  has  it  in  his  mouth 
fifty  times  a-day,  to  his  labourers,  his  servants, 
his  children,  his  tenants,  and  his  neighbours. 
Wet  or  dry,  at  home  or  abroad,  drunk  or  sober, 
angry  or  pleased,  it  is  the  constant  burden  of 
his  style.  Sir,  as  you  are  Censor  of  Great 
Britain,  as  you  value  the  repose  of  a loyal 
county,  and  the  reputation  of  my  neighbour, 
I beg  you  will  take  this  cruel  grievance  into 
your  consideration  ; else,  for  my  own  particular, 
I am  resolved  to  give  up  my  farms,  sell  my  stock, 
and  remove  witii  my  wife  and  seven  children 
next  spring  to  Falmouth  or  Berwick,  if  my 
strength  will  permit  me,  being  brought  into  a 
a very  weak  condition.  I am,  with  great  re- 
spect, sir,  your  most  obedient  and  languishing 
servant,  &c.’ 

Let  this  be  referred  to  the  Courz  oi  Honour. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — I am  a young  lady  of  a 
good  fortune,  and  at  present  invested  by  several 
lovers,  who  lay  close  siege  to  me,  and  carry  on 
their  attacks  with  all  possible  diligence.  I know 
which  of  them  has  the  first  place  in  my  own 
heart,  but  would  freely  cross  my  private  inclina- 
tions to  make  choice  of  the  man  who  loves  me 
best ; which  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  know,  all 
of  them  pretending  to  an  equal  passion  for  me. 
Let  me  therefore  beg  of  you,  dear  Mr.  Bicker- 


THE  TATLER. 


415 


No.  259.] 

staff,  to  lend  me  your  Ithuriel’s  spear,  in  order 
to  touch  this  troop  of  rivals  ; after  which  I will 
most  faithfully  return  it  to  you  again,  with  the 
greatest  gratitude.  I am,  sir,  &c.’ 

Query  1.  What  figure  doth  this  lady  think 
her  lover  will  appear  in  ? or  what  symptoms 
will  he  betray  of  his  passion  upon  being  touch- 
ed 1 

2.  Whether  a touch  of  her  fan  may  not  have 
the  same  efficacy  as  a touch  of  Ithuriel’s  spear  ? 

‘ Great  Lincoln’s-Inn  square,  Nov.  29. 

‘ Honoured  Sir, — Gratitude  obliges  me  to 
make  this  public  acknowledgment  of  the  emi- 
nent service  you  have  done  myself  in  particular, 
and  the  whole  body  of  chaplains,  I hope,  in 
general.  Coming  home  on  Sunday  about  dinner- 
time, I found  things  strangely  altered  for  the 
better  ; the  porter  smiled  in  my  face  when  he 
let  me  in,  the  footman  bowed  to  me  as  I passed 
him,  the  steward  shook  me  by  the  hand,  and 
Mrs.  Beatrice  dropped  me  a courtesy  as  she 
went  along.  I was  surprised  at  all  this  civility, 
and  knew  not  to  what  I might  ascribe  it,  except 
to  my  bright  beaver  and  shining  scarf,  that  were 
new  that  day.  But  I was  still  more  astonished 
to  find  such  an  agreeable  change  at  the  table. 
My  lord  helped  me  to  a fat  slice  of  venison  with 
his  own  hand,  and  my  lady  did  me  the  honour 
to  drink  to  me.  I offered  to  rise  at  my  usual 
time  ; but  was  desired  to  sit  still,  with  this  kind 
expression,  “ Come,  doctor,  a jelly  or  a conserve 
will  do  you  no  harm  ; do  not  be  afraid  of  the 
dessert.’  I was  so  confounded  with  the  favour, 
that  I returned  my  thanks  in  a most  awkward 
manner,  wondering  what  was  the  meaning  of 
this  total  transformation  : but  my  lord  soon  put 
an  end  to  my  admiration,  by  showing  me  a 
paper  that  challenged  you,  sir,  for  its  author ; 
and  rallied  me  very  agreeably  on  the  subject, 
asking  me,  “ Which  was  best  handled,  the  lord 
or  his  chaplain  I owned  myself  to  think 
the  banter  sharpest  against  ourselves,  and  that 
these  were  trifling  matters,  not  fit  for  a philoso- 
pher to  insist  on.  His  lordship  was  in  so  good 
a humour,  that  he  ordered  me  to  return  his 
thanks  with  my  own  ; and  my  lady  joins  in  the 
same,  with  this  one  exception  to  your  paper,  that 
the  chaplain  in  her  family  was  always  allowed 
minced  pyes  from  All-hallows  to  Candlemas.  I 
am,  sir,  your  most  obliged,  humble  servant, 

‘T.  W.’ 

Requires  no  answer. 

‘ Oxford,  Nov.  27. 

‘Mr.  Censor, — I have  read  your  account  of 
Nova  Zembla  with  great  pleasure,  and  have  or- 
dered it  to  be  transcribed  in  a little  hand,  and 
inserted  in  Mr.  Tonson’s  late  edition  of  Hudi- 
bras.  I could  wish  you  would  furnish  us  with 
more  notes  upon  that  author,  to  fill  up  the  place 
of  those  dull  annotations  with  which  several 
editions  of  that  book  have  been  incumbered.  I 
would  particularly  desire  of  you  to  give  the 
world  the  story  of  Taliacotius,  who  makes  a 
very  eminent  figure  in  the  first  canto ; not  hav- 
ing been  able  to  meet  with  any  account  of  the 
said  Taliacotius  in  the  writings  of  any  other 
author. — I am,  with  the  most  profound  respect, 
the  most  humble  of  your  admirers,  Q.  Z.’ 


To  be  answered  next  Thursday,  if  nothing 
more  material  intervenes. 

‘ Mr.  Censor, — In  your  survey  of  the  people 
you  must  have  observed  crowds  of  single  per- 
sons that  are  qualified  to  increase  the  subjects 
of  this  glorious  island,  and  yet  neglect  that 
duty  to  their  country.  In  order  to  reclaim  such 
persons  I shall  lay  before  you  this  proposal. — 
Your  most  obedient  servant, 

‘ TH.  CL.’* 

This  to  be  considered  on  Saturday  next. 


No.  259.]  Tuesday^  December  5,  1710 

Vexat  censura  columbas.  Jud.  Sat.  ii.  63. 

Censure  acquits  the  crow,  condemns  the  dove. 

Anon. 

A Continuation  of  the  Journal  of  the  Court  of 
Honour.,  held  in  Sheer-lane,  on  Monday,  the 
twenty -seventh  of  November,  before  Isaac 
Bickerstojf,  Esq.  Censor  of  Great  Britain. 

Elizabeth  Makebate,  of  the  parish  of  St. 
Catharine’s,  spinster,  was  indicted  for  surrep- 
titiously taking  away  the  hassock  from  under 
the  lady  Grave- Airs,  between  the  hours  of  four 
and  five,  on  Sunday,  the  twenty-sixth  of  No- 
vember. The  prosecutor  deposed,  ‘ that  as  she 
stood  up  to  make  a courtesy  to  a person  of 
quality  in  a neighbouring  pew,  the  criminal 
conveyed  away  the  hassock  by  stealth  ; inso- 
much, that  the  prosecutor  was  obliged  to  sit  all 
the  while  she  was  at  church,  or  to  say  her 
prayers  in  a posture  that  did  not  become  a 
wmman  of  her  quality.’  T'he  prisoner  pleaded 
inadvertency  ; and  the  jury  were  going  to  bring 
it  in  chance-medley,  had  not  several  witnesses 
been  produced  against  the  said  Elizabeth  Make- 
bate, that  she  was  an  old  offender,  and  a woman 
of  a bad  reputation.  It  appeared  in  particular 
that,  on  the  Sunday  before,  she  had  detracted 
from  a new  petticoat  of  Mrs.  Mary  Doelittle, 
having  said,  in  the  hearing  of  several  credible 
witnesses,  ‘ that  the  said  petticoat  was  scoured,’ 
to  the  great  grief  and  detriment  of  the  said 
Mary  Doelittle.  There  were  likewise  many 
evidences  produced  against  the  criminal,  that 
though  she  never  failed  to  come  to  church  on 
Sunday,  she  was  a most  notorious  sabbath- 
breaker  ; and  that  she  spent  her  whole  time, 
during  divine  service,  in  disparaging  other  peo- 
ple’s clothes,  and  whispering  to  those  who  sat 
next  her.  Upon  the  whole,  she  was  found  guilty 
of  the  indictment,  and  received  sentence  ‘ to 
ask  pardon  of  the  prosecutor  upon  her  bare 
knees,  without  either  cushion  or  hassock  under 
her,  in  the  face  of  the  court.’ 

N.  B.  As  soon  as  the  sentence  was  executed 
on  the  criminal,  which  was  done  in  open  court 
with  the  utmost  severity,  the  first  lady  of  the 
bench  on  Mr.  Bickerstaff’s  right  hand  stood  up, 
and  made  a motion  to  the  court,  ‘ that  whereas 
it  was  impossible  for  women  of  fashion  to  dress 
themselves  before  the  church  was  half  done ; 


* Thomas  Clement.  See  Tat.  No.  261. 


416 


THE  TATLER. 


and  whereas  many  confusions  and  inconve- 
niences did  arise  thereupon  ; it  might  be  lawful 
for  them  to  send  a footman  in  order  to  keep 
their  places,  as  was  usual  in  other  polite  and 
well-regulated  assemblies.’  The  motion  was 
ordered  to  be  entered  in  the  books,  and  con- 
sidered at  a more  convenient  time. 

Charles  Cambrick,  linen-draper,  in  the  city 
of  Westminster,  was  indicted  for  speaking  ob- 
scenely to  the  lady  Penelope  Touchwood.  It 
appeared,  that  the  prosecutor  and  her  woman 
going  in  a stage-coach  from  London  to  Brentford, 
where  the}'  were  to  be  met  by  the  lady’s  own 
chariot,  the  criminal,  and  another  of  his  ac- 
quaintance travelled  with  them  in  the  same 
coach,  at  which  time  the  prisoner  talked  bawdy 
for  the  space  of  three  miles  and  a half.  The 
prosecutor  alleged,  ‘ that  over-against  the  old 
Fox  at  Knightsbridge  he  mentioned  the  word 
linen;  that  at  the  further  end  of  Kensington  he 
made  use  of  the  term  smock;  and  that,  before 
he  came  to  Hammersmith,  he  talked  almost  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  upon  wedding-shifts'  The 
prosecutor’s  woman  confirmed  what  her  lady 
had  said,  and  added  further,  ‘ that  she  had  never 
seen  her  lady  in  so  great  a confusion,  and  in 
such  a taking,  as  she  was  during  the  whole 
discourse  of  the  criminal.’  The  prisoner  had 
little  to  say  for  himself,  but  ‘that  he  talked  only 
in  his  own  trade,  and  meant  no  hurt  by  what 
he  said.’  The  jury,  however,  found  him  guilty, 
and  represented  by  their  forewoman,  that  such 
discourses  were  apt  to  sully  the  imagination; 
and  that,  by  a concatenation  of  ideas,  the  word 
linen  implied  many  things  that  were  not  pro- 
per to  be  stirred  up  in  the  mind  of  a woman 
who  was  of  the  prosecutor’s  quality,  and  there- 
fore gave  it  as  their  verdict,  ‘ that  the  linen- 
draper  should  lose  his  tongue.’  Mr.  Bicker- 
staff  said  he  thought  the  prosecutor’s  ears  were 
as  much  to  blame  as  the  prisoner’s  tongue,  and 
therefore  gave  sentence  as  follows : ‘ that  they 
should  both  be  placed  over-against  one  another 
in  the  midst  of  the  court,  there  to  remain  for 
the  space  of  one  quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which 
time  the  linen-draper  was  to  be  gagged,  and 
the  lady  to  hold  her  hands  close  upon  both  her 
ears  ;’  which  was  executed  accordingly. 

Edward  Callicoat  was  indicted  as  an  accom- 
plice to  Charles  Cambrick,  for  that  he,  the  said 
Edward  Callicoat,  did,  by  his  silence  and  smiles, 
seem  to  approve  and  abet  the  said  Charles  Cam- 
brick  in  every  thing  he  said.  It  appeared,  that 
the  prisoner  was  foreman  of  the  shop  to  the 
aforesaid  Charles  Cambrick,  and,  by  this  post 
obliged  to  smile  at  every  thing  that  the  other 
should  bo  pleased  to  say ; upon  which  he  was 
acquitted. 

Josiah  Shallow  was  indicted  in  the  name  of 
dame  Winifred,  sole  relict  of  Richard  Dainty, 
esquire,  for  having  said  several  times  in  com- 
pany, and  in  the  hearing  of  several  persons 
there  present,  ‘ that  he  was  extremely  obliged 
to  the  widow  Dainty,  and  that  he  sliould  never 
be  able  sufficiently  to  express  his  gratitude.’ 
The  prosecutor  urged,  that  this  might  blast  her 
reputation,  and  that  it  was  in  effect  a boasting 
of  favours  w’hich  he  haa  never  received.  The 
prisoner  seemed  to  be  much  astonished  at  the 
construction  which  w'as  put  upon  his  words, 


[No.  260. 

and  said,  ‘ that  he  meant  nothing  by  them,  but 
that  the  widow  had  befriended  him  in  a lease, 
and  w'as  very  kind  to  his  younger  sister.  The 
jury  finding  him  a little  wmak  in  his  under- 
standing, without  going  out  of  the  court,  brought 
in  their  verdict,  ignoramus. 

Ursula  Goodenough  was  accused  by  the  lady 
Betty  Wou’dbe,  for  having  said,  that  she,  the 
lady  Betty  Wou’dbe,  was  painted.  The  prisoner 
brought  several  persons  of  good  credit  to  wit- 
ness to  her  reputation,  and  proved  by  undenia- 
ble evidences,  that  she  was  never  at  the  place 
where  the  words  were  said  to  have  been  uttered. 
The  Censor,  observing  the  behaviour  of  the  pro- 
secutor, found  reason  to  believe,  that  she  had 
indicted  the  prisoner  for  no  other  reason,  but  to 
make  her  complexion  be  taken  notice  of ; which, 
indeed,  was  very  fresh  and  beautiful : he  there- 
fore asked  the  offender,  with  a very  stern  voice, 
how  she  could  presume  to  spread  so  groundless 
a report  ? and  whether  she  saw  any  colours  in 
the  lady  Wou’dbe’s  face  that  could  procure 
credit  to  such  a falsehood  ? ‘ Do  you  see,’  says 
he,  ‘ any  lilies  or  roses  in  her  cheeks,  any 
bloom,  any  probability  ?’  The  prosecutor,  not 
able  to  bear  such  language  any  longer,  told  him, 
‘ that  he  talked  like  a blind  old  fool,  and  that 
she  was  ashamed  to  have  entertained  any  opi- 
nion of  his  wisdom ; but  she  was  put  to  silence 
and  sentenced  ‘ to  wear  her  mask  for  five 
months,  and  not  to  presume  to  show  her  face 
until  the  town  should  be  empty.’ 

Benjamin  Buzzard,  esquire,  was  indicted  for 
having  told  the  lady  Everbloom  at  a public  ball 
that  she  looked  very  well  for  a wmman  of  her 
years.  The  prisoner  not  denying  the  fact,  and 
persisting  before  the  court  that  he  looked  upon 
it  as  a compliment,  the  jury  brought  him  in 
non  compos  mentis. 

The  court  then  adjourned  to  Monday,  the 
eleventh  instant. 

Copia  vera.  CHARLES  LILLIE. 


No.  260.]  Thursday.,  December  7,  1710. 

Non  cuicunque  datum  est  habere  nasura.  Mart. 

The  nose,  ’tis  said,  shows  both  our  scorn  and  pride : 

And  yet  that  feature  is  to  some  deny’d.  R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  6. 

We  have  a very  learned  and  elaborate  dis- 
sertation upon  thumbs  in  Montaigne’s  essays, 
and  another  upon  ears  in  the  ‘ Tale  of  a Tub.’ 
I am  here  going  to  write  one  upon  noses,  hav- 
ing chosen  for  my  text  the  followung  verses  out 
of  Hudibras : 

So  learned  Taliacotius  from 
Tlie  brawny  part  of  porter’s  bum 
Cut  supplemental  noses,  which 
I.asted  as  long  as  parent  breech  ; 

But  when  the  date  of  nock  was  out. 

Off  dropp’d  the  sympathetic  snout.* 

Notwithstanding  that  there  is  nothing  ob- 
scene in  natural  knowledge,  and  that  I intend 
to  give  as  little  offence  as  may  be  to  readers  of 


♦ Hudibras,  part  i.  canto  i.  line  281. 


No.  260.] 


THE  TATLER. 


417 


a well-bred  imagination  ; I must  for  my  own 
quiet,  desire  the  critics,  who  in  all  things  have 
been  famous  for  good  noses,  to  refrain  from  the 
lecture  of  this  curious  tract.  These  gentlemen 
were  formerly  marked  out  and  distinguished  by 
the  little  rhinocerial  nose,  which  was  always 
looked  upon  as  an  instrument  of  derision  ; and 
which  they  were  used  to  cock,  toss,  or  draw  up 
in  a contemptuous  manner,  upon  reading  the 
works  of  their  ingenious  contemporaries.  It  is 
not,  therefore,  for  this  generation  of  men  that  I 
write  the  present  transaction, 

Minus  aptus  aculis 

Naribus  horiim  hominum Hor. 

Unfit 

For  the  brisk  petulance  of  modern  wit. 

Francis. 

but  for  the  sake  of  some  of  my  philosophical 
friends  in  the  Royal  Society  who  peruse  dis- 
courses of  this  nature  with  a becoming  gravity, 
and  a desire  of  improving  by  them. 

Many  are  the  opinions  of  learned  men  con- 
cerning  the  rise  of  that  fatal  distemper,  which 
t has  always  taken  a particular  pleasure  in  vent- 

I ing  its  spite  upon  the  nose.  I have  seen  a little 

i burlesque  poem  in  Italian,  that  gives  a very 
pleasant  account  of  this  matter.  The  fable  of 
it  runs  thus:  Mars,  the  god'  of  war,  having 
served  during  the  siege  of  Naples  in  the  shape 
of  a French  colonel,  received  a visit  one  night 
from  Venus,  the  goddess  of  love,  who  had  been 
always  his  professed  mistress  and  admirer.  The 
poem  says,  she  came  to  him  in  the  disguise  of 
a suttling  wench,  with  a bottle  of  brandy  under 
her  arm.  Let  that  be  as  it  will,  he  managed 
matters  so  well,  that  she  went  away  big-bellied, 
and  was  at  length  brought  to  bed  of  a little 
Cupid.  This  boy,  whether  it  was  by  reason  of 
, any  bad  food  that  his  father  had  eaten  during 
the  siege,  or  of  any  particular  malignity  in  the 
stars  that  reigned  at  his  nativity,  came  into  the 
world  with  a very  sickly  look,  and  crazy  con- 
I stitution.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  handle 
his  bow,  he  made  discoveries  of  a most  perverse 
disposition.  He  dipped  all  his  arrows  in  poison 
that  rotted  every  thing  they  touched;  and, 
what  was  more  particular,  aimed  all  his  shafts 
at  the  nose,  quite  contrary  to  the  practice  of  his 
elder  brothers,  who  had  made  the  human  heart 
their  butt  in  all  countries  and  ages.  To  break 
him  of  this  roguish  trick,  his  parents  put  him 
to  school  to  Mercury,  who  did  all  he  could  to 
hinder  him  from  demolishing  the  noses  of 
mankind ; but,  in  spite  of  education,  the  boy 
continued  very  unlucky  ; and,  though  his  malice 
was  a little  softened  by  good  instructions,  he 
would  very  frequently  let  fly  an  envenomed 
arrow,  and  wound  his  votaries  oftener  in  the 
nose  than  in  the  heart.  Thus  far  the  fable. 

I need  not  tell  my  learned  reader,  that  Cor- 
reggio has  drawn  a cupid  taking  his  lesson  from 
Mercury  conformable  to  this  poem  ; nor  that  the 
poem  itself  was  designed  as  a burlesque  upon 
Fracastorius. 

It  was  a little  after  this  fatal  siege  of  Naples, 
that  Taliacotius*  began  to  practise  in  a town  of 


* Caspar  Taliacotius  was  a professor  of  physic  and 
s)ir.<rpry  at  Bononia,  wliere  he  was  born  in  1489,  and 
died  in  1553. 

3 G 


Germany.  He  was  the  first  love-doctor  that  I 
meet  with  in  history,  and  a greater  man  in  his 
age  than  our  celebrated  doctor  Wall.  He  saw 
his  species  extremely  mutilated  and  disfigured 
by  this  new  distemper  that  was  crept  into  it; 
and  therefore,  in  pursuance  of  a very  seasonable 
invention,  set  up  a manufacture  of  noses  ; having 
first  got  a patent  that  none  should  presume  to 
make  noses  besides  himself.  His  first  patient 
was  a great  man  of  Portugal,  who  had  done 
good  services  to  his  country,  but  in  the  midst  of 
them  unfortunately  lost  his  nose.  Taliacotius 
grafted  a new  one  on  the  remaining  part  of  the 
gristle  or  cartilaginous  substance,  w'hich  would 
sneeze,  smell,  take  snuff,  pronounce  the  letters 
M or  N ; and,  in  short,  do  all  the  functions  of  a 
genuine  and  natural  nose.  There  was,  however, 
one  misfortune  in  this  experiment:  the  Portu- 
guese’s complexion  was  a little  upon  the  subfuse, 
with  very  black  eyes  and  dark  eye-brows  ; and 
the  nose  being  taken  from  a porter  that  had  a 
white  German  skin,  and  cut  out  of  those  parts 
that  are  not  exposed  to  the  sun,  it  was  very  visi- 
ble  that  the  features  of  his  face  were  not  fellows. 
In  a word,  the  Comde  resembled  one  of  those 
maimed  antique  statues  that  has  often  a modern 
nose  of  fresh  marble  glued  to  a face  of  such  a 
yellow,  ivory  complexion,  as  nothing  can  give 
but  age.  To  remedy  this  particular  for  the  fu- 
ture, the  doctor  got  together  a great  collection 
of  porters,  men  of  all  complexions,  black,  fair, 
brown,  dark,  sallow,  pale,  and  ruddy  ; so  that  it 
was  impossible  for  a patient  of  the  most  out-of- 
the-way  colour  not  to  find  a nose  to  match  it. 

The  doctor’s  house  was  now  very  much  en- 
larged, and  became  a kind  of  college,  or  rather 
hospital,  for  the  fashionable  cripples  of  both 
sexes,  that  resorted  to  him  from  all  parts  of  Eu- 
rope. Over  his  door  was  fastened  a large  golden 
snout,  not  unlike  that  which  is  placed  over  the 
great  gates  at  Brazen-nose  college  in  Oxford ; 
and,  as  it  is  usual  for  the  learned  in  foreign  uni- 
versities to  distinguish  their  houses  by  a Latin 
sentence,  the  doctor  writ  underneath  this  great 
golden  proboscis  two  verses  out  of  Ovid  : 

Milifat  oinnis  amans,  habet  et  sua  castra  Cupido ; 

Pontice,  crede  mihi,  militat  omnis  amans. 

Ovid.  Amor.  El.  ix.  1. 

The  toils  of  love  require  a warrior’s  art; 

And  every  lover  plays  the  soldier’s  part. 

It  is  reported  that  Taliacotius  had  at  one  time 
in  his  house,  twelve  German  counts,  nineteen 
French  marquisses,  and  a hundred  Spanish  ca- 
valiers,  besides  one  solitary  English  esquire,  of 
whom  more  hereafter.  Though  the  doctor  had 
the  monopoly  of  noses  in  his  own  hands,  he  is 
said  not  to  have  been  unreasonable.  Indeed,  if 
a man  had  occasion  for  a high  Roman  nose,  he 
must  go  to  the  price  of  it.  A carbuncle  nose 
likewise  bore  an  excessive  rate  ; but  for  your 
ordinary  short  turned-up  noses,  of  which  there 
was  the  greatest  consumption,  they  cost  little  or 
nothing  ; at  least  the  purchasers  thought  so, 
who  would  have  been  content  to  have  paid  much 
dearer  for  them  rather  than  to  have  gone  with- 
out them. 

The  sympathy  betwixt  the  nose  and  its  parent 
was  very  extraordinary.  Hudibras  has  told  us, 


418 


THE  TATLER. 


that  when  the  porter  died,  the  nose  dropped  of 
course,  in  which  case  it  was  always  usual  to  re- 
turn  the  nose,  in  order  to  have  it  interred  with 
its  first  owner,  l^'he  nose  was  likewise  affected 
by  the  pain,  as  well  as  death  of  the  original 
proprietor.  An  eminent  instance  of  this  nature 
happened  to  three  Spaniards,  whose  noses  were 
all  made  out  of  the  same  piece  of  brawn.  They 
found  them  one  day  shoot  and  swell  extremely  ; 
upon  which  they  sent  to  know  how  the  porter 
did ; and  heard,  upon  inquiry,  that  the  parent 
of  the  noses  had  been  severely  kicked  the  day 
before,  and  that  the  porter  kept  his  bed  on  ac- 
countofthe  bruises  which  he  had  received.  This 
was  highly  resented  by  the  Spaniards,  who 
found  out  the  person  that  had  used  the  porter  so 
unmercifully,  and  treated  him  in  the  same  man- 
ner, as  if  the  indignity  had  been  done  to  their 
own  noses.  In  this  and  several  other  cases  it 
might  be  said,  that  the  porters  led  the  gentlemen 
by  the  nose. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  any  thing  went  amiss 
with  the  nose,  the  porter  felt  the  effects  of  it ; 
insomuch,  that  it  was  generally  articled  with 
the  patient,  that  he  should  not  only  abstain  from 
all  his  old  courses,  but  should,  on  no  pretence 
whatsoever,  sinell  pepper,  or  eat  mustard  ; on 
which  occasion,  the  part  where  the  incision  had 
been  made,  was  seized  with  unspeakable  twinges 
and  prickings. 

The  Englishman  I before  mentioned  was  so 
very  irregular,  and  relapsed  so  frequently  into 
the  distemper  wdiich  at  first  brought  him  to  the 
learned  Taliacotius,  that  in  the  space  of  two 
years  he  wore  out  five  noses  ; and  by  that  means 
so  tormented  the  porters,  that  if  he  wmuld  have 
given  five  hundred  pounds  for  a nose,  there  was 
not  one  of  them  that  would  accommodate  him. 
This  young  gentleman  was  born  of  honest  pa- 
rents, and  passed  his  first  years  in  fox-hunting  ; 
but  accidentally  quitting  the  woods,  and,  coming 
up  to  London,  he  was  so  charmed  with  the  beau- 
ties of  the  playhouse,  that  he  had  not  been  in 
town  two  days  before  he  got  the  misfortune 
which  carried  off  this  part  of  his  face.  He  used 
to  be  called  in  Germany  ‘ the  Englishman  of 
five  noses,’  and  ‘ the  gentleman  that  had  thrice 
as  many  noses  as  he  had  ears.’  Such  was  the 
raillery  of  those  times. 

I shall  close  this  paper  with  an  admonition  to 
the  young  men  of  this  town  : which  I think  the 
more  necessary,  because  I see  several  new  fresh- 
coloured  faces,  that  have  made  their  first  ap- 
pearance in  it  this  winter.  I must  therefore 
assure  them,  that  the  art  of  making  noses  is  en- 
tirely lost ; and,  in  the  next  place,  beg  them  not 
to  follow  the  example  of  our  ordinary  town  rakes, 
who  live  as  if  there  was  a Taliacotius  to  be  met 
with  at  the  corner  of  every  street.  Whatever 
young  men  may  think,  the  nose  is  a very  be- 
coming part  of  the  face  ; and  a man  makes  but 
a very  silly  figure  without  it.  But  it  is  the  na- 
ture of  youth  not  to  know  the  value  of  any  thing 
until  they  have  lost  it.  The  general  precept, 
therefore,  I shall  leave  with  them  is,  to  regard 
every  town-woman  as  a particular  kind  of  syren, 
that  has  a design  upon  their  noses ; and  that, 
amidst  her  flatteries  and  allurements,  Ihey  will 
fancy  she  speaks  to  them  in  that  humorous 
phrase  of  old  Plautus,  Ego  tihi  faciem  denasabo 


[No.  261. 

mordicus.  ‘ Keep  your  face  out  of  my  way,  or 
I will  bite  off  your  nose.’* 


No.  261.]  Saturday,  December  9,  1710.  ! 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  8. 

It  is  the  duty  of  all  %vho  make  philosophy 
the  entertainment  of  their  lives,  to  turn  their  I 
thoughts  to  practical  schemes  for  the  good  of  | 
society,  and  not  pass  away  their  time  in  fruit-  i 
less  searches  which  tend  rather  to  the  ostenta-  j 
tion  of  knowledge,  than  the  service  of  life.  For  j 
this  reason  I cannot  forbear  reading  even  the  | 
common  bills  that  are  daily  put  into  people’s  | 
hands  as  they  pass  the  streets,  which  give  us  | 
notice  of  the  present  residence,  the  past  travels,  j 
and  infallible  medicines  of  doctors  useful  in  ! 
their  generation,  though  much  below  the  cha-  i 
racter  of  the  renowned  Taliacotius.  But,  upon  a | 
nice  calculation  of  the  successes  of  such  adepts,  j 
I find  their  labours  tend  mostly  to  the  enriching 
only  one  sort  of  men,  that  is  to  say,  the  society 
of  upholders.  From  this  observation,  and  many 
others  which  occur  to  me  when  I am  numbering 
the  good  people  of  Great  Britain,  I cannot  but 
favour  any  proposal  which  tends  to  repairing 
the  losses  we  sustain  by  eminent  cures.  The 
best  I have  met  with  in  this  kind,  has  been  of- 
fered to  my  consideration,  and  recommended  in 
a letter  subscribed  Thomas  Clement.  The  title 
to  his  printed  articles  runs  thus:  ‘By  the  pro- 
fitable societ}'^,  at  the  Wheat-sheaf,  over  against 
Tom’s  coffee-house,  in  Russell-street,  Covent- 
Garden,  new  proposals  for  promoting  a contri- 
bution towards  raising  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  to  be  made  on  the  baptizing  of  any  in- 
fant born  in  wedlock.’  The  plan  is  laid  with 
such  proper  regulations,  as  serve,  to  such  as  fall 
in  with  it  for  the  sake  of  their  posterity,  all  the 
uses,  without  any  of  the  inconveniences,  of  set- 
tlements.  By  this  means,  such  whose  fortunes 
depend  upon  their  own  industry,  or  personal 
qualifications,  need  not  be  deterred,  by  fear  of 
poverty,  from  that  state  which  nature  and  rea- 
son prescribe  to  us,  as  the  fountain  of  the  great- 
est happiness  in  human  life.  The  Censors  of 
Rome  had  power  vested  in  them  to  lay  taxes  on 
the  unmarried ; and  I think  I cannot  show  my 
impartiality  better,  than  in  inquiring  into  the 
extravagant  privileges  my  brother  bachelors  en- 
joy, and  fine  them  accordingl3^  I shall  not  al- 
low a single  life  in  one  sex  to  be  reproached, 
and  held  in  esteem  in  the  other.  It  would  not, 
methinks,  be  amiss,  if  an  old  bachelor,  who 
lives  in  contempt  of  matrimony,  were  obliged 
to  give  a portion  to  an  old  maid  who  is  willing 
to  enter  into  it.  At  the  same  time  I must  allow, 
that  those  who  can  plead  courtship,  and  were 
unjustly  rejected,  shall  not  be  liable  to  the  pains 
and  penalties  of  celibacy.  But  such  as  pretend 
an  aversion  to  the  whole  sex,  because  they  were 
ill-treated  by  a particular  female,  and  cover  their 
sense  of  disappointment  in  wop.en  under  a con- 
tempt of  their  favour,  shall  be  proceeded  against 
as  bachelors  convict.  I am  not  without  hopes. 


* Hieronymus  Fracastorius,  mentioned  in  this  paper, 
a celebrated  physician  and  poet,  and  much  commended 
for  his  elegance  as  a Latin  writer,  was  born  at  Verona 
in  1483,  and  died  in  that  neighbourhood,  of  an  apoplexy, 
in  1.553,  at  the  age  cf  seventy-one. 


No.  262.] 


THE  TATLER. 


419 


that  from  this  slight  warning,  all  the  unmarried 
men  of  fortune,  taste,  and  refinement,  will,  with- 
= out  further  delay,  become  lovers  and  humble 
servants  to  such  of  their  acquaintance  as  are 
most  agreeable  to  them,  under  pain  of  my  cen- 
sures: and  it  is  to  be  hoped  the  rest  of  the  world, 
y who  remain  single  for  fear  of  the  incumbrances 
it  of  wedlock,  will  Ijecome  subscribers  to  Mr.  Cle- 
f ment’s  proposal.  By  these  means  we  shall  have 
t-  a much  more  numerous  account  of  births  in  the 
year  1711,  than  any  ever  before  known  in  Great 
f Britain,  where  merely  to  be  born  is  a distinction 
’ of  providence  greater  than  being  born  to  a for- 
i tune  in  another  place. 

> As  I was  going  on  in  the  consideration  of 

I this  good  office  which  Mr.  Clement  proposes  to 

1 do  his  country,  I received  the  following  letter, 

which  seems  to  be  dictated  by  a like  modest  and 
i public  spirit,  that  makes  use  of  me  also  in  its 
* design  of  obliging  mankind  : 

' ‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — In  the  royal  lottery  for 

a million  and  a half  I had  the  good  fortune  of 
[ obtaining  a prize.  From  before  the  drawing  I 
had  devoted  a fifth  of  whatever  should  arise  to 
me  to  charitable  uses.  Accordingly,  I lately 
! troubled  you  with  my  request  and  commission 
for  placing  half-a-dozen  youths  with  Mr.  More,* 

I writing-master  in  Castle-street,  to  whom,  it  is 
said,  we  owe  all  the  fine  devices,  flourishes,  and 
the  composure  of  all  the  plates,  for  the  draw- 
ing and  paying  the  tickets.  Be  pleased  there- 
fore, good  sir,  to  find  or  make  leisure  for  com- 
plying therewith,  for  I would  not  appear  con- 
cerned in  this  small  matter.  I am  very  much 
your  humble  servant, 

It  is  no  small  pleasure  to  observe,  that  in  the 
midst  of  a very  degenerate  age,  there  are  still 
spirits  which  retain  their  natural  dignity,  and 
pursue  the  good  of  their  fellow-creatures  : some 
in  making  themselves  useful  by  professed  ser- 
vice, some  by  secret  generosity»  Were  I at 
liberty  to  discover  even  all  the  good  I know  of 
many  men  living  at  this  time,  there  would  want 
nothing  but  a suitable  historian,  to  make  them 
appear  as  illustrious  as  any  of  the  noblest  of  the 
ancient  Greeks  or  Romans.  The  cunning  some 
have  used  to  do  handsome  and  worthy  actions,  the 
address  to  do  men  services,  and  escape  their  no- 
tice, has  produced  so  many  surprising  incidents, 
which  have  been  laid  before  me  during  my 
! Censorship,  as,  in  the  opinion  of  posterity,  would 
absolve  this  age  of  all  its  crimes  and  follies.  I 
know  no  way  to  deal  with  such  delicate  minds 
as  these,  but  by  assuring  them,  that  when  they 
j cease  to  do  good,  I shall  tell  all  the  good  they 
have  done  already.  Let,  therefore,  the  benefac- 
tor to  the  youths  above-mentioned  continue  such 
I bounties,  upon  pain  of  being  publicly  praised. 
But  there  is  no  probability  of  his  running  into 
that  hazard ; for  a strong  habit  of  virtue  can 
make  men  suspend  the  receiving  the  acknow- 
ledgments due  to  their  merit,  until  they  are  out 
of  a capacity  of  receiving  them.  I am  so  very 
much  charmed  with  accidents  of  this  kind,  that 
I have  made  a collection  of  all  the  memorable 
handsome  things  done  by  private  men  in  my 
time.  As  a specimen  of  my  manner  of  noting 


* In  Massey’s  ‘Origin  and  Progress  of  Letters,’  8vo. 
1763,  part.  ii.  p.  103,  is  some  account  of  Mr.  More. 


such  actions,  take  the  following  fragment,  out 
of  much  more,  which  is  written  in  my  year- 
book, on  the  remarkable  will  of  a gentleman, 
whom  I shall  here  call  Celamico. 

‘ This  day  died  that  plain  and  excellent  man, 
my  much-honoured  friend,  Celamico,  who  be- 
queathed his  whole  estate  to  a gentleman  no 
way  related  to  him,  and  to  whom  he  had  given 
no  such  expectation  in  his  life-time.’ 

He  was  a person  of  a very  enlarged  soul,  and 
thought  the  nearest  relation  among  men  to  be 
the  resemblance  of  their  minds  and  sentiments. 
He  was  not  mistaken  in  the  worth  of  his  suc- 
cessor, who  received  the  news  of  this  unexpect- 
ed good  fortune  with  an  air  that  showed  him 
less  moved  with  the  benefit  than  the  loss  of  the 
benefactor. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Notice  is  hereby  given,  that  on  Monday,  the 
eleventh  instant,  the  case  of  the  visit  comes  on, 
between  the  hours  of  ten  and  eleven,  at  the 
Court  of  Honour  ; where  both  persons  are  to  at- 
tend, the  meeting  there  not  being  to  be  under- 
stood as  a visit,  and  the  right  of  the  next  visit 
being  then  to  be  wholly  settled,  according  to  the 
prayer  of  the  plaintiff. 


No.  262.]  Tuesday,  December  12,  1710. 

Verba  tog.-e  sequeris,  junctiira  callidus  acri, 

Ore  teres  modico,  pallentes  radere  mores 
Doctus,  et  ingenuo  culpani  defigere  ludo. 

Pers.  Sat.  v.  14. 

Soft  elocution  does  thy  style  renown. 

And  the  sweet  accents  of  the  peaceful  gown ; 

Gentle  or  sliarp,  according  to  thy  choice, 

To  laugh  at  follies,  or  to  lash  at  vice.  Dryden. 

JOURNAL  OF  THE  COURT  OF  HONOUR,  &c. 

Timothy  Treatall,  gentleman,  was  indicted 
by  several  ladies  of  his  sister’s  acquaintance  for 
a very  rude  affront  offered  to  them  at  an  enter- 
tainment, to  which  he  had  invited  them  on 
Tuesday,  the  seventh  of  November  last  past,  be- 
tween the  hours  of  eight  and  nine  in  the 
evening.  The  indictment  set  forth,  ‘ that  the 
said  Mr.  Treatall,  upon  the  serving  up  of  the 
supper,  desired  the  ladies  to  take  their  places 
according  to  their  different  age  and  seniority  ; 
for  that  it  was  the  way  always  at  his  table  to 
pay  respect  to  years.’  The  indictment  added, 
‘ that  this  produced  an  unspeakable  confusion 
in  the  company ; for  that  the  ladies,  who  before 
had  pressed  together  for  a place  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  table,  immediately  crowded  with  the 
same  disorder  towards  the  end  that  was  quite 
opposite  ; that  Mrs.  Frontley  had  the  insolence 
to  clap  herself  down  at  the  very  lowest  place  of 
the  table  ; that  the  widow  Partlet  seated  herself 
on  the  right  hand  of  Mrs.  Frontley,  alleging  for 
her  excuse,  that  no  ceremony  was  to  be  used  at 
a round  table ; that  Mrs.  Fidget  and  Mrs.  Fescue 
disputed  above  half-an-hour  for  the  same  chair, 
and  that  the  latter  would  not  give  up  the  cause 
until  it  was  decided  by  the  parish  register, 
which  happened  to  be  kept  hard  by.’  The  in- 
dictment  further  saith,  ‘ that  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany  who  sat  down  did  it  with  a reserve  to  their 
right,  which  they  were  at  liberty  to  assert  on 


4H0 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  263. 


another  occasion ; and  that  Mrs.  Mary  Pippe,  an 
old  maid,  was  placed  by  the  unanimous  vote  of 
the  whole  company  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table, 
from  whence  she  had  the  confusion  to  behold 
several  mothers  of  families  among  her  inferiors.’ 
The  criminal  alleged  in  his  defence,  ‘ that  what 
he  had  done  was  to  raise  mirth,  and  avoid  cere- 
mony ; and  that  the  ladies  did  not  complain  of 
his  rudeness  until  the  next  morning,  having 
eaten  up  what  he  had  provided  for  them  with 
great  readiness  and  alacrity.’  The  Censor, 
frowning  upon  him,  told  him,  ‘ that  he  ought 
not  to  discover  so  much  levity  in  matters  of  a 
serious  nature  ;’  and,  upon  the  jury’s  bringing 
him  in  guilty,  sentenced  him  ‘ to  treat  the  whole 
assembly  of  ladies  over  again,’  and  to  take  care 
that  he  did  it  with  the  decorum  which  was  due 
to  persons  of  their  quality. 

Rebecca  Shapely,  spinster,  was  indicted  by 
Mrs.  Sarah  Smack,  for  speaking  many  words 
reflecting  upon  her  reputation,  and  the  heels  of 
her  silk  slippers,  which  the  prisoner  had  mali- 
ciously  suggested  to  be  two  inches  higher  than 
they  really  were.  The  prosecutor  urged,  as  an 
aggravation  of  her  guilt,  that  the  prisoner  was 
herself  guilty  of  the  same  kind  of  forgery  which 
she  had  laid  to  the  prosecutor’s  charge ; for  that 
she,  the  said  Rebecca  Shapely,  did  always  wear 
a pair  of  steel  bodice,  and  a false  rump.  The 
Censor  ordered  the  slippers  to  be  produced  in 
open  court,  where  the  heels  were  adjudged  to 
be  of  the  statutable  size.  He  then  ordered  the 
grand  jury  to  search  the  criminal,  who,  after 
some  time  spent  therein,  acquitted  her  of  the 
bodice,  but  found  her  guilty  of  the  rump  : upon 
which  she  received  sentence  as  is  usual  in  such 
cases. 

William  Trippet,  esquire,  of  the  Middle  Tem- 
ple, brought  his  action  against  the  lady  Eliza- 
beth Prudely,  for  having  refused  him  her  hand 
as  he  offered  to  lead  her  to  her  coach  from  the 
opera.  The  plaintilf  set  forth,  that  he  had  en- 
tered himself  into  the  list  of  those  volunteers, 
who  officiate  every  night  behind  the  boxes  as 
gentlemen-ushers  of  the  playhouse  ; that  he  had 
been  at  a considerable  charge  in  white  gloves, 
periwigs,  and  snulF-boxes,  in  order  to  qualify 
himself  for  that  employment,  and  in  hopes  of 
making  his  fortune  by  it.  The  counsel  for  the 
defendant  replied,  that  the  plaintiff  had  given 
out  that  he  was  within  a month  of  wedding  their 
client,  and  that  she  had  refused  her  hand  to  him 
in  ceremony,  lest  he  should  interpret  it  as  a 
promise  that  she  would  give  it  him  in  marriage. 
As  soon  as  the  pleadings  on  both  sides  were 
finished,  the  Censor  ordered  the  plaintiff  to  be 
cashiered  from  his  office  of  gentleman-usher  to 
the  playhouse,  since  it  was  too  plain  that  he  had 
undertaken  it  with  an  ill  design ; and  at  the 
same  time  ordered  the  defendant  either  to  marry 
the  said  plaintiff,  or  to  pay  him  half-a-crown  for 
the  new  pair  of  gloves  and  coach-hire  that  he 
was  at  the  expense  of  in  her  service. 

The  lady  Townly  brought  an  action  of  debt 
against  Mrs.  Flambeau,  for  that  the  said  Mrs. 
Flambeau  had  not  been  to  see  the  lady  Townly, 
and  wish  her  joy,  since  her  marriage  with  sir 
Ralph,  notwithstanding  she,  the  said  lady 
Townly,  had  paid  Mrs.  Flambeau  a visit  upon 
her  first  coming  to  town.  It  was  urged  in  the 


hehalf  of  the  defendant,  that  the  plaintiff  had 
never  given  her  any  regular  notice  of  her  being 
in  town  ; that  the  visit  she  alleged  had  been 
made  on  Monday,  which  she  knew  was  a day 
on  which  Mrs.  Flambeau  was  always  abroad, 
having  set  aside  that  only  day  in  the  week  to 
mind  the  affairs  of  her  family  : that  the  servant, 
who  inquired  whether  she  was  at  home,  did  not 
give  the  visiting  knock  : that  it  was  not  between 
the  hours  of  five  and  eight  in  the  evening  : that 
there  were  no  candles  lighted  up  : that  it  was 
not  on  Mrs.  Flambeau’s  day  ; and,  in  short,  that 
there  was  not  one  of  the  essential  points  observ- 
ed that  constitute  a visit.  She  further  proved 
by  her  porter’s  book,  which  was  produced  in 
court,  that  she  had  paid  the  lady  Townly  a 
visit  on  the  twenty-fourth  day  of  March,  just 
before  her  leaving  the  town,  in  the  year  seven- 
teen hundred  and  nine-ten,*  for  which  she  was 
still  creditor  to  the  said  lady  Townly.  To  this 
the  plaintiff  only  replied,  that  she  was  now 
under  covert,  and  not  liable  to  any  debts  con- 
tracted when  she  was  a single  woman.  Mr. 
Bickerstaff  finding  the  cause  to  be  very  intricate, 
and  that  several  points  of  honour  were  likely  to 
arise  in  it,  he  deferred  giving  judgment  upon  it 
until  the  next  session  day,  at  which  time  he  or- 
dered the  ladies  on  his  left  hand  to  present  to 
the  court  a table  of  all  the  laws  relating  to  visits. 

Winifred  Leer  brought  her  action  against 
Richard  Sly  for  having  broken  a marriage-con- 
tract, and  wedded  another  woman,  after  he  had 
engaged  himself  to  marry  the  said  Winifred 
Leer.  She  alleged,  that  he  had  ogled  her  twice 
at  an  opera,  thrice  in  St.  James’s  church,  and 
once  at  Bowel’s  puppet-show,  at  which  time  he 
promised  her  marriage  by  a side-glance,  as  her 
friend  could  testify  that  sat  by  her.  Mr.  Bick- 
erstaff finding  that  the  defendant  had  made  no 
further  overture  of  love  or  marriage,  but  by 
looks  and  ocular  engagement ; yet  at  the  same 
time  considering  how  very  apt  such  impudent 
seducers  are  to  lead  the  ladies’  hearts  astray, 
ordered  the  criminal  ‘ to  stand  upon  the  stage 
in  the  Hay -market,  between  each  act  of  the 
next  opera,  there  to  be  exposed  to  public  view 
as  a false  ogler.’ 

Upon  the  rising  of  the  court,  Mr.  Bickerstaff 
having  taken  one  of  these  counterfeits  in  the 
very  fact,  as  he  was  ogling  a lady  of  the  grand 
jury,  ordered  him  to  be  seized,  and  prosecuted 
upon  the  statute  of  ogling.  He  likewise  directed 
the  clerk  of  the  court  to  draw  up  an  edict 
against  these  common  cheats,  that  make  women 
believe  they  are  distracted  for  them,  by  staring 
them  out  of  countenance,  and  often  blast  a 
lady’s  reputation,  whom  they  never  speak  to, 
by  saucy  looks  and  distant  familiarities. 


No.  263.]  Thursday,  December  14,  1710. 

Minima  contentos  node  Brilannos. 

Jui\  Sat.  ii.  161. 

Britons  contented  with  the  shortest  night. 

From  my  oivn  Apartment,  December  13 

An  old  friend  of  mine  being  lately  come  to 

* Not  nineteen,  but  on  the  very  last  day  of  1709-10.  It 
was  a nice  point ; for,  according  to  the  manner  of 
reckoning  at  that  time,  the  year  1710  began  on  the  day 
following,  that  is,  on  the  25th  of  March. 


r 


THE  TATLER. 


m 


No.  263.] 

! town,  I went  to  see  him  on  Tuesday  last,  about 
, eight  o’clock  in  the  evening,  with  a design  to 
sit  with  him  an  hour  or  two,  and  talk  over  old 
stories;  but  upon  inquiry  after  him,  I found  he 
was  gone  to-bed.  The  next  morning,  as  soon 
as  I was  up  and  dressed,  and  had  despatched  a 
little  business,  I came  again  to  my  friend’s 
house,  about  eleven  o’clock,  with  a design  to 
renew  my  visit;  but  upon  asking  for  him,  his 
! servant  told  me  he  was  just  set  down  to  dinner. 

I In  short,  I found  that  my  old-fashioned  friend 
' religiously  adhered  to  the  example  of  his  forefa- 
thers, and  observed  the  same  hours  that  had 
been  kept  in  the  family  ever  since  the  conquest. 

It  is  very  plain,  that  the  night  was  much 
longer  formerly  in  this  island  than  it  is  at  pre- 
sent. By  the  night,  I mean  that  portion  of 
time  which  nature  has  thrown  into  darkness, 
and  which  the  wisdom  of  mankind  had  form- 
erly dedicated  to  rest  and  silence.  This  used 
to  begin  at  eight  o’clock  in  the  evening,  and 
conclude  at  six  in  the  morning.  The  curfew, 
or  eight  o’clock  bell,  was  the  signal  throughout 
the  nation  for  putting  out  their  candles  and 
going  to-bed. 

Our  grandmothers,  though  they  were  wont 
to  sit  up  the  last  in  the  family,  were  all  of  them 
fast  asleep  at  the  same  hours  that  their  daugh- 
ters are  busy  at  crimp  and  basset.  Modern 
statesmen  are  concerting  schemes,  and  engaged 
in  the  depth  of  politics,  at  the  time  when  their 
forefathers  were  laid  down  quietly  to  rest,  and 
had  nothing  in  their  heads  but  dreams.  As  we 
have  thus  thrown  business  and  pleasure  into  the 
hours  of  rest,  and  by  that  means  made  the  na- 
tural night  but  half  as  long  as  it  should  be,  we 
are  forced  to  piece  it  out  with  a great  part  of 

I the  morning;  so  that  near  two  thirds  of  the  na- 
tion lie  fast  asleep  for  several  hours  in  broad 
day-light.  This  irregularity  is  grown  so  very 
fashionable  at  present,  that  there  is  scarce  a 
lady  of  quality  in  Great  Britain  that  ever  saw 
the  sun  rise.  And,  if  the  humour  increases  in 
proportion  to  what  it  has  done  of  late  years,  it 
|i  is  not  impossible  but  our  children  may  hear  the 
I i bell-man  going  about  the  streets  at  nine  o’clock 
I j in  the  morning,  and  the  watch  making  their 
rounds  until  eleven.  This  unaccountable  dis- 
r position  in  mankind  to  continue  awake  in  the 

i night,  and  sleep  in  the  sunshine,  has  made  me 

I inquire,  whether  the  same  change  of  inclination 
1.  has  happened  to  any  other  animals?  For  this 
reason,  I desired  a friend  of  mine  in  the  coun- 
try to  let  me  know,  whether  the  lark  rises  as 
‘ early  as  he  did  formerly  ; and  whether  the  cock 
f begins  to  crow  at  his  usual  hour.  My  friend 
I has  answered  me,  ‘that  his  poultry  are  as  re- 
^ gular  as  ever,  and  that  all  the  birds  and  beasts 
t of  his  neighbourhood  keep  the  same  hours  that 
3 they  have  observed  in  the  memory  of  man  ; and 
? the  same  which,  in  all  probability,  they  have 
I kept  for  these  five  thousand  years.’ 
y If  you  would  see  the  innovations  that  have 
t been  made  among  us  in  this  particular,  you 
n may  only  look  into  the  hours  of  colleges,  where 
[|  they  still  dine  at  eleven,  and  sup  at  six,  which 
d were  doubtless  the  hours  of  the  whole  nation  at 
[I  the  time  when  those  places  were  founded.  But 
i at  present,  the  courts  of  justice  are  scarce 
I opened  in  Westminster-hall,  at  the  time  when 


William  Rufus  used  to  go  to  dinner  in  it.  All 
business  is  driven  forward.  The  land-marks 
of  our  fathers,  if  I may  so  call  them,  are  re- 
moved, and  planted  further  up  into  the  day  ; 
insomuch,  that  I am  afraid  our  clergy  will  be 
obliged,  if  they  expect  full  congregations,  not 
to  look  any  more  upon  ten  o’clock  in  the  morn- 
ing as  a canonical  hour.  In  my  own  memory, 
the  dinner  has  crept  by  degrees  Ifom  twelve 
o’clock  to  three,  and  where  it  will  fix  nobody 
knows. 

I have  sometimes  thought  to  draw  up  a me 
morial  in  the  behalf  of  Supper  against  Dinner, 
setting  forth,  that  the  said  Dinner  has  made 
several  encroachments  upon  the  said  Supper, 
and  entered  very  far  upon  his  frontiers ; that  he 
has  banished  him  out  of  several  families,  and  in 
all  has  driven  him  from  his  head  quarters,  and 
forced  him  to  make  his  retreat  into  the  hours 
of  midnight;  and,  in  short,  that  he  is  now  in 
danger  of  being  entirely  confounded  and  lost  in 
a breakfast.  Those  who  have  read  Lucian,  and 
seen  the  complaints  of  the  letter  T against  S, 
upon  account  of  many  injuries  and  usurpations 
of  the  same  nature,  will  not,  I believe,  think 
such  a memorial  forced  and  unnatural.  If  din- 
ner has  been  thus  postponed,  or,  if  you  please, 
kept  back  from  time  to  time,  you  may  be  sure 
that  it  has  been  in  compliance  with  the  other 
business  of  the  day,  and  that  supper  has  still 
observed  a proportionable  distance.  There  is  a 
venerable  proverb,  which  we  have  all  of  us 
heard  in  our  infancy,  of  ‘ putting  the  children 
to-bed,  and  laying  the  goose  to  tlie  fire.’  This 
was  one  of  the  jocular  sayings  of  our  forefa- 
thers, but  may  be  properly  used  in  the  literal 
sense  at  present.  Who  would  not  wonder  at 
this  perverted  relish  of  those  w'ho  are  reckoned 
the  most  polite  part  of  mankind,  that  prefer 
sea-coals  and  candles  to  the  sun,  and  exchange 
so  many  cheerful  morning  hours,  for  the  plea- 
sures of  midnight  revels  and  debauches  ? If  a 
man  was  only  to  consult  his  health,  he  would 
choose  to  live  his  whole  time,  if  possible,  in 
daylight;  and  to  retire  out  of  the  world  into 
silence  and  sleep,  while  the  raw  damps  and  un- 
wholesome vapours  fly  abroad,  without  a sun 
to  disperse,  moderate,  or  control  them.  For  my 
own  part,  I value  an  hour  in  the  morning  as 
much  as  common  libertines  do  an  hour  at  mid- 
night. When  I find  myself  awakened  into 
being,  and  perceive  my  life  renewed  within  me, 
and  at  the  same  time  see  the  whole  face  of  na- 
ture recovered  out  of  the  dark  uncomfortable 
state  in  which  it  lay  for  several  hours,  my  heart 
overflows  with  such  secret  sentiments  of  joy 
and  gratitude,  as  are  a kind  of  implicit  praise 
to  the  great  Author  of  nature.  Tlie  mind,  in 
these  early  seasons  of  the  day,  is  so  refreshed 
in  all  its  faculties,  and  borne  up  with  such  new 
supplies  of  animal  spirits,  that  she  finds  herself 
in  a state  of  youth,  especially  when  she  is  en- 
tertained  with  the  breath  of  flowers,  the  melody 
of  birds,  the  dews  that  hang  upon  the  plants, 
and  all  those  other  sweets  of  nature  that  are 
peculiar  to  the  morning. 

It  is  impossible  for  a man  to  have  this  relish 
of  being,  this  exquisite  taste  of  life,  who  does 
not  come  into  the  world  before  it  is  in  all  its 
noise  and  hurry ; who  loses  the  rising  of  the 
36 


422 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  2G4. 


sun,  the  still  hours  of  the  day,  and,  immediately 
upon  his  first  getting  up,  plunges  himself  into 
the  ordinary  cares  or  follies  of  the  world. 

I shall  conclude  this  paper  with  Milton’s 
inimitable  description  of  Adam’s  awakening 
his  Eve  in  Paradise,  which,  indeed,  would  have 
been  a place  as  little  delightful  as  a barren 
heath  or  desert  to  those  who  slept  in  it.  The 
fondness  of  the  posture  in  which  Adam  is  re- 
presented, and  the  softness  of  his  whisper,  are 
passages  in  this  divine  poem,  that  are  above  all 
commendation,  and  rather  to  be  admired  than 
praised. 

Now  Morn  her  rosy  steps  in  th’  eastern  clime 
Advancing,  sow'd  the  earth  with  orient  pearl, 

When  Adam  wak’d,  so  custom’d  ; for  his  sleep 
Was  airy  light  from  pure  digestion  bred, 

And  temperate  vapours  bland,  which  the  only  sound 
Of  leaves  and  fuming  rills,  Aurora’s  fan. 

Lightly  dispers’d,  and  the  shrill  matin  song 
Of  birds  on  every  bough  ; so  much  the  more 
His  wonder  was  to  findnnwakened  Eve, 

With  tresses  discompos’d,  and  glowing  cheek, 

As  through  unquiet  rest.  He  on  his  side 
Leaning  half-raised,  with  looks  of  cordial  love. 

Hung  over  her  enamoured,  and  beheld 
Beauty,  which,  whether  waking  or  asleep. 

Shot  forth  peculiar  graces.  Then  with  voice 
Mild  as  when  Zephyrus  on  Flora  breathes, 

Her  hand  soft  touching,  wliisp.ercd  thus : Awake, 
My  fairest,  my  espoused,  iny  latest  found. 

Heaven's  last  best  gift,  my  ever- new  delight. 

Awake  ; the  morning  shines,  and  tlie  fresh  field 
Calls  ns;  we  lose  the  prime,  to  mark  how  spring 
Our  tended  plants,  how  blows  the  citron  grove. 

What  drops  the  myrrh,  and  what  the  balmy  reed. 
How  nature  paints  her  colours,  how  the  bee 
Sits  on  the  bloom  extracting  liquid  sweets. 

Such  whispering  wak'd  her,  but  with  startled  e3'e 
On  Adam,  whom  embracing,  thus  she  spake: 

O sole ! in  whom  my  thoughts  find  all  repose. 

My  glory,  my  perfection,  glad  I see 

Thy  face,  and  morn  returned 

jMillon'ii  Par.  Lost,  b.  v.  1.  1.  <Scc. 


No.  264.]  Saturday,  December  16,  1710. 

Favete  linguis Hor.  1 Od.  iii.2. 

Favour  your  tongues. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  15. 

Boccalixi,  * in  his  ‘ Parnassus,’  indites  a la- 
conic writer  for  speaking  that  in  three  words 
which  he  might  liave  said  in  two,  and  sentences 
him  for  his  punishment  to  read  over  all  the 
works  of  Guicciardini.t  This  Guicciardini  is 
so  very  prolix  and  circumstantial  in  his  writ- 
ings, that  I remember  our  countryman.  Doctor 
Donne,  speaking  of  that  majestic  and  concise 
manner  in  which  Moses  has  described  the 
creation  of  the  world,  adds,  ‘ that  if  such  an 
author  as  Guicciardini  were  to  have  written  on 
such  a subject,  the  world  itself  would  not  have 
been  able  to  have  contained  the  books  that  gave 
the  history  of  its  creation.’! 

I look  upon  a tedious  talker,  or  what  is  gene- 
rally  known  by  the  name  of  a story-teller,  to  be 
much  more  insufferable  than  even  a prolix 
writer.  An  author  may  be  tossed  out  of  your 

* Trajan  Boccalini,  a native  of  Eome,  and  a very  sa- 
tirical writer,  died,  some  say  he  \vas  murdered,  at  Ve- 
nice, in  Uil3,  aged  about  57. 

t Francis  Guicciardini,  author  of  a history  much 
esteemed,  and  of  some  other  works,  sprung  from  one 
of  the  noblest  and  most  ancient  families  of  Florence, 
where  he  was  born  in  1482,  and  died  in  1540,  aged  58. 

J Donne’s  ‘ Sermons,’  vol.  ii.  p.  230. 


hand,  and  thrown  aside  when  he  grows  dull 
and  tiresome ; but  such  liberties  are  so  far  from 
being  allowed  towards  your  orators,  in  common 
conversation,  that  I have  known  a challenge 
sent  a person  for  going  out  of  the  room  ab- 
ruptly, and  leaving  a man  of  honour  in  the 
midst  of  a dissertation.  This  evil  is  at  present 
so  very  common  and  epidemical,  that  there  is 
scarce  a coffee-house  in  town  that  has  not  some 
speakers  belonging  to  it,  who  utter  their  politi- 
cal essays,  and  draw  parallels  out  of  Baker’s 
‘ Chronicle’  to  almost  every  part  of  her  majes- 
ty’s reign.  It  was  said  of  two  ancient  authors, 
who  had  very  different  beauties  in  their  style, 

‘ that  if  you  took  a word  from  one  of  them,  you 
only  spoiled 'his  eloquence;  but  if  you  took  a 
word  from  the  other,  you  spoiled  his  sense.’  I 
have  often  applied  the  first  part  of  this  criticism  i 
to  several  of  these  coffee-house  speakers,  whom 
I have  at  present  in  my  thoughts,  though  the 
character  that  is  given  to  the  last  of  those  au- 
thors, is  what  I would  recommend  to  the  imita- 
I tion  of  ray  loving  countrymen.  But  it  is  not 
I only  public  places  of  resort,  but  private  clubs 
and  conversations  over  a bottle,  that  are  infested 
I with  this  loquacious  kind  of  animal,  especially 
I with  that  species  which  I comprehend  under 
! the  name  of  a story-teller.  I would  earnestly 
desire  these  gentlemen  to  consider,  that  no 
point  of  wit  or  mirth  at  the  end  of  a story  can  i 
atone  for  the  half  hour  that  has  been  lost  before 
they  come  at  it.  I would  likewise  lay  it  home 
to  their  serious  consideration,  whether  they 
think  that  every  man  in  the  company  has  not 
a right  to  speak  as  well  as  themselves  ? and 
whether  they  do  not  think  they  are  invading 
another  man’s  property,  when  they  engross  the 
time  which  should  be  divided  equally  among  | 
the  company  to  their  own  private  use '? 

What  makes  this  evil  the  much  greater  in 
conversation  is,  that  these  humdrum  companions 
seldom  endeavour  to  wind  up  their  narrations 
into  a point  of  mirth  or  instruction,  which  might 
make  some  amends  for  the  tediousness  of  them ; 
but  think  they  have  a right  to  tell  any  thing  that 
has  happened  within  their  memory.  They  look 
upon  matter  of  fact  to  be  a sufficient  foundation 
for  a story,  and  give  us  a long  account  of  things, 
not  because  they  are  entertaining  or  surprising, 
but  because  they  are  true. 

My  ingenious  kinsman,  Mr.  Humphry  Wag- 
staff,*  used  to  say,  ‘ the  life  of  man  is  too  short 
for  a story-teller.’ 

Methusalem  might  be  half  an  hour  in  telling 
what  o’clock  it  was : but  as  for  us  postiluvians, 
we  ought  to  do  every  thing  in  haste  ; and  in  our 
speeches,  as  well  as  actions,  remember  that  our 
time  is  short.  A man  that  talks  for  a quarter 
of  an  hour  together  in  company,  if  I meet  him  I 
frequently,  takes  up  a great  part  of  my  span.  I 
A quarter  of  an  hour  may  be  reckoned  the  | 
eight-and-fortieth  part  of  a day,  a day  the  three  i 
hundred  and  sixtieth  part  of  a year,  and  a year  t 
the  threescore  and  tenth  part  of  life.  By  this  * 
moral  arithmetic,  supposing  a man  to  be  in  the  ; 
talking  world  one  third  part  of  the  day,  whoever  ■ 
gives  another  a quarter  of  an  hour’s  hearing, 

* An  allusion  probably  to  Swift,  who,  to  speak  in  his 
way,  was  certainly  a great  story-teller  himself. 


THE  TATLER. 


423 


No.  265.] 

makes  him  a sacrifice  of  more  than  the  four 
hundred  thousandth  part  of  his  conversable  life. 

I would  establish  but  one  great  general  rule 
to  be  observed  in  all  conversation,  which  is  tl)is, 
‘ that  men  should  not  talk  to  please  themselves, 
but  those  that  hear  them.’  This  would  make 
them  consider,  whether  what  they  speak  be 
worth  hearing  ; whether  there  be  either  wit  or 
sense  in  wliat  they  are  about  to  say  ; and,  whe- 
ther it  be  adapted  to  the  time  when,  the  place 
where,  and  the  person  to  whom,  it  is  spoken. 

For  the  utter  extirpation  of  these  orators  and 
story-tellers,  which  1 look  upon  as  very  great 
pests  of  society,  I have  invented  a watch  vvliich 
divides  the  minute  into  twelve  parts,  after  the 
same  manner  that  the  ordinary  watches  are  di- 
vided into  hours  : and  will  endeavour  to  get  a 
patent,  which  shall  oblige  every  club  or  compa- 
ny to  provide  themselves  with  one  of  these 
watches,  that  shall  lie  upon  the  table  as  an  hour 
glass  is  often  placed  near  the  pulpit,*  to  measure 
out  the  length  of  a discourse. 

I shall  be  willing  to  allow  a man  one  round 
of  my  watch,  that  is,  a whole  minute,  to  speak 
in  ; but  if  he  exceeds  that  time,  it  siiall  be  law- 
ful for  any  of  the  company  to  look  upon  the 
watch,  or  to  call  him  down  to  order. 

Provided,  however,  that  if  any  one  can  make 
it  appear  he  is  turned  of  threescore,  he  may 
take  two,  or,  if  he  pleases,  three  rounds,  of  the 
watch  without  giving  offence.  Provided,  also, 
that  this  rule  be  not  construed  to  extend  to  the 
fair  sex,  who  shall  still  be  at  liberty  to  talk  by 
the  ordinary  watch  that  is  now  in  use.  I would 
likewise  earnestly  recommend  this  little  auto- 
maton, which  may  be  easily  carried  in  the  pock- 
et without  any  incumbrance,  to  all  such  as  are 
troubled  with  this  infirmity  of  speech,  that  upon 
pulling  out  their  watches,  they  may  have  fre- 
quent occasion  to  consider  what  they  are  doing, 
and  by  that  means  cut  the  thread  of  the  story 
short,  and  hurry  to  a conclusion.  I shall  only 
add,  that  this  watch,  with  a paper  of  directions 
how  to  use  it,  is  sold  at  Charles  Lillie’s. 

I am  afraid  a Tatler  will  be  thought  a very 
improper  paper  to  censure  this  humour  of  being 
talkative  ; but  I would  have  my  readers  know, 
that  there  is  a great  difference  between  tattle 
and  loquacitij,  as  I shall  show  at  large  in  a fol- 
lowing lucubration  ; it  being  my  design  to  throw 
away  a candle  upon  that  subject,  in  order  to  ex- 
plain the  whole  art  of  tattling  in  all  its  branch- 
es and  subdivisions 


No.  265.]  Tuesday,  December  19,  1710. 

Arbiter  hie  igitur  factus  de  lite  jocosa. 

Odd.  Met.  iii.  331. 

Him  therefore  they  create 

The  sov’reign  umpire  of  their  droll  debate. 

CONTIIVUATIOiV  OF  THE  JOURNAL  OF  THE 
COURT  OF  HONOUR,  &c. 

As  soon  as  the  court  was  sat,  the  ladies  of 
the  bench  presented,  according  to  order,  a table 

* The  annotator  remembers  his  having  seen  sand- 
glasses used  for  the  same  purpose  i?i  the  principal  church- 
es of  a town  of  considerable  note  ; and  it  is  very  proba- 
ble that  this  custom  is  not  yet  e.ntiraly  laid  aside  in  the 
remoter  parts  of  Creat  Critain. 


of  all  the  laws  now  in  force  relating  to  visits 
and  visiting-days,  methodically  digested  under 
their  respective  heads,  which  the  censor  ordered 
to  be  laid  upon  the  table,  and  afterwards  pro- 
ceeded upon  the  business  of  the  day. 

Henry  Heedless,  esquire,  was  indicted  by 
colonel  Touchy,  of  her  majesty’s  trained-bands, 
upon  an  action  of  assault  and  battery  ; for  that 
he,  the  said  Mr.  Heedless,  having  espied  a fea- 
ther upon  the  shoulder  of  the  said  colonel,  struck 
it  off  gently  with  the  end  of  a walking-staff,  va- 
lue three  pence.  It  appeared,  that  the  prosecu- 
tor did  not  think  himself  injured  until  a few 
days  after  the  aforesaid  blow  was  given  him  ; 
hut  that  having  ruminated  with  himself  for  se- 
veral days,  and  conferred  upon  it  with  other  offi- 
cers of  the  militia,  he  concluded  that  he  had  in 
effect  been  cudgelled  by  Mr.  Heedless,  and  that 
he  ought  to  resent  it  accordingly.  The  counsel 
for  the  prosecutor  alleged,  that  the  shoulder  was 
the  tenderest  part  in  a man  of  honour  ; that  it 
had  a natural  antipathy  to  a stick  ; and  that 
every  touch  of  it,  with  any  thing  made  in  the 
fashion  of  a cane,  was  to  be  interpreted  as  a 
wound  in  that  part,  and  a violation  of  the  per- 
son’s honour  who  received  it.  Mr.  Heedless  re- 
plied, ‘th.at  what  he  had  done  w'as  out  of  kind- 
ness to  the  prosecutor,  as  not  thinking  it  proper 
for  him  to  appear  at  the  head  of  the  trained- 
bands  with  a feather  upon  his  shoulder  ;’  and 
further  added,  ‘that  the  stick  he  had  made  use 
of  on  this  occasion  was  so  very  small,  that  the 
prosecutor  could  not  have  felt  it  had  he  broken 
it  on  his  shoulders.’  The  censor  hereupon  di- 
rected the  jury  to  examine  into  the  nature  of 
the  staff,  for  that  a great  deal  would  depend 
upon  that  particular.  Upon  wdiich  he  explained 
to  them  the  different  degrees  of  offence  that 
might  be  given  by  the  touch  of  crab-tree  from 
that  of  cane,  and  by  the  touch  of  cane  from 
that  of  a plain  hazle  stick.  The  jury,  after  a 
short  perusal  of  the  staff,  declared  their  opinion 
by  the  mouth  of  their  foreman,  ‘ that  the  sub- 
stance of  the  staff  was  British  oak.’  The  censor 
then  observing  that  there  was  some  dust  on  the 
skirts  of  the  criminal’s  coat,  ordered  the  prose- 
cutor to  beat  it  off  with  the  aforesaid  oaken 
plant;  ‘and  thus,’  said  the  censor,  ‘ I shall  de- 
cide this  cause  by  the  law  of  retaliation.  If 
Mr.  Heedless  did  the  colonel  a good  office,  the 
colonel  will  by  this  means  return  it  in  kind  ; 
but  if  Mr.  Heedless  should  at  any  time  boast 
that  he  had  cudgelled  the  colonel,  or  laid  his  staff 
over  his  shoulders,  the  colonel  might  boast,  in  his 
turn,  that  he  has  brushed  Mr.  Heedless’s  jacket, 
or,  to  use  the  phrase  of  an  ingenious  author,  that 
he  has  rubbed  him  down  with  an  oaken  towel.’ 

Benjamin  Busy,  of  London,  merchant,  was 
indicted  by  Jasper  Tattle,  esquire,  for  having 
pulled  out  his  watch,  and  looked  upon  it  thrice 
while  the  said  esquire  Tattle  was  giving  him  an 
account  of  the  funeral  of  the  said  esquire  Tat- 
tle’s first  wife.  The  prisoner  alleged  in  his  de- 
fence, that  he  was  going  to  buy  stocks  at  the 
time  when  he  met  the  prosecutor  ; and  that, 
during  the  story  of  the  prosecutor,  the  said 
stocks  rose  above  two  per  cent,  to  the  great  de- 
triment of  the  prisoner.  The  prisoner  further 
brought  several  witnesses  to  prove  that  the  said 
Jasper  Tattle,  esquire,  was  a most  notorious 


424 


THE  TATLER. 


story-teller  ; that,  before  he  met  the  prisoner,  he 
had  hindered  one  of  the  prisoner’s  acquaintance 
from  the  pursuit  of  his  lawful  business,  with 
the  account  of  his  second  marriag-e;  and  that 
he  had  detained  another  by  the  button  of  his 
coat  that  very  morning,  until  he  had  heard  se- 
veral witty  sayings  and  contrivances  of  the  pro- 
secutor’s eldest  son,  who  was  a boy  of  about  five 
years  of  age.  Upon  the  whole  matter,  Mr,  Bick- 
erstaff  dismissed  the  accusation  as  frivolous,  and 
sentenced  the  prosecutor  ‘to  pay  damages  to  the 
prisoner,  for  what  the  prisoner  had  lost  by  giving 
him  so  long  and  patient  a hearing.’  He  further 
reprimanded  the  prosecutor  very  severely,  and 
told  him  ‘ that  if  he  proceeded  in  his  usual  man- 
ner to  interrupt  the  business  of  mankind,  he 
would  set  a fine  upon  him  for  every  quarter  of 
an  hour’s  impertinence,  and  regulate  the  said 
fine  according  as  the  time  of  the  person  so  in- 
jured should  appear  to  be  more  or  less  precious.’ 
Sir  Paul  Swash,  knight,  was  indicted  by  Peter 
Double,  gentleman,  for  not  returning  the  bow 
which  he  received  of  the  said  Peter  Double,  on 
Wednesday  the  sixth  instant,  at  the  pla_y house 
in  the  Hay-market.  The  prisoner  denied  the 
receipt  of  any  such  bow,  and  alleged  in  his  de- 
fence, that  the  prosecutor  would  oftentimes  look 
full  in  his  face,  but  that  when  he  bowed  to  the 
said  prosecutor,  he  would  take  no  notice  of  it,  or 
bow  to  somebody  else  that  sat  quite  on  the  other 
side  of  him.  He  likewise  alleged,  that  several 
ladies  had  complained  of  the  prosecutor,  who, 
after  ogling  them  a quarter  of  an  hour,  upon 
their  making  a courtesy  to  him,  would  not  re- 
turn the  civility  of  a bow.  The  censor  ob- 
serving several  glances  of  the  prosecutor’s  eye, 
and  perceiving  that  when  he  talked  to  the  court 
he  looked  upon  the  jury,  found  reason  to  suspect 
there  was  a wrong  cast  in  his  sight,  which, 
upon  examination,  proved  true.  The  censor 
therefore  ordered  the  prisoner,  that  he  might  not 
produce  any  more  confusions  in  public  assem- 
blies, ‘ never  to  bow  to  any  body  whom  he  did 
not  at  the  time  call  to  by  name.’ 

Oliver  Bluff  and  Benjamin  Browbeat  were  in- 
dicted for  going  to  figlit  a duel  since  the  erec- 
tion of  the  ‘ Court  of  Honour.’  It  appeared, 
that  they  were  both  taken  up  in  the  street  as 
they  passed  by  the  court  in  their  way  to  the 
fields  behind  Montague-house.  The  criminals 
would  answer  nothing  for  themselves,  but  that 
they  were  going  to  execute  a challenge  which 
had  been  made  a week  before  the  ‘Court  of  Ho- 
nour’ was  erected.  The  censor  finding  some 
reason  to  suspect  by  the  sturdiness  of  their  be- 
haviour, that  they  were  not  so  very  brave  as 
they  would  have  the  court  believe  them,  ordered 
them  both  to  be  searched  by  the  grand  jury, 
who  found  a breast-plate  upon  the  one,  and  two 
quires  of  paper  upon  the  other.  The.breast-plate 
was  immediately  ordered  to  be  hung  upon  a peg 
over  Mr.  Bickerstaff ’s  tribunal,  and  the  paper 
to  be  laid  upon  the  table  for  the  use  of  his  clerk. 
He  then  ordered  the  criminals  to  button  up  their 
bosoms,  and,  if  they  pleased,  proceed  to  their 
duel.  Upon  which  they  both  went  very  quietly 
out  of  the  court,  and  retired  to  their  respective 
lodgings. — The  Court  then  adjourned  until  after 
the  holidays. 

Copia  vera. 


[No.  266. 

No.  266.]  Thursday,  December  21,  1710. 

Rideatet  pulset  lasciva  decentius  aet.as. 

Hor.  2 Ep.  ii.  ult. 

£et  youth,  more  decent  in  their  follies,  scoff 

The  nauseous  scene,  and  hiss  thee  reeling  off. 

Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  20. 

It  would  be  a good  appendix  to  ‘ The  art  of 
living  and  dying,’  if  any  one  would  write  ‘The 
art  of  growing  old,’  and  teach  men  to  resign 
their  pretensions  to  the  pleasures  and  gallantries 
of  youth  in  proportion  to  the  alteration  they  find 
in  themselves  by  the  approach  of  age  and  in- 
firmities. The  infirmities  of  this  stage  of  life 
would  be  much  fewer,  if  we  did  not  aftect  those 
which  attend  the  more  vigorous  and  active  part 
of  our  days  ; but  instead  of  studying  to  be  wiser, 
or  being  contented  with  our  present  follies,  the 
ambition  of  many  of  us  is  also  to  be  the  same 
sort  of  fools  we  formerly  have  been.  I have 
often  argued,  as  I am  a professed  lover  of  wo- 
men, that  our  sex  grows  old  with  a much  worse 
grace  than  the  other  does;  and  have  ever  been 
of  opinion,  that  there  are  more  well-pleased  old 
women  than  old  men.  I thought  it  a good  rea- 
son for  this,  that  the  ambition  of  the  fair  sex 
being  confined  to  advantageous  marriages,  or 
shining  in  the  eyes  of  men,  their  parts  were 
over  sooner,  and  consequently  the  errors  in  the 
performances  of  them.  The  conversation  of  this 
evening  has  not  convinced  me  of  the  contrary  ; 
for  one  or  two  fop-women  shall  not  make  a ba- 
lance for  the  crowds  of  coxcombs  among  our- 
selves, diversified  according  to  the  different  pur- 
suits of  pleasure  and  business. 

Returning  home  this  evening  a little  before 
my  usual  hour,  I scarce  had  seated  myself  in 
my  easy  chair,  stirred  the  fire,  and  stroked  my 
cat,  but  I heard  somebody  come  rumbling  up 
stairs.  I saw  my  door  opened,  and  a human 
figure  advancing  towards  me,  so  fantastically 
put  together,  that  it  was  some  minutes  before  I I 
discovered  it  to  be  my  old  and  intimate  friend,  i 
Sam  Trusty.  Immediately  I rose  up,  and  placed  i 
him  in  my  own  seat ; a compliment  I pay  to 
few.  The  first  thing  he  uttered  was,  ‘ Isaac, 
fetch  me  a cup  of  your  cherry-brandy  before 
you  offer  to  ask  any  question.’  He  drank  a 
lusty  draught,  sat  silent  for  some  time,  and  at 
last  broke  out;  ‘ I am  come,’  quoth  he,  ‘ to  in- 
sult thee  for  an  old  fantastic  dotard,  as  thou  art, 
in  ever  defending  the  women.  I have  this  eve- 
ning  visited  two  widows,  who  are  now  in  that  j 
state  I have  often  heard  you  call  an  after  life ; u 
I suppose  you  mean  by  it,  an  existence  which  V 
grows  out  of  past  entertainments,  and  is  an  un-  ; 
timely  delight  in  the  satisfactions  which  they 
once  set  their  hearts  upon  too  much  to  be  ever 
able  to  relinquish.  Have  but  patience,’  conti- 
nued he,  ‘ until  I give  you  a succinct  account  of 
my  ladies,  and  of  this  night’s  adventure.  They 
are  much  of  an  age,  but  very  difterent  in  their 
characters.  The  one  of  them,  with-  all  the  ad- 
vances which  years  have  made  upon  her,  goes 
on  in  a certain  romantic  road  of  love  and  friend- 
ship w'hich  she  fell  into  in  her  teens  ; the  other 
has  transferred  the  amorous  passions  of  her 
first  years  to  the  love  of  cronies,  petts,  and  fa- 


CHARLES  LILLIE. 


- No.  267.] 


THE  TATLER. 


425 


vourites,  with  which  she  is  always  surrounded  ; 
but  the  genius  of  each  of  them  will  best  appear 
by  the  account  of  what  happened  to  me  at  their 
houses.  About  five  this  afternoon,  being  tired 
with  study,  the  weather  inviting,  and  time  lying 
a little  upon  my  hands,  I resolved,  at  the  insti- 
gation of  my  evil  genius,  to  visit  them ; their 
husbands  having  been  our  contemporaries.  This 
I thought  I could  do  without  much  trouble ; for 
both  live  in  the  very  next  street.  I went  first  to 
my  lady  Camomile ; and  the  butler,  who  had 
lived  long  in  the  family,  and  seen  me  often  in 
his  master’s  time,  ushered  me  very  civilly  into 
the  parlour,  and  told  me  though  my  lady  had 
given  strict  orders  to  be  denied,  he  was  sure  1 
might  be  admitted,  and  bid  the  black  boy  ac- 
quaint  his  lady  that  I was  come  to  wait  upon 
her.  In  the  window  lay  two  letters,  one  broke 
open,  the  other  fresh  sealed  with  a wafer : the 
first  directed  to  the  divine  Cosmelia,  the  second 
to  the  charming  Lucinda  ; but  both,  by  the  in- 
dented characters,  appeared  to  have  been  writ 
by  very  unsteady  hands.  Such  uncommon  ad- 
dresses increased  my  curiosity,  and  put  me  up- 
on asking  my  old  friend  the  butler,  if  he  knew 
who  those  persons  were?  ‘ Very  well,’  says  he, 
‘this  is  from  Mrs.  Furbish  to  my  lady,  an  old 
school-fellow  and  great  crony  of  her  ladyships  ; 
and  this  the  answer.’  I inquired  in  what  county 
she  lived.  ‘ Oh  dear  !’  says  he,  ‘ but  just  by,  in 
the  neighbourhood.  Why,  she  was  here  all  this 
morning,  and  that  letter  came  and  was  answer- 
ed within  these  two  hours.  They  have  taken 
an  odd  fancy,  you  must  know,  to  call  one  ano- 
ther hard  names;  but,  for  all  that,  they  love  one 
another  hugely.’  By  this  time  the  boy  returned 
with  his  lady’s  humble  service  to  me,  desiring  I 
would  excuse  her  ; for  she  could  not  possibly 
see  me,  nor  any  body  else,  for  it  was  opera- 
night.’ 

‘ Methinks,’  says  I,  such  innocent  folly  as  two 
old  women’s  courtship  to  each  other,  should 
rather  make  you  merry  than  put  you  out  of  hu- 
mour.’  ‘ Peace,  good  Isaac,’  says  he,  ‘ no  in- 
terruption,  I beseech  you.’  I got  soon  to  Mrs. 
Feeble’s ; she  that  was  formerly  Betty  Frisk ; 
you  must  needs  remember  her ; Tom  Feeble  of 
Brazen  Nose  fell  in  love  with  her  for  her  fine 
dancing.  Well,  Mrs.  Ursula,  without  further 
ceremony,  carries  me  directly  up  to  her  mis- 
tress’s  chamber,  where  I found  her  environed  by 
four  of  the  most  mischievous  animals  that  can 
ever  infest  a family  ; an  old  shock  dog  with  one 
eye,  a monkey  chained  to  one  side  of  the  chim- 
iiey,  a great  gray  squirrel  to  the  other,  and  a 
parrot  waddling  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
However,  for  a while,  all  was  in  a profound 
tranquillity.  Upon  the  mantle-tree,  for  I am  a 
pretty  curious  observer,  stood  a pot  of  lambetive 
electuary,  with  a stick  of  liquorice,  and  near  it 
a phial  of  rose-water,  and  powder  of  tutty.  Upon 
the  table  lay  a pipe  filled  with  betony  and  colt’s- 
foot,  a roll  of  wax-candle,  a silver  spitting-pot, 
and  a Seville  orange.  The  lady  was  placed  in 
a large  wicker  chair,  and  her  feet  wrapped  up 
in  flannel,  supported  by  cushions ; and  in  this 
attitude,  would  you  believe  it,  Isaac,  was  she 
reading  a romance  with  spectacles  on.  The 
first  compliments  over,  as  she  was  industriously 
endeavouring  to  enter  upon  conversation,  a vio- 
3 H 


lent  fit  of  coughing  seized  her.  This  awaked 
Shock,  and  in  a trice  the  whole  room  was  in  an 
uproar ; for  the  dog  barked,  the  squirrel  squeal- 
ed,  the  monkey  chattered,  the  parrot  screamed, 
and  Ursula,  to  appease  them,  was  more  clamor- 
ous than  all  the  rest.  You,  Isaac,  who  know 
how  any  harsh  noise  affects  my  head,  may  guess 
what  I suffered  from  the  hideous  din  of  these 
discordant  sounds.  At  length  all  was  appeased, 
and  quiet  restored:  a chair  was  drawn  for  me; 
where  I was  no  sooner  seated,  but  the  parrot 
fixed  his  horny  beak,  as  sharp  as  a pair  of  sheers, 
in  one  of  my  heels,  just  above  the  shoe.  I sprung 
from  the  place  with  an  unusual  agility,  and  so, 
being  within  the  monkey’s  reach,  he  snatches 
off  my  new  bob-wig,  and  throws  it  upon  two 
apples  that  were  roasting  by  a sullen  sea-coal 
fii’e.  I was  nimble  enough  to  save  it  from  any 
further  damage  than  singing  the  foretop.  I put 
it  on ; and  composing  myself  as  well  as  I could, 
I drew  my  chair  towards  the  other  side  of  the 
chimney.  The  good  lady,  as  soon  as  she  had 
recovered  breath,  employed  it  in  making  a thou- 
sand apologies,  and,  with  great  eloquence,  and 
a numerous  train  of  words,  lamented  my  mis- 
fortune. In  the  middle  of  her  liarangue,  I felt 
something  scratching  near  my  knee,  and  feel- 
ing what  it  should  be,  found  the  squirrel  had  got 
into  my  coat  pocket.  As  I endeavoured  to  re- 
move him  from  his  burrow,  he  made  his  teeth 
meet  through  the  fleshy  part  of  my  fore-finger. 
This  gave  me  an  inexpressible  pain.  The  Hun- 
gary w’ater  was  immediately  brought  to  bathe 
it,  and  gold-beaters’  skin  applied  to  stop  the 
blood.  The  lady  renewed  her  excuses  ; but  be- 
ing now  out  of  all  patience,  I abruptly  took  my 
leave,  and  hobbling  down  stairs  with  heedless 
haste,  I set  my  foot  full  in  a pail  of  water,  and 
down  we  came  to  the  bottom  together.’  Here 
my  friend  concluded  his  narrative,  and,  with  a 
composed  countenance,  I began  to  make  him 
compliments  of  condolence ; but  he  started  from 
his  chair,  and  said,  ‘ Isaac,  you  may  spare  your 
speeches,  I expect  no  reply.  When  I told  you 
this,  I knew  you  would  laugh  at  me ; but  the 
next  woman  that  makes  me  ridiculous  shall  be 
a young  one.’ 


No.  267.]  Saturday^  December  23,  1710. 

Qui  genus  humanum  ingenio  superavit,  et  omnes 
Restinxit  Stellas,  exortus  uti  aerius  sol.  Lucr.  iii.  1056. 

His  genius  quite  obscur’d  the  brightest  ray 
Of  human  thought,  as  Sol’s  effulgent  beams 
At  morn’s  approach,  extinguish  all  the  stars. 

R.  Wynne. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  22. 

I HAVE  heard  that  it  is  a rule  among  the  con- 
ventuals of  several  orders  in  the  Romish  church 
to  shut  themselves  up  at  a certain  time  of  the 
year,  not  only  from  the  world  in  general,  but 
from  the  members  of  their  own  fraternity ; and 
to  pass  away  several  days  by  themselves  in  set- 
tling accounts  between  their  Maker  and  their 
own  souls,  in  cancelling  unrepented  crimes,  and 
renewing  their  contracts  of  obedience  for  the 
future.  Such  stated  times  for  particular  acts  of 
35’’ 


4S6 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  §67. 


devotion,  or  the  exercise  of  certain  religious  du- 
ties, have  been  enjoined  in  all  civil  governments, 
whatever  deity  they  worshipped,  or  whatever 
religion  they  professed.  That  which  may  be 
done  at  all  times,  is  often  totally  neglected  and 
forgotten,  unless  fixed  and  determined  to  some 
time  more  than  another;  and  therefore,  though 
several  duties  may  be  suitable  to  every  day  of 
our  lives,  they  are  most  likely  to  be  performed, 
if  some  days  are  more  particularly  set  apart  for 
the  practice  of  them.  Our  church  has  accord- 
ingly instituted  several  seasons  of  devotion, 
when  time,  custom,  prescription,  and,  if  I may 
so  say,  the  fashion  itself,  call  upon  a man  to  be 
serious,  and  attentive  to  the  great  end  of  his 
being. 

I have  hinted  in  some  former  papers,  that  the 
greatest  and  wisest  of  men  in  all  ages  and 
countries,  particularly  in  Rome  and  Greece, 
were  renowned  for  their  piety  and  virtue.  It 
is  now  my  intention  to  show,  how  those  in  our 
own  nation,  that  have  been  unquestionably  the 


to  the  religion  of  their  country. 

I might  produce  very  shining  examples  from 
among  the  clergy  ; but  because  priest-craft  is 
the  common  cry  of  every  cavilling,  empty 
scribbler,  I shall  show  that  all  the  laymen  who 
have  exerted  a more  than  ordinary  genius  in 
their  writings,  and  were  the  glory  of  their  times, 
were  men  whoso  hopes  were  filled  with  immor- 
tality, and  the  prospect  of  future  rewards,  and 
men  who  lived  in  a dutiful  submission  to  all  the 
doctrines  of  revealed  religion. 

I shall,  in  this  paper,  only  instance  sir  Fran- 
cis Bacon,  a man  who,  for  greatness  of  genius, 
and  compass  of  knowledge,  did  honour  to  his 
age  and  country  ; I could  almost  say  to  human 
nature  itself.  He  possessed  at  once  all  those 
extraordinary  talents,  which  were  divided 
amongst  the  greatest  authors  of  antiquity.  He 
had  the  sound,  distinct,  comprehensive  know- 
ledge of  Aristotle,  with  all  the  beautiful  lights, 
graces,  and  embellishments  of  Cicero.  One 
does  not  know  which  to  admire  most  in  his 
writings,  the  strength  of  reason,  force  of  style, 
or  brightness  of  imagination. 

This  author  has  remarked  in  several  parts  of 
his  works,  that  a thorough  insight  into  philoso- 
phy makes  a good  believer,  and  that  a smatter- 
ing in  it  naturally  produces  such  a race  of  des- 
picable infidels  as  the  little  profligate  writers  of 
the  present  age,  whom,  I must  confess,  I have 
always  accused  to  m}’^self,  not  so  much  for  their 
want  of  faith  as  their  want  of  learning. 

I was  infinitely  pleased  to  find,  among  the 
works  of  this  extraordinary  man,  a prayer  of 
his  own  composing,  which  for  the  elevation  of 
thought,  and  greatness  of  expression,  seems 
rather  the  devotion  of  an  angel  than  a man. 
His  principal  fault  seems  to  have  been  the  ex- 
cess of  that  virtue  which  covers  a multitude  of 
faults.  This  betrayed  him  to  so  great  an  indul- 
gence towards  his  servants,  who  made  a cor- 
rupt use  of  it,  that  it  stripped  him  of  all  those 
riches  and  honours  which  a long  series  of  merits 
had  heaped  upon  him.  But  in  tliis  prayer,  at 
the  same  time  that  we  find  him  prostrating 
himself  before  the  great  mercy-seat,  and  hum- 


bled under  afflictions,  which  at  that  time  lay 
heavy  upon  him,  we  see  him  supported  by  the 
sense  of  his  integrity,  his  zeal,  his  devotion, 
and  his  love  to  mankind  ; which  give  him  a 
much  higher  figure  in  the  minds  of  thinking 
men,  than  that  greatness  had  done  from  which 
he  v/as  fallen.  I shall  beg  leave  to  write  down 
the  prayer  itself,  with  the  title  with  it,  as  it  was 
found  amongst  his  lordship’s  papers,  written  in 
his  own  hand;  not  being  able  to  furnish  my 
readers  with  an  entertainment  more  suitable  to 
this  solemn  time. 

A Prayer,  or  Psalm,  made  by  my  Lord  Bacon, 
Chancellor  of  England. 

‘Most  gracious  Lord  God,  my  merciful  Fa- 
ther ; from  my  youth  up  my  Creator,  my  Re- 
deemer, my  Comforter.  Thou,  O Lord,  sound- 
est and  searchest  the  depths  and  secrets  of  all 
hearts ; thou  acknowledgest  the  upright  of 
heart ; thou  judgest  the  hypocrite ; thou  pon- 
derest  men’s  thoughts  and  doings  as  in  a ba- 
lance ; thou  measurest  their  intentions  as  with 
a line  ; vanity  and  crooked  ways  cannot  be  hid 
from  thee. 

‘ Remember,  O Lord  ! how  thy  servant  hath 
walked  before  thee ; remember  what  I have  first 
sought,  and  what  hath  been  principal  in  my  in- 
tentions. I have  loved  thy  assemblies,  I have 
mourned  for  the  divisions  of  thy  church,  I have 
delighted  in  the  brightness  of  thy  sanctuary. 
This  vin^  which  thy  right  hand  hath  planted 
in  this  nation,  I have  ever  prayed  unto  thee  that 
it  might  have  the  first  and  the  latter  rain,  and 
that  it  might  stretch  her  branches  to  the  seas, 
and  to  the  floods.  The  state  and  bread  of  the 
poor  and  oppressed  have  been  precious  in  mine 
eyes ; I have  hated  all  cruelty  and  hardness  of 
heart ; I have,  though  in  a despised  weed,  pro- 
cured the  good  of  all  men.  If  any  have  been 
my  enemies,  I thought  not  of  them,  neither 
hath  the  sun  almost  set  upon  my  displeasure ; 
but  I liave  been,  as  a dove,  free  from  superfluity 
of  maliciousness.  Thy  creatures  have  been 
my  books,  but  thy  scriptures  much  more.  I 
have  sought  thee  in  the  courts,  fields,  and  gar- 
dens ; but  I have  found  thee  in  thy  temples. 

‘ Thousands  have  been  my  sins,  and  ten  thou- 
sands my  transgressions,  but  thy  sanctifications 
have  remained  with  me,  and  my  heart,  through 
thy  grace,  hath  been  an  unquenched  coal  upon 
thine  altar. 

‘ O Lord,  my  strength ! I have  since  my  youth 
met  with  thee  in  all  my  ways,  by  thy  fatherly 
compassions,  by  thy  comfortable  chastisements, 
and  by  thy  most  visible  providence.  As  thy 
lavours  have  increased  upon  me,  so  have  thy 
corrections  ; so  as  thou  hast  been  always  near 
me,  O Lord  I and  ever  as  my  worldly  blessings 
were  exalted,  so  secret  darts  from  thee  have 
pierced  me  ; and  when  I have  ascended  before 
men,  I have  descended  in  humiliation  before 
thee.  And  now,  when  I thought  most  of  peace 
and  honour,  thy  hand  is  heavy  upon  me,  and 
hath  humbled  me  according  to  thy  former 
loving-kindness,  keeping  me  still  in  thy  fatherly 
school,  not  as  a bastard,  but  as  a child.  Just  are 
thy  judgments  upon  me  for  my  sins,  which  are 
more  in  number  than  the  sands  of  the  sea,  but 


THE  TATLER. 


427 


No.  268.] 

have  no  proportion  to  thy  mercies  ; for  what  are 
the  sands  of  the  sea  ? Earth,  heavens,  and  all 
these  are  nothing  to  thy  mercies.  Besides  my 
innumerable  sins,  I confess  before  thee,  that  I 
am  debtor  to  thee  for  the  gracious  talent  of  thy 
gifts  and  graces,  which  I have  neither  put  into 
a napkin,  nor  put  it  as  I ought,  to  exchangers, 
where  it  might  have  made  best  profit,  but  mis- 
spent it  in  things  for  which  I was  least  fit ; so  I 
may  truly  say,  my  soul  hath  been  a stranger  in 
the  course  of  my  pilgrimage.  Be  merciful  un- 
to me,  O Lord,  for  my  Saviour’s  sake,  and  re- 
ceive me  unto  thy  bosom,  or  guide  me  in  thy 
ways.’ 


No.  268.]  Tuesday^  December  26,  1710. 

O te,  Bolane,  cerebri 

Felicem!  aiebam  tacitus.cum  quidlibet  ille 
Garriret.  Hor.  1 Sat  ix.  11. 

f thus  in  muttering  silence  fretted  ; 

‘ Bolanus,  happy  in  a scull 
Of  proof,  impenetrably  dull, 

O for  a portion  of  thy  brains!  Francis. 

4 

From  my  ov^i  Apartment.,  December  25. 

At  my  coming  home  last  night,  I found  upon 
my  table  the  following  petition  or  project,  sent 
me  from  Lloyd’s  coffee-house  in  the  city,  with 
a present  of  port  wine,  which  had  been  bought 
at  a late  auction  held  in  that  place. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire.,  Censor  of 
Great  Britain. 

‘ Lloyd’s  Coffee  house,  Lombard-street,  Dec.  23. 

‘We,  the  customers  of  this  coffee-house,  ob- 
serving that  you  have  taken  into  your  consider- 
ation the  great  mischiefs  daily  done  in  this  city 
by  coffee-house  orators,  do  humbly  beg  leave 
to  represent  to  you,  that  this  coffee-house  being 
provided  with  a pulpit  for  the  benefit  of  such 
auctions  that  are  frequently  made  in  this  place, 
it  is  our  custom,  upon  the  first  coming  in  of  the 
news,  to  order  a youth,  who  officiates  as  the 
Kidney  of  the  coffee-house,  to  get  into  the  pul- 
pit, and  read  every  paper  with  a loud  and  dis- 
tinct voice,  while  the  whole  audience  are  sipping 
their  respective  liquors.  We  do,  therefore,  sir, 
humbly  propose,  that  there  be  a pulpit  erected 
within  every  coffee-house  of  this  city  and  the 
adjacent  parts ; that  one  of  the  waiters  of  the 
coffee-house  be  nominated  as  reader  to  the  said 
pulpit ; that  after  the  news  of  the  day  has  been 
published  by  the  said  lecturer,  some  politician 
of  good  note  do  ascend  into  the  said  pulpit ; 
and,  after  having  chosen  for  his  text  any  article 
of  the  said  news,  that  he  do  establish  the  au- 
thority of  such  article,  clear  the  doubts  that  may 
arise  thereupon,  compare  it  with  parallel  texts 
in  other  papers,  advance  upon  it  wholesome 
points  of  doctrine,  and  draw  from  it  salutary 
conclusions  for  the  benefit  and  edification  of  all 
that  hear  him.  We  do  likewise  humbly  propose, 
that  upon  any  such  politician’s  quitting  the 
pulpit,  he  shall  be  succeeded  by  any  other  orator 
that  finds  himself  moved  by  the  same  public 
spirit,  who  shall  be  at  full  liberty  either  to  en- 
force or  overthrow  what  the  other  has  said  before 


him,  and  may  in  the  same  manner,  be  suc- 
ceeded by  any  other  politician,  who  shall,  with 
the  same  liberty,  confirm  or  impugn  his  reasons, 
strengthen  or  invalidate  his  conjectures,  enlarge 
upon  his  schemes,  or  erect  new  ones  of  his  own. 
We  do  likewise  further  propose,  that  if  any  per- 
son, of  what  age  and  rank  soever  do  presume  to 
cavil  at  any  paper  that  has  been  read,  or  to  hold 
forth  upon  it  longer  than  the  space  of  one 
minute,  that  he  be  immediately  ordered  up  into 
the  pulpit,  there  to  make  good  any  thing  that 
he  has  suggested  upon  the  floor.  We  do  like- 
wise further  propose,  that  if  any  one  plays  the 
orator  in  the  ordinary  coffee-house  conversation, 
whether  it  be  upon  peace  or  war,  on  plays  or 
sermons,  business  or  poetry,  that  he  be  forth- 
with desired  to  take  his  place  in  the  pulpit. 
This,  sir,  we  humbly  presume,  may  in  a great 
measure  put  a stop  to  those  superficial  states- 
men, who  would  not  dare  to  stand  up  in  this 
manner  before  a whole  congregation  of  politi- 
cians, notwithstanding  the  long  and  tedious 
harangues  and  dissertations  which  they  daily 
utter  in  private  circles,  to  the  breaking  of  many 
honest  tradesm.en,  the  seducing  of  several  emi- 
nent citizens,  the  making  of  numberless  male- 
contents,  and  to  the  great  detriment  and  dis- 
quiet of  her  majesty’s  subjects.’ 

I do  heartily  concur  with  my  ingenious 
friends  of  the  above-mentioned  coffee-house  in 
these  their  proposals  : and,  because  I apprehend 
there  may  be  reasons  to  put  an  immediate  stop 
to  the  grievance  complained  of,  it  is  my  inten- 
tion, that,  until  such  time  as  the  aforesaid  pul- 
pits can  be  erected,  every  orator  do  place  him- 
self within  the  bar,  and  from  thence  dictate 
whatsoever  he  shall  think*  necessary  for  the 
public  good. 

And  further,  because  I am  very  desirous  that 
proper  ways  and  means  should  be  found  out  for 
the  suppressing  of  story-tellers  and  fine  talkers 
in  all  ordinary  conversations  whatsoever,  I do 
insist,  that  in  every  private  club,  company,  or 
meeting  over  a bottle,  there  be  always  an  elbow- 
chair  placed  at  the  table ; and  that  as  soon  as 
any  one  begins  a long  story,  or  extends  his  dis- 
course beyond  the  space  of  one  minute,  he  be 
forthwith  thrust  into  the  said  elbow-chair,  un- 
less upon  any  of  the  company’s  calling  out,  ‘ to 
the  chair,’  he  breaks  off  abruptly,  and  holds  his 
tongue. 

There  are  two  species  of  men,  notwithstand- 
ing any  thing  that  has  been  here  said,  whom 
I would  exempt  from  the  disgrace  of  the  elbow- 
chair,  The  first  are  those  buffoons  that  have  a 
talent  of  mimicking  the  speech  and  behaviour 
of  other  persons,  and  turning  all  their  patrons, 
friends,  and  acquaintance,  into  ridicule.  I look 
upon  your  pantomime  as  a legion  in  a man,  or 
at  least  to  be,  like  Virgil’s  monster,  ‘ with  a 
hundred  mouths  and  as  many  tongues.’ 

Linguce  centum  sunt,  oraque  centum. 

And,  therefore,  would  give  him  as  much  time 
to  talk  in,  as  would  be  allowed  to  the  whole  body 
of  persons  he  represents,  were  they  actually  in 
the  company  which  they  divert  by  proxy.  Pro- 
vided, however,  that  the  said  pantomime  do  not, 
upon  any  pretence  whatsoever,  utter  any  thing 


428 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  269. 


in  his  own  particular  opinion,  language,  or  cha- 
racter. 

I would  likewise,  in  the  second  place,  grant 
an  exemption  from  the  elbow-chair  to  any  per- 
son who  treats  the  company,  and  by  that  means 
may  be  supposed  to  pay  for  his  audience.  A 
guest  cannot  take  it  ill,  if  he  be  not  allowed  to 
talk  in  his  turn  by  a person  who  puts  his  mouth 
to  a better  employment,  and  stops  it  with  good 
beef  and  mutton.  In  this  case  the  guest  is  very 
agreeably  silenced,  and  seems  to  hold  his  tongue 
under  that  kind  of  bribery  which  the  ancients 
called  bos  in  lingua.* 

If  I can  once  extirpate  the  race  of  solid  and 
substantial  humdrums,  I hope,  by  my  whole- 
some and  repeated  advices,  quickly  to  reduce 
the  insignificant  tittle-tattles,  axid  matter-of-fact- 
men,  that  abound  in  every  quarter  of  this  great 
city. 

Epictetus,  in  his  little  system  of  morality, 
prescribes  the  following  rule  with  that  beautiful 
simplicity  which  shines  through  all  his  precepts : 
‘ Beware  that  thou  never  tell  thy  dreams  in  com- 
pany ; for,  notwithstanding  thou  mayest  take  a 
pleasure  in  tolling  thy  dreams,  the  company 
will  take  no  pleasure  in  hearing  them.’ 

This  rule  is  conformable  to  a maxim  which 
I have  laid  down  in  a late  paper,  and  must 
always  inculcate  into  those  of  my  readers  who 
find  in  themselves  an  inclination  to  be  very 
talkative  and  impertinent,  ‘ that  they  should  not 
speak  to  please  themselves,  but  those  that  hear 
them.’ 

It  has  been  often  observed  by  witty  essay 
writers,  that  the  deepest  waters  are  always  the 
most  silent ; that  empty  vessels  make  the  greatest 
sound  ; and  tinkling  cymbals  the  worst  music. 
The  marquis  of  Halifax,  in  his  admirable  ‘ Ad- 
vice to  a daughter,’  tells  her,  ‘ that  good  sense 
has  always  something  sullen  in  it :’  but  as  sul- 
lenness does  not  imply  silence,  but  an  ill-na- 
tured silence,  I wish  his  lordship  had  given  a 
softer  name  to  it.  Since  I am  engaged  un- 
awares in  quotations,  I must  not  omit  the  satire 
which  Horace  has  written  against  this  imperti- 
nent talkative  companion ; and  which,  I think, 
is  fuller  of  humour  than  any  other  satire  he  has 
written.  This  great  author,  who  had  the  nicest 
taste  of  conversation,  and  was  himself  a most 
agreeable  companion,  had  so  strong  an  antipa- 
thy to  a great  talker,  that  he  was  afraid  some 
time  or  other  it  would  be  mortal  to  him  ; as  he 
has  very  humorously  described  it  in  his  con- 
versation with  an  impertinent  fellow,  who  had 
like  to  have  been  the  death  of  him. 

Interpellandi  locus  hie  erat ! Est  tibi  mater, 

Cognati,  quies  te  salvo  est  opus?  Hand  mihi  quisquain. 

Omnes  composui.  Felices ! nunc  ego  resto  ; 

Confice  ; nainque  instat  fatuin  inilh  triste,  Sabella 

Q,uod  puero  cecinit  divina  mota  anus  urna. 

Hun?,  neque  dira  venena,  nec  liosticus  aufevit  ensis, 

Nec  laterum  dolor,  aut  tussis,  nec  tarda  podagra. 

Garrulus  hunc  quando  consiiinst  cunque;  loquaces 

Si  sapiat,  vilet,  simul  atque  adoleverit  setas. 

Bor.  1 Sat.  ix.  26. 

Have  you  no  mother,  sister,  friends. 

Whose  welfare  on  your  health  depends? — 

* Not  one ; I saw  them  all  by  turns 
Securely  settled  in  their  urns.’ 


* An  allusion  to  the  image  of  a b\M,ox,  or  cow,  stampt 
upon  the  money  then,  and  there  in  current  use,  whence 
ths  coin  was  called  bos. 


Thrice  happy  they,  secure  from  pain  I 
And  I thy  victim  now  remain  ; 

Despatch  me  ; for  my  goody  nurse 
Early  presaged  this  heavy  curse. 

She  conn’d  it  by  the  sieve  avd  shears 

And  now  it  falls  upon  my  ears 

‘ Nor  poison  fell  with  ruin  stor’d, 

Nor  horrid  point  of  hostile  sword, 

Nor  pleurisy,  nor  asthma-cough, 

Nor  cripple-gout  shall  cut  him  off ; 

A noisy  tongue  and  babbling  breath 
Shall  teaze,  and  talk  my  child  to  death. 

Let  him  avoid,  as  he  would  hanging. 

Your  folks  long-winded  in  haranguing.’  Francis. 


No.  269.]  Thursday,  December  28,  1710. 

Hae  nugae  seria  ducunt 

In  mala Ear.  Ars  Poet.  451. 

Trifles  such  as  these 

To  serious  mischiefs  lead.  Francis. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  27. 

I FIND  my  correspondents  are  universally  of- 
fended at  me  for  taking  notice  so  seldom  of 
their  letters,  and  I fear  people  have  taken  the 
advantage  of  my  silence  to  go  on  jn  their  errors ; 
for  which  reason  I shall  hereafter  be  more  care- 
ful to  answer  all  lawful  questions  and  just  com- 
plaints, as  soon  as  they  come  to  my  hands.  The 
two  following  epistles  relate  to  very  great  mis- 
chiefs in  the  most  important  articles  of  life,  love 
and  friendship : 

‘ Dorsetshire,  Dec.  20. 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstaff, — It  is  my  misfortune  to 
be  enamoured  of  a lady,  that  is  neither  very 
beautiful,  very  witty,  nor  at  all  well-natured ,' 
but  has  the  vanity  to  think  she  excels  in  all 
these  qualifications,  and  therefore  is  cruel,  inso- 
lent, and  scornful.  When  I study  to  please  her, 
she  treats  me  with  the  utmost  rudeness  and  ill- 
manners  : if  I approach  her  person,  she  fights, 
she  scratches  me  : if  I offer  a civil  salute,  she 
bites  me  ; insomuch,  that  very  lately,  before  a 
whole  assembly  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  she 
ripped  oi.it  a considerable  part  of  my  left  cheek. 
This  is  no  sooner  done,  but  she  begs  my  pardon 
in  the  most  handsome  and  becoming  terms  ima- 
ginable, gives  herself  worse  language  than  I 
could  find  in  my  heart  to  do,  lets  me  ernbraee 
her  to  pacify  her  while  she  is  railing  at  herself, 
protests  she  deserves  the  esteem  of  no  one  living, 
says  I am  too  good  to  contradict  her  when  she 
thus  accuses  herself.  This  atones  for  all ; tempts 
me  to  renew  my  addresses,  which  are  ever  re- 
turned in  the  same  obliging  manner.  Thus, 
without  some  speedy  relief,  I am  in  danger  of 
losing  my  whole  face.  Notwithstanding  all  this, 
I doat  upon  her,  and  am  satisfied  she  loves  me, 
because  she  takes  me  for  a man  of  sense,  which 
I have  been  generally  thought,  except  in  this 
one  instance.  Your  reflections  upon  this  strange 
amour  would  be  very  useful  in  these  parts, 
where  we  are  overrun  w’ith  ivild  beauties  and 
romps.  I earnestly  beg  your  assistance,  either 
to  deliver  me  from  the  power  of  this  unaccount- 
able enchantment,  or  by  some  proper  animad- 
versions, to  civilize  the  behaviour  of  this  agree- 
able rustic.  I am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
‘ EBENEZER.’ 


THE  TATLER. 


429 


No.  270.] 

‘ Mr.  Bickerstafp, — I now  take  leave  to  ad- 
dress you  in  your  character  of  Censor,  and  com- 
plain to  you  that  among  the  various  errors  in 
conversation  which  you  have  corrected,  there  is 
one  which,  though  it  has  not  escaped  a general 
reproof,  yet  seems  to  deserve  a more  particular 
severity.  It  is  a humour  of  jesting  on  disagree- 
able subjects,  and  insisting  on  the  jest,  the  more 
it  creates  uneasiness  ; and  this  some  men  think 
they  have  a title  to  do  as  friends.  Is  the  design 
of  jesting,  to  provoke  1 or  does  friendship  give 
a privilege  to  say  things  with  a design  to  shock  ? 
How  can  that  be  called  a jest  which  has  nothing 
in  it  but  bitterness  ? It  is  generally  allowed 
necessary,  for  the  peace  of  company,  that  men 
should  a little  study  the  tempers  of  each  other  ; 
but  certainly  that  must  be  in  order  to  shun  what 
is  offensive,  not  to  make  it  a constant  entertain- 
ment. The  frequent  repetition  of  what  appears 
harsh,  will  unavoidably  leave  a rancour  that  is 
fatal  to  friendship  ; and  I doubt  much  whether 
it  would  be  an  argument  of  a man’s  good-hu- 
mour, if  he  should  be  roused  by  perpetual  teaz- 
ing,  to  treat  those  who  do  it  as  his  enemies.  In 
a word,  whereas,  it  is  a common  practice  to  let 
a story  die,  merely  because  it  does  not  touch,  I 
Jiink  such  as  mention  one  they  find  does,  are 
as  troublesome  to  society,  and  as  unfit  for  it,  as 
tcags,  men  of  figure^  good  talkers,  or  any  other 
apes  in  conversation ; and  therefore,  for  the 
public  benefit,  I hope  you  will  cause  them  to  be 
branded  with  such  a name  as  they  deserve.  I 
am,  sir,  your’s,  PATIENT  FRIENDLY.’ 

The  case  of  Ebenezer  is  a very  common  one, 
and  is  always  cured  by  neglect.  These  fantas- 
tical returns  of  affection  proceed  from  a certain 
vanity  in  the  other  sex,  supported  by  a pervert- 
ed taste  in  ours.  I must  publish  it  as  a rule, 
that  no  faults  which  proceed  from  the  will, 
either  in  a mistress  or  a friend,  are  to  be  tole- 
rated : but  we  should  be  so  complaisant  to  ladies 
as  to  let  them  displease  when  they  aim  at  doing 
it.  Pluck  up  a spirit,  Ebenezer;  recover  the 
use  of  your  judgment,  and  her  faults  will  ap- 
pear, or  her  beauties  vanish.  ‘ Her  faults  begin 
to  please  me  as  well  as  my  own,’  is  a sentence 
very  prettily  put  into  the  mouth  of  a lover  by  the 
comic  poet;*  but  he  never  designed  it  for  a 
maxim  of  life,  but  the  picture  of  an  imperfection. 
If  Ebenezer  takes  my  advice,  the  same  temper 
which  made  her  insolent  to  his  love  will  make 
her  submissive  to  his  indifference. 

I cannot  wholly  ascribe  the  faults,  mentioned 
in  the  second  letter,  to  the  same  vanity  or  pride 
in  companions  who  secretly  triumph  over  their 
friends,  in  being  sharp  upon  them  in  things 
where  they  are  most  tender.  But  when  this 
sort  of  behaviour  does  not  proceed  from  that 
source,  it  does  from  barrenness  of  invention,  and 
an  inability  to  support  a conversation  in  a way 
less  offensive.  It  is  the  same  poverty  which 
makes  men  speak  or  write  smuttily,  that  forces 
them  to  talk  vexingly.  As  obscene  language  is 
an  address  to  the  lewd  for  applause,  so  are  sharp 
allusions  an  appeal  to  the  ill-natured.  But  mean 
and  illiterate  is  that  conversation,  where  one 
man  exercises  his  wit  to  make  another  exercise 
his  patience. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas  Plagius  has  been  told  again  and 
again,  both  in  public  and  private,  that  he 
preaches  excellently  well,  and  still  goes  on  to 
preach  as  well  as  ever,  and  all  this  to  a polite 
and  learned  audience : this  is  to  desire,  that  he 
would  not  hereafter  be  so  eloquent,  except  to  a 
country  congregation  ; the  proprietors  of  Tillot- 
son’s  works  having  consulted  the  learned  in  the 
law,  whether  preaching  a sermon  they  have 
published,  is  not  to  be  construed  publishing  their 
copy  ? 

Mr.  Dogood  is  desired  to  consider,  that  his 
story  is  severe  upon  a weakness,  and  not  a folly^ 


No.  270.]  Saturday,  December  30,  1710. 

Cum  pulchris  tunicis  sumet  novaconsilia  et  spes. 

Hor.  1 Ep.  xviii.  33^ 

In  gay  attire  when  the  vain  coxcomb’s  drest, 

Strange  hopes  and  projects  fill  his  labouring  breast.. 

From  my  own  Apartment,  December  29. 

According  to  my  late  resolution,  I take  the 
holidays  to  be  no  improper  season  to  entertain 
the  town  with  the  addresses  of  my  correspond- 
ents. In  my  walks  every  day,  there  appear  all 
round  me  very  great  offenders  in  the  point  of 
dress.  An  armed  tailor  had  the  impudence  yes- 
terday in  the  Park  to  smile  in  my  face,  and  pull 
off  a laced  hat  to  me,  as  it  were  in  contempt  of 
my  authority  and  censure.  However,  it  is  a 
very  great  satisfaction  that  other  people,  as  well 
as  myself,  are  offended  with  these  improprieties. 
The  following  notices,  from  persons  of  different 
sexes  and  qualities,  are  a sufficient  instance  how 
useful  my  lucubrations  are  to  the  public. 

‘ Jack’s  Coffee-house,  near  Guildhall,  Dec.  27. 

‘ Cousin  Bickerstaff, — It  has  been  the  pecu- 
liar blessing  of  our  family  to  be  always  above 
the  smiles  or  frowns  of  fortune,  and,  by  a cer- 
tain greatness  of  mind,  to  restrain  all  irregular 
fondnesses  or  passions.  From  hence  it  is,  that 
though  a long  decay,  and  a numerous  descent, 
have  obliged  many  of  our  house  to  fall  into  the 
arts  of  trade  and  business,  no  one  person  of  us 
has  ever  made  an  appearance  that  betrayed  our 
being  unsatisfied  w'ith  our  own  station  of  life,  or 
has  ever  affected  a mien  or  gesture  unsuitable 
to  it. 

‘ You  have  up  and  down  in  your  writings 
very  ju.stly  remarked,  that  it  is  not  this  or  the 
other  profession  or  quality  among  men  that  gives 
us  honour  or  esteem,  but  the  well  or  ill  behaving 
ourselves  in  those  characters.  It  is,  therefore, 
with  no  small  concern,  that  I behold  in  coffee- 
house.s  and  public  places  my  brethren,  the  trades- 
men of  this  city,  put  off  the  smooth,  even,  and 
ancient  decorum  of  thriving  citizens,  for  a fan- 
tastical  dress  and  figure,  improper  for  their  per- 
sons and  characters,  to  the  utter  destruction  of 
that  order  and  distinction,  which  of  right  ought 
to  be  between  St.  James’s  and  Milk-street,  the 
Camp  and  Cheapside.’ 

‘ I have  given  myself  some  time  to  find  out 
how  distinguishing  the  frays  in  a lot  of  muslins, 
or  drawing  up  a regiment  of  thread  laces,  or 


* Congravc;  see  ‘ The  way  of  the  World,’  act  i.  ac.  3. 


430 


THE  TATLER. 


[No.  270. 


making  a panegyric  on  pieces  of  sagathy  or 
Scotch  plaid,  should  entitle  a man  to  a laced  hat 
or  sword,  a wig  tied  up  with  ribbands,  or  an 
embroidered  coat.  The  college  say,  this  enor- 
mity  proceeds  from  a sort  of  delirium  in  the 
brain,  which  makes  it  break  out  first  about  the 
head,  and,  for  want  of  timely  remedies,  fall  upon 
the  left  thigh,  and  from  thence,  in  little  mazes 
and  windings,  run  over  the  whole  body,  as  ap- 
pears by  pretty  ornaments  on  the  buttons,  but- 
ton-holes, garterings,  sides  of  the  breeches,  and 
the  like.  I beg  the  favour  of  you  to  give  us  a 
discourse  wholly  upon  the  subject  of  habits, 
which  will  contribute  to  the  better  government 
of  conversation  among  us,  and  in  particular 
oblige,  sir,  your  affectionate  cousin, 

‘FELIX  TRANQUILLUS.’ 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire^  Censor  of  Great 
Britain. 

‘The  humble  Petition  of  Ralph  Nab,  Haber- 
dasher of  Hats,  and  many  other  poor  Suffer- 
ers of  the  same  Trade,  showeth, 

‘ That  for  some  years  last  past  the  use  of  gold 
and  silver  galoon  upon  hats  has  been  almost 
universal ; being  undistinguishably  worn  by 
soldiers,  esquires,  lords,  footmen,  beaux,  sports- 
men, traders,  clerks,  prigs,  smarts,  cullies,  pretty 
fellows,  and  sharpers. 

‘ That  the  said  use  and  custom  has  been  two 
ways  very  prejudicial  to  your  petitioners.  First, 
in  that  it  has  induced  men,  to  the  great  damage 
of  your  petitioners,  to  wear  their  hats  upon 
their  heads ; by  which  means  the  said  hats  last 
much  longer  whole,  than  they  would  do  if  worn 
under  their  arms.  Secondly,  in  that  very  often 
a new  dressing  and  a new  lace  supply  the  place 
of  a new  hat,  which  grievance  we  are  chiefly 
sensible  of  in  the  spring-time,  when  the  com- 
pany is  leaving  the  town  ; it  so  happening  com- 
monly, that  a hat  shall  frequent,  all  winter,  the 
finest  and  best  assemblies  without  any  ornament 
at  all,  and  in  May  shall  be  tricked  up  witli  gold 
or  silver,  to  keep  company  with  rustics,  and  ride 
in  the  rain.  All  which  premises  your  petition- 
ers humbly  pray  you  to  take  into  your  consi- 
deration, and  either  to  appoint  a day  in  your 
Court  ojf  Honour  when  all  pretenders  to  the 
galoon  may  enter  their  claims,  and  have  them 
approved  or  rejected,  or  to  give  us  such  other 
relief  as  to  your  great  wisdom  shall  seem  meet. 

‘ And  your  petitioners,  *fec.’ 

Order  my  friend  near  Temple-bar,  the  author 
of  the  hunting-cock,  to  assist  the  court  when 
this  petition  is  read,  of  which  Mr.  Lillie  to  give 
him  notice. 

‘ To  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire,  Censor  of  Great 
Britain. 

‘ The  humble  petition  of  Elizabeth  Slender, 
Spinster,  showeth, 

‘ That  on  the  twentieth  of  this  instant  De- 
cember, her  friend,  Rebecca  Hive,  and  your  pe- 
titioner, walking  in  the  Strand,  saw  a gentle- 
man before  us  in  a gown,  whose  periwig  was  so 


long,  and  so  much  powdered,  that  your  petitioner 
took  notice  of  it,  and  said,  “ she  wondered  that 
lawyer  would  so  spoil  a new  gown  with  powder.” 
To  which  it  was  answered,  “ that  he  w’as  no 
lawyer,  but  a clergyman.”  Upon  a wager  of  a 
pot  of  coffee,  we  overtook  him,  and  your  peti- 
tioner was  soon  convinced  she  had  Icsc. 

‘ Your  petitioner,  therefore  desires  your  wor- 
ship to  cite  the  clergymen  before  you,  and  to 
settle  and  adjust  the  length  of  canonical  peri- 
wigs, and  the  quantity  of  powder  to  be  made 
use  of  in  them,  and  to  give  such  other  direc- 
tions as  you  shall  think  fit. 

‘ And  your  petitioner,  «S::c. 

Query,  whether  this  gentleman  be  not  chap- 
lain to  a regiment,  and,  in  such  case,  allow  pow- 
der accordingly. 

After  all  that  can  be  thought  on  these  sub- 
jects, I must  confess,  that  the  men  who  dress 
with  a certain  ambition  to  appear  more  than 
they  are,  are  much  more  excusable  than  those 
who  betray,  in  the  adorning  their  persons,  a 
secret  vanity  and  inclination  to  shine  in  things, 
wherein,  if  they  did  succeed,  it  would  rather 
lessen  than  advance  their  character.  For  this 
reason,  I am  more  provoked  at  the  allegations 
relating  to  the  clergyman,  than  any  other  hinted 
at  in  these  complaints.  I have  indeed  a long 
time,  with  much  concern,  observed  abundance 
of  pretty  fellows  in  sacred  orders,  and  shall  in 
due  time  let  them  know,  that  I pretend  to  give 
ecclesiastical  as  well  as  civil  censures.  A man 
well-bred  and  well-dressed  in  that  habit,  adds  to 
the  sacredness  of  his  function  an  agreeableness 
not  to  be  met  with  among  the  laity.  I own  I 
have  spent  some  evenings  among  the  men  of 
wit  of  that  profession  with  an  inexpressible  de- 
light. Their  habitual  care  of  their  character 
gives  such  a chastisement  to  their  fancy,  that  all 
which  they  utter  in  company  is  as  much  above 
what  you  meet  with  in  other  conversation,  as 
the  charms  of  a modest,  are  superior  to  those 
of  a light,  woman.  I therefore  earnestly  desire 
our  young  missionaries  from  the  universities,  to 
consider  where  they  are,  and  not  dress,  and  look, 
and  move  like  young  officers.  It  is  no  disad- 
vantage to  have  a very  handsome  white  hand  ; 
but,  were  I to  preach  repentance  to  a gallery  of 
ladies,  I would,  methinks,  keep  my  gloves  on.  I 
have  an  unfeigned  affection  to  the  class  of  man- 
kind appointed  to  serve  at  the  altar,  therefore 
am  in  danger  of  running  out  of  my  way,  and 
growing  too  serious  on  this  occasion  ; for  which 
reason  I shall  end  with  the  following  epistle, 
which,  by  my  interest  in  Tom  Trot,  the  penny- 
post,  I procured  a copy  of : 

‘ To  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ralph  Incense,  Chaplain  to 
the  countess  dowager  of  Brampton. 

‘ Sir, — I heard  and  saw  you  preach  last  Sun- 
day. I am  an  ignorant  young  woman,  and  un- 
derstood not  half  you  said  ; but  ah  ! your  man- 
ner, when  you  held  up  both  your  hands  towards 
our  pew  ! Did  you  design  to  win  me  to  heaven 
or  yourself?  Your  humble  servant, 

‘ PENITENCE  GENTLE.’ 


THE  TATLER. 


431 


f|  No.  271.] 

j No.  271.]  Tuesday^  January 

The  printer  having  informed  me,  that  there 
1 are  as  many  of  these  papers  printed  as  will 

ii  make  four  volumes,  I am  now  come  to  the  end 

• of  my  ambition  in  this  matter,  and  have  nothing 

I further  to  say  to  the  world  under  the  character 

[ of  Isaac  Bickerstaff.  This  work  has,  indeed, 

I I for  some  time  been  disagreeable  to  me,  and  the 

1 1 purpose  of  it  wholly  lost  by  my  being  so  long 

I understood  as  the  author.  I never  designed  in 
I j it  to  give  any  man  any  secret  wound  by  my 
' concealment,  but  spoke  in  the  character  of  an 

old  man,  a philosopher,  a humorist,  an  astrolo- 
j I ger,  and  a censor,  to  allure  my  reader  with  the 
variety  of  my  subjects,  and  insinuate,  if  I could, 

I the  weight  of  reason  with  the  agreeableness  of 
wit.  The  general  purpose  of  the  whole  has 
(j  been  to  recommend  truth,  innocence,  honour, 
i'  and  virtue,  as  the  chief  ornaments  of  life  ; but 

i I considered,  that  severity  of  manners  was  ab- 

I;  solutely  necessary  to  him  who  would  censure 
others,  and  for  that  reason,  and  that  only,  chose 
l!  to  talk  in  a mask.  I shall  not  carry  my  humi- 
i;  lity  so  far  as  to  call  myself  a vicious  man,  but 
l'  at  the  same  time  must  confess,  my  life  is  at  best 
but  pardonable.  And,  with  no  greater  charac- 
f ter  than  this,  a man  would  make  but  an  indiffer- 
' ent  progress  in  attacking  prevailing  and  fashion- 
' able  vices,  which  Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  done  with 
a freedom  of  spirit,  that  would  have  lost  both 
I its  beauty  and  efficacy,  had  it  been  pretended  to 
' by  Mr.  Steele. 

As  to  the  work  itself,  the  acceptance  it  has 
met  with  is  the  best  proof  of  its  value  ; but  I 
should  err  against  that  candour,  which  an  honest 
man  should  always  carry  about  him,  if  I did 
not  own,  that  the  most  approved  pieces  in  it 
were  written  by  others,  and  those  which  have 
been  most  excepted  against,  by  myself.  The 
hand  that  has  assisted  me  in  those  noble  dis- 
courses upon  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the 
glorious  prospects  of  another  life,  and  the  most 
sublime  ideas  of  religion  and  virtue,  is  a person 
who  is  too  fondly  my  friend  ever  to  own  them  ;t 
but  I should  little  deserve  to  be  his,  if  I usurped 
the  glory  of  them.  I must  acknowledge  at  the 
same  time,  that  I think  the  finest  strokes  of  wit 
and  humour  in  all  Mr.  Bickerstaff’s  lucubra- 
tions, are  those  for  which  he  also  is  beholden  to 
him. 

As  for  the  satirical  part  of  these  writings, 
those  against  the  gentlemen  who  profess  gaming 
are  the  most  licentious  ; but  the  main  of  them  I 
take  to  come  from  losing  gamesters,  as  invec- 
tives against  the  fortunate  ; for  in  very  many 


of  them  I was  very  little  else  but  the  transcriber. 
If  any  have  been  more  particularly  marked  at, 
such  persons  may  impute  it  to  their  own  beha- 
viour, before  they  were  touched  upon  in  publicly 
speaking  their  i-esentment  against  the  author, 
and  professing  they  would  support  any  man  who 
should  insult  him.  When  I mention  this  sub- 
ject, I hope  major-general  Davenport,  brigadier 
Ilisset,  and  my  lord  Forbes,  will  accept  of  my 
thanks  for  their  frequent  good  offices,  in  pro- 
fessing their  readiness  to  partake  any  danger 
that  should  befall  me  in  so  just  an  undertaking, 
as  the  endeavour  to  banish  fraud  and  cozenage 
from  the  presence  and  conversation  of  gentle- 
men. 

But  what  I find  the  least  excusable  part  of 
all  this  work  is,  that  I have,  in  some  places  in 
it,  touched  upon  matters  which  concern  both 
church  and  state.  All  I shall  say  for  this  is, 
that  the  points  I alluded  to,  are  such  as  con- 
cerned every  Christian  and  freeholder  in  Eng- 
land ; and  I could  not  be  cold  enough  to  conceal 
my  opinion  on  subjects  which  related  to  either 
of  those  characters.  But  politics  apart. 

I must  confess  it  has  been  a most  exquisite 
pleasure  to  me  to  frame  characters  of  domestic 
life,  and  put  those  parts  of  it  which  are  least  ob- 
served into  an  agreeable  view  ; to  inquire  into 
the  seeds  of  vanity  and  affectation,  to  lay  before 
the  readers  the  emptiness  of  ambition  : in  a 
word,  to  trace  human  life  through  all  its  mazes 
and  recesses,  and  show  much  shorter  methods 
than  men  ordinarily  practise,  to  be  happy,  agree- 
able, and  great. 

But  to  inquire  into  men’s  faults  and  weak- 
nesses has  something  in  it  so  unwelcome,  that 
I have  often  seen  people  in  pain  to  act  before 
me,  whose  modesty  only  makes  them  think 
themselves  liable  to  censure.  This,  and  a thou- 
sand other  nameless  things,  have  made  it  an 
irksome  task  to  me  to  personate  Mr.  Bickerstaff 
any  longer ; and  I believe  it  does  not  often  hap- 
pen, that  the  reader  is  delighted  where  the  au- 
thor is  displeased. 

All  1 can  do  now  for  the  further  gratification 
of  the  town,  is  to  give  them  a faithful  explica- 
tion of  passages  and  allusions,  and  sometimes 
of  persons  intended  in  the  several  scattered 
parts  of  the  work.  At  the  same  time,  I shall 
discover  which  of  the  whole  have  been  written 
by  me,  and  which  by  others,  and  by  whom,  as 
far  as  I am  able,  or  permitted.* 

Thus,  I have  voluntarily  done  what  I think 
all  authors  should  do  when  called  upon.  I have 
published  my  name  to  my  writings  and  given 
myself  up  to  the  mercy  of  the  town,  as  Shak- 
speare  expresses  it,  ‘ with  all  my  imperfections 
on  my  head.’  The  indulgent  reader’s  most 
obliged,  most  obedient,  humble  servant, 

RICHARD  STEELE. 


* This  is  done  in  the  original  preface  to  the  fourth  vo- 
lume of  the  Tatler , printed  at  the  beginning  of  the  pre- 
sent edition. 


* Steele’s  last  Tatler  came  out  to-day.  You  will  see 
it  before  this  comes  to  you,  and  how  he  takes  leave  of 
the  world.  He  never  told  so  much  as  Addison  of  it,  who 
was  surprised  as  much  as  I ; but,  to  say  the  truth,  it  was 
time,  for  he  grew  cruel  dull  and  diy.  To  my  knowledge, 
he  had  several  good  hints  to  go  upon ; but  he  was  so 
lazy,  and  weary  of  the  work,  that  he  would  not  improve 
them. — Swift’s  Works,  vol.  xxii. 

t Addison  was  the  assistant  here  alluded  to. 


INDEX. 


No. 

Absolute  power  represented  in  a dance  . .11 

Abstinence,  advantages  of  . • . . 240 

Absurdity,  remarks  on 168 

Actagon,  his  manner  of  life  ....  59 

Action,  a necessary  qualification  of  an  orator  . 66 
Neglected  by  English  clergymen  . . 66 

Actors,  their  chief  perfection  . . . .167 

Adversity,  an  alleviation  of  ...  233 

Advertisements,  a collection  of  them  a good 

miscellany 224 

Specimens  of  them  . . . 228, 245, 257 

Advice  to  young  people  .....  104 
Not  asked  for  information,  but  out  of  fullness 
and  perplexitjr  of  heart  ....  25 

.Eneas’s  descent  into,  and  adventures  in,  the 

empire  of  death 154 

./Esculapius  falls  in  love  with  the  divine  Hebe  44 
Metaphorically  defunct  ....  46 

His  receipt  for  love 47 

His  unseasonable  amour  ....  47 

yEsop,  a fable  of  his  applied  on  the  receipt  of  a 

letter  115 

Affectation  of  vice  and  imperfection  censured  77 
Affection  distinguished  from  esteem  . . 206 

Paternal,  described 95 

Affections,  how  governed  ....  54 

Affliction,  imaginary,  often  most  insupportable  146 
Africanus,  his  magnanimity,  and  manner  of  pur- 
chasing annuities  • ....  36 

Afterwit,  (Solomon)  his  observations  on  the  town  83 
Agamemnon’s  invectives  against  women  . 152 

Age,  what  renders  it  most  agreeable  . . 45 

Indecent  when  not  spent  in  virtue  . . 46 

The  glory  of  the  present,  in  regard  to  England  130 
Albemarle,  (earl)  appointed  governor  of  Tournay  49 
Album  Grascum  prescribed  to  a sick  dog  . . 121 

Alchymist,  remarks  on  that  comedy  . . 14 

Aldobrandini,  picture  in  the  palace  of  . . 184 

Alexander  the  Great,  his  character,  and  irregu- 
larity of  temper  ....  191, 209 

Compared  with  Caesar 6 

A memorable  saying  of  his  ...  92 

A remarkable  incident  between  him  and  his 

physician 209 

Account  of  the  tragedy  of  . . . . 191 

Alexander  Truncheon,  foreman  of  the  male 
jury  in  the  court  of  honour  . . .252 

Alicant  capitulated  for 10 

Taken 21 

Allegories,  as  profitable  to  the  mind,  as  hunting 

to  the  body 146 

Allegory  of  Virtue  and  Pleasure  making  court 
. to  Hercules  ...,.,  97 
Application  of,  in  Homer  ....  146 

Allen,  (Mr.)  founder  of  Dulwich  college  . . 20 

Almanack,  Oxford,  considered  ...  39 

Alost,  attempt  to  surprise  the  garrison  of  . • 1,  4 

Amanda,  the  happy  wife  of  Florio  . . 49 

Ambition,  the  foundation  and  end  of  . . 186 

Middle  age  of  man  most  addicted  to  . 120 

Becomes  true  honour  in  the  good  . . .120 

No  true  happiness  in  the  success  of  . . 202 

Its  refuge  when  disappointed  . . . 202 

The  true  object  of  laudable  . . . 251 

Aminadab,  the  quaker’s,  admonition  . . 190 

Angelo,  (Michael)  his  picture  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment censured  . . - . . . 156 

Anger,  the  ill  consequences  of  . . . 172 

3 I 433 


No 

A tragical  instance  of  surprise  in  . . 172 

Animals,  cruelty  towards  them  condemned  . 133 
Anne,  (queen)  eulogiums  on  her  government  90, 130 
Annihilation  described  by  Milton  and  Dryden  6 
Annuities,  how  purchased  by  Africanus  . 36 

Anticyra,  an  island  assigned  by  the  Romans  to 

madmen ,125 

Its  product 125 

Anticyra  compared  to  Montpelier  . . . 125 

Apollo,  god  of  verse  and  physic  . . . 240 

Apology  for  great  men  in  bestowing  favours  168 

Apothecaries,  great  orators  ....  240 
Appetites,  how  to  be  governed  . . . 205 

Argyle,  (duke, of)  his  character  . . .46 

Aristasus,  the  character  of  a man  who  has  the 

mastery  of  himself 167 

Arms,  an  exercise  of  them  at  London  . . 41 

Arria,  wife  of  Paetus,  manner  of  her  death  . 72 

Arthur,  (king)  the  first  who  sat  down  to  a whole 

roasted  ox 148 

Artillery  Company  of  London,  an  exercise  of 
arms  performed  by  ....  41 

Aspasia,  a most  excellent  woman  . . .42 

The  first  of  the  beauteous  order  of  Love  . 49 

Astraea,  an  unfortunate  wife  ....  241 
Asturias,  (prince  of)  acknowledged  heir  to  the 

crown  of  Spain  . . . ' . . 5 

Atheist  in  a storm 3 

Athenians,  a remarkable  instance  of  their  pub- 
lic spirit  and  virtue  ....  122 

Atterbury,  (dean)  his  eloquent  manner  of  preach- 
ing   66 

Attorneys  solve  difficulties  by  increasing  them  99 

Avarice,  what  age  of  man  most  devoted  to  it  120 
Its  region,  temple,  attendants,  adherents,  and 

offices  described 123 

Effect  of  a discourse  on  ....  124 
Avaro,  a mean-spirited  rich  man  . . .25 

Audience  at  a play,  their  general  behaviour  122,  201 
Aurengezebe,  an  Indian  stock-jobber,  his  history, 

and  indecent  manner  of  spending  old  age  . 46 
Author,  his  opinion  of  his  own  performance  . 92 
Autumn,  (lady)  her  behaviour  at  church  . . 140 


BACON,  (lord)  character  of  ...  . 

His  sentiments  of  poetry,  the  truest  and  best 

ever  written 

His  legacy  to  his  countrymen  and  foreigners 
Badajoz,  account  of  a battle  there 

Marshal  Bouffler’s  letter  to  the  French  king 
after  the  battle  of  Badajoz 
Bag-pipe,  to  what  sort  of  persons  applicable  in 

convei-sation 

A club  of 

Balance,  (merchant)  the  treatment  of  one  who 
attempted  to  debauch  his  wife 
Banbury,  famous  for  cakes  and  zeal 
Bankers,  why  they  should  take  poems  for  bills 
Barbarity,  an  attendant  on  tyranny 
Barnes,  (Mr.  Joshua)  his  edition  of  Homer  re- 
commended ...... 

Barrymore,  (earl)  made  prisoner  in  Portugal  . 
Barry,  (Mrs.)  an  excellent  player 

Requested  to  act  the  widow  at  Mr.  Bicker- 
staff’s  funeral  . . • 

Bass  viols  applied  to  conversation 
Where  most  likely  to  be  found 
With  what  instrument  matched  . 

37 


267 

108 

133 

17 

77 

153 

153 

136 

220 

43 

161 

143 

17 

1 


153 

153 

157 


434 


INDEX. 


No. 

Bass  viols  Exposed  to  sale  by  lottery  . .166 

Bachelor’s  scheme  to  govern  a wife  . 10 

Bath,  commotions  there 26 

Battle  of  Badajoz  ....  .17 

Of  Blaregnies  . . . . 63, 64 

Near  Mons 63,  64 

Of  critics 65 

Bawbles,  by  whom  brought  to  perfection  . . 142 

Bayes,  (Mr.)  his  expedient  in  the  theatre  . . 6 

Beadlestaff  his  testimony  of  a reformation  at 
puppet-show  at  Oxford  .... 

Beans,  why  to  be  abstained  from 
Bear,  meaning  of  that  word  explained 
Bear-gardens  of  antiquity  .... 

Bear-garden  diversions  condemned  . 

Beauty,  the  force  and  efficacy  of  . . . 

Beauty,  how  long  it  ought  to  be  the  care  of  the 

fair  sex 

The  town  overstocked  with  it  . . . 

Bedlam,  project  for  erecting  a new  one. 

For  whom  designed 
Distribution  of  the  apartments  there 
Beef,  the  food  of  our  robust  ancestors 

The  breakfast  of  queen  Elizabeth’s  maids  of 

honour  

Beef-eaters,  the  order  of, 

Bellfrey,  (Mr.)  an  ignorant  clown,  his  behaviour 

at  lady  Dainty’s 

Belvidere,  a woman  of  good  sense  without  af- 
fectation   

Bennet,  (madam)  her  maxim  for  the  ladies 
Bernard,  (mons.)  a French  banker,  consequences 

of  his  failure 3,5 

Offers  to  his  creditors 

Betterton,  the  celebrated  player,  his  character 

1,71 

Invitation  to  his  benefit 
Account  of  his  funeral  . 

Bickerstaff  (Isaac)  his  genealogy 
How  his  race  was  improved 
Epitome  of  his  life 
An  adept  in  astronomy 
Of  the  society  for  the  reformation  of  man 

ners 

A benefactor  to  Grub-street 
Gives  advice  for  his  own  sake 
Expects  hush-money 
Not  in  partnersliin  with  Lillie 
Did  not  compound  with  the  milliners  and  toy 

men  

Catched  writing  nonsense 
His  amours  ....  91,  107,  117,  248 

A design  to  marry  him  . . . .91 

Contents  of  his  scrutoire 

His  will 

Extraordinary  cures  perfonned  by  him  at  his 

lodgings 

Disposes  of  his  three  nephews 
Entertains  his  nephews  and  a lady 
Vindicated  from  injuring  a person  by  satire  71,  74 
Received  at  the  theatre  with  extraordinary 

civility 

Entertained  at  the  house  of  a friend  who  eats 

well  

Purchases  a ticket  in  the  lottery  . 

Writes  to  the  French  king  . 

His  adventures  in  a journey  to  the  land’s 

end 

Bickers  taffj  (Margery)  methods  used  to  divorce 

her  from  marriage 

Bickerstaff  (Samuel)  his  advice  to  his  son  and 

daughter 

Bicknell,  or  Bignell,  (Mrs.)  a comedian,  com- 
mended ....... 

Acts  the  Country  Wife  .... 

Billingsgate  scold,  behaviour  of  . . . 

Birth,  pride  of  . 

t,  (brigadier)  his  good  office  to  Mr.  Steele 
acknowdedged  . . ...  271 


45 
240 
38 
31 
134 
10 

61 
. 195 
125,  174 
127,  174 
. 175 
. 148 


148 

148 

37 

126 

84 

,29 

9 

167 
157 
167 
11,  75 
75 
89 
124 

3 

229 

1,4 

26 

96 

30 

59 


78 

7 

34 

39 

207 


122 

148 

124 

190 

192 

151 

189 

11 

3 

204 

11 


No 

Black-horse  ordinary  in  Holbom,  an  adventure 

there 135 

Bladder  and  string,  modern  music  applied  . 153 

Blaregnies,  victory  of 65 

Blindness  cured  by  Mr.  Grant,  story  of  . .55 

Blockheads  apt  to  admire  one  another  . . 196 

Blunder,  (major)  buys  muskets  without  touch- 

holes  61 

Boatswain,  (Dampier’s)  contrivance  to  prevent 

being  eaten 62 

Bodily  wits 4£ 

Bombardiers,  who  to  be  accoimted  such  . 88 

Books,  how  to  be  valued  . . . .80 

Booksellers,  their  complaint  against  parson  Pla- 

gius 269 

Boufifers,  (marshal)  a letter  from  him  to  the 

F rench  king  after  a battle  . . .77 

Bourignon,  (madam  de)  foundress  of  the  pietists, 

her  extraordinary  gifts  and  talents  . . 126 

Bracegirdle,  (Mrs.)  an  excellent  player  . . 1 

Brains,  spirit  of,  in  orange-flower  water  . . 94 

Breeding,  (fine)  often  mistaken  . . . 215 

Bribery,  reflections  on,  with  coals  . . .73 

A notable  expedient  to  prevent  it  at  elections  73 
An  essay  and  poem  on  it  . . . .42 

A solicitor  in  the  temple  of  avarice  . . 123 

Bridget  Howd’ye,  her  lady’s  advertisement  con- 
cerning her 245 

Brisk,  (sir  Liberal)  saved  from  sharpers  . . 73 

Britain,  particularly  fruitful  in  religions  . . 259 

Brunette,  (colonel)  a very  pretty  fellow  . . 24 

Brussels  Postscript,  remarlvs  on  that  poem  . 46 
Brutes,  cruelty  towards  them  condemned  , 134 
Bruyere,  (mons.)  his  satire  on  the  French  . 57 
Bublenia,  angry  about  the  tucker  . . 109 

Buckley,  (Mr.)  a drawcansir  . . . .18 

Bullock  and  Penkethman,  parallel  between 

them 188 

To  attend  Mr.  Bickerstaff ’s  funeral  . . 7 

Busy  Body,  character  of  that  comedy  . . 19 

Busy,  (lady)  described 248 

But,  the  particle,  used  too  frequently  . . 38 

CADARoauE,  meaning  of  that  word  . . 171 

To  whom  applied  by  the  Indian  kings  . . 171 

Cadogan,  (major-general)  at  Brussels  . . 1 

Wounded  before  Mons  . . . .76 

Caelia,  her  unhappy  marriage  with  Palamede  . 198 

Why  so  long  a maid 5 

Cselicola,  wherein  of  the  same  use  to  his  friends 

as  an  angel 211 

CsEsar,  (Julius)  compared  with  Alexander  • 6 

Callicoat  acquitted  in  the  court  of  honour  . 259 

Cambray,  (archbishop  of)  account  of  his  Tele- 

machus 156 

Cambrick,  the  linen-draper  indicted  in  the 
court  of  honour  . . . . • 259 

Camilla,  exit  of  the  person  who  performed  that 

character  in  the  opera  . . . .20 

Campaign,  character  of  that  poem  . . .43 

Cancrum,  his  merit  24 

Cane,  worn  out  of  affectation  . . . .77 

Petition  to  wear  one 80 

Different  in  their  kinds  and  value  . . 142 

Cant,  of  modern  men  of  wit  ....  2 

Cards  take  the  place  of  poetry  ...  1 

Careless,  (Frank)  opposed  to  Fop  Nice  . . 14 

Careless  Husband,  a comedy  born  within  the 

theatre 182 

Case,  (Dr.)  got  more  by  a short  distich  than  Mr. 

Drjden  gained  by  all  his  writings  . . 240 

Castabella,  an  eminent  prude  . . .126 

Cato,  a beauty  in  his  character  . . .112 

Cato  Junior,  his  advice  to  Mr.  Bickerstaff  • 195 
Cebes,  a table  of  a beautiful  allegory  . 164 

Celamico,  his  will  . • • • - • 261 

Celibacy,  a great  ex'il  to  a nation  . . . 261 

Censor,  necessity  of  the  office  . • • 144 

Roman  and  British  v"«nsore  compared  . .162 


INDEX. 


No. 

Censurers  punished  severely  after  death  . . 136 

Ceremony,  invention  and  use  of  it  . • .30 

Cervantes,  (Michael;  his  discerning  spirit  . 178 
Cestus  of  Venus  described  ....  147 
Chair,  (elbow)  for  what  purpose  . . . 268 

Challenge,  the  style  of  it  . . . . 25 

Chances,  a comedy,  character  of  . . .191 

Chanticleer,  (Job)  his  petition  . . .134 

Chaplains,  a discourse  concerning  them  . . 255 

Chapel-clerk,  explained 72 

Caught  in  a garret 69 

Charles,  the  toyman,  his  great  genius  in  canes 

and  snuff-boxes 142 

Chastity,  its  value  instanced  in  Scipio  . . 58 

Cheerfulness,  necessary  in  a married  state  • 192 

Chicken,  a modern  diet 148 

Children,  manner  of  nursing  them  . . 15 

A scheme  to  provide  for  them  . . . 261 

Chloe,  love  of  her  makes  coxcombs  . . . 4 

The  fortune  disappointed  ....  207 

Christmas  Eve Ill 

Church,  indecent  and  irregular  behaviour  at,  re- 
proved   140 

Church  mutes  censured 241 

Thermometer,  when  invented  . . . 220 

Ciber,  (Colley)  a celebrated  comedian  . .182 

Cicero,  his  letters  to  his  wife  . . . .159 

Circumspection  water,  BickerstalTs,  wonderful 

effects  of  it 2,  34 

Citizens  distinguished  from  cits  . . .25 

City  politicians  reproved  . . . .155 

Shower  poetically  described  . . . 288 

Clarinda  makes  an  ill  choice  of  a lover  . . 247 

Clarissa,  love  of  her  makes  madmen  . 4 

Clement’s  (Thomas)  proposal  to  provide  for  cliil- 

dj-en  261 

Cleomira,  confined  for  painting  her  face  . .61 

Clergyman,  character  for  a good  one  . 72,  114 

Respect  due  to  them 68 

Deficient  . . . .66, 68, 70, 71,  72 

Wherein  their  discourses  may  receive  addition  66 
Their  laziness  the  principal  cause  of  dissen- 
sions   66, 68 

The  vanity  of  some  of  them  wearing  scarfs 

and  powdered  wigs 270 

Clerk  of  a church  reproved  . . . .69 

The  term  explained  . . . . 72 

Clidemira,  a woman  of  distinction  . . .34 

Coaches,  vanity  of  riding  in  them  exposed  . 144 
Why  they  should  be  taxed,  and  ought  to  be 

called  in 144 

Coach-paintinir,  a method  to  make  it  useful  . 144 
Cobbler,  on  Ludgale-hill,  his  contrivance  to 

gratify  his  pride 127 

Colchester,  corporation  of,  their  offer  to  Mr 

Bickerstaff  . . . . .118 

Comma,  (Mrs.)  a subtle  casuist  . . . 166 

Commendation  of  one’s  self,  when  necessary  91 
Commerce,  a goddess  in  the  region  of  liberty  . 161 
Common  prayer,  advice  to  the  readers  of,  66,  230 
Commonwealth,  the  ruins  of  a . . 161 

Companions,  what  sort  most  desirable  . 45,  168 

Essential  qualities  of  ....  244 

Company,  its  greatest  perfection  . . . 219 

Compassion,  how  moved  in  men  and  women  68 
Compassion  instanced  in  a passage  of  Macbeth  68 
Often  the  weakest  part  about  us  . . .41 

Competency,  a guide  in  the  temple  of  Avarice  123 
Complacency,  a guide  in  the  temple  of  Hymen  120 
Complainers,  their  importunity  . . .146 

Complaints  concerning  reformation  . . .96 

Complaisance,  necessary  in  a married  state  . 149 

Conjugal  affection 114 

Conscience  described 48 

Consort,  female,  described  ....  157 

Constancy,  necessary  in  the  married  state  . 192 

Contention  described 120 

Between  two  ladies  for  the  title  of  very  pretty  34 
Contradiction,  an  occasion  of  it  . . . 171 


Contradiction  more  odious  than  flattery  . 
Conversation,  good-will  the  quintessence  of  it 
What  only  gives  true  relish  to  it 
The  most  necessary  talent  tor  it  . 

A general  rule  to  be  observed  in  it 
Rules  for  it  . 

The  use  and  abuse  of  it 
A medium  to  be  observed  in  it 
What  it  chiefly  turns  upon  . 

Humdrums  in  conversation 
Repartees  .... 

Copenhagen  described 
Coppersmith,  that  name  explained 
Harry  and  Will,  their  character  compared 
with  the  sharpers 
Coquetry,  what 

Its  effects  on  a young  gentleman 
How  to  overcome  the  power  of  it 
Coquettes,  a mischievous  sect  . . 27, 

Labyrinth  of  . 

Compared  to  prudes 
Chaste  jilts  .... 

Compared  to  kits 
Story  of  a coquet  widow 
Corinna,  her  manner  of  life  w ith  Limberham  . 
Corruption,  an  officer  in  the  temple  of  Avarice 
Cornwall,  a tragical  accident  there 
Country,  the  charms  and  pleasures  of  it  . 
Modern  entertainments  and  diversions  in  it  . 
Ignorant  of  Mr.  Bickerstaff ’s  character 
Country  gentleman,  character  of  a true  one 
Very  ceremonious  . * . . . 

Country  life,  the  true  pleasures  of  it  . 89, 

Coupler,  the  conveyancer,  his  account  of  joint- 
ures and  marriage-settlements 

Courant,  a newspaper 

Court  of  honour  erected 

Account  of  its  members,  and  their  proceed- 
ings ....  250,  253,  256,  259, 

Cowley,  (Mr.)  his  judgment  of  a poem 
Coxcombs,  described  by  Suckling 
The  greatest  plague  of  them 
Required  to  hang  out  their  signs  . 

Craft,  when  it  becomes  wisdom 
Crassus,  his  character  compared  w ith  Lorio 

Credit  described  

How  obtained  in  the  city  . • . . 

Critics  described 29, 

A people  between  the  learned  and  the  igno- 
rant . 

Opposed  to  wits  .... 

How  punished  after  death  .... 

A great  critic  in  fits  at  the  opera  . 

Cruelty  to  animals  

Cunning,  the  greatest  cunning  of  some  people  to 
appear  so  ...  . . . 

A contemptible  quality  .... 

Cupid,  a lap-dog,  dangerously  ill  . . . 

Custom,  the  cause  of  duels  .... 

Cynthio,  falls  in  love 

The  effect  of  a bow  from  his  mistress  . 
Dictating  on  the  passion  of  love  . 

His  resolution,  and  letter  to  his  mistress 
His  death,  monument  and  epitaph 
Czar  of  Muscovy,  account  of  his  victory  . 

His  generosity  and  hospitality  to  the  Swedish 
officers.  . . ... 

Damia,  a woman  of  distinction,  a very  pretty 

lady 

Dancing  displays  beauty 

Dancing-master,  account  of  one  who  danced  by 

book 

Dancing-shoes,  to  be  carried  in  a stage-coach 

gratis 

Daniel  the  historian,  extract  from,  on  taxes 
Daniel,  Mr.  Bickerstaff  ’s  merry  companion,  his 
manner  of  preaching  . . 

Dapper,  (parson)  his  way  of  preaching 


•in 

No. 

171 

45 

95 
21 

264 

244 

225 

224 

246 

264 
31 
12 
61 

57 

27 

107 

107 

126 

120 

126 

107 

157 

126 

49 

123 

82 

89 

169 

31 

169 

86 

169 

199 

178 

250 

265 
234 

57 
91 

96 
191 

91 

48 
176 
165 

246 

29 

165 

4 
134 

191 

191 

121 

29 

1 

5 
22 
35 
85 

49 

58 


88 


180 

148 


436 


INDEX. 


Dapper,  (Tim)  head  of  a species  . . .85 

Dassapa,  (Tom)  his  potions  . . . .48 

Dathan,  a Jew,  tried  in  the  court  of  honour  . 256 

Davenport,  (major-general)  his  good  offices  to 

Mr.  Steele 271 

David,  (saint)  his  day,  why  observed  by  Mr. 

Bickerstaff 140 

Dawks,  (honest  Icabod)  the  news-writer  . 18,  178 

Dead,  who  to  be  so  accounted  . 96,  111,  118,  174 

Heard  and  adjudged 110 

Dressed  in  lace,  <fec.  contrary  to  the  act  . 118 
A dead  man  resuscitated  . . . .118 

Decius,  the  character  of  a lewd  person  . .118 

Dedications,  the  abuse  of  them  . . 43,  177 

Difference  between  ancient  and  modern  dedi- 
cations .......  177 

A play  dedicated  to  a city  knight  . . .43 

Defiance,  natural  to  the  English  . . . 213 

Degeneracy  of  the  age 183 

Delamira,  account  of  her  amours,  and  the  virtues 

and  management  of  her  fan  . . .52 

Delicates,  false,  pernicious  ....  148 
Demosthenes,  his  speech  to  the  Athenians  . 183 
Denmark,  king  of,  runs  for  a prize  at  Dresden  . 33 
Account  of  his  tour  2,  5,  6,  7,  8,  21,  24,  25,  28,  33 
Desire,  two  most  prevalent  desires  implanted  in 

men  by  nature  205 

Destinies,  their  speech  and  present  to  Jupiter  146 
Devotion,  the  pleasure  and  dignity  of  it,  by  Dr. 

South • .211 

Diana  Forecast,  letter  from  ....  200 
Diet,  difference  between  ancient  and  modern  . 148 
Dimple,  (lady)  her  good  breeding  . . .166 

Dinner,  postponed 263 

Discourse,  different  talents  in  it  . . . 153 

The  general  subject  of  it  . . . 246 

Discretion,  a guard  to  one  of  Hymen’s  gates  . 120 
Dissensions  owing  to  the  laziness  of  the  clergy  . 68 

Dissimulation  distinguished  from  simulation  . 213 
Distaff  Jenny,  Mr.  Biekerstaff’s  half  sister,  her 

visits,  behaviour,  and  character  74,  143,  184 

Her  discourse  in  love 10 

Reflections  on  her  brother’s  writings  . . 33 

Apology  for  the  fair  sex  ....  247 

Conduct  in  an  amour 33 

Her  marriage,  and  character  of  her  husband  74,  79 

Sets  up  an  equipage 143 

Her  happiness  with  Tranquillus  . . . 104 

Distress,  contemplation  of,  softens  the  mind, 

and  fetters  the  heart  . . 82 

Diversions,  for  the  king  of  Denmark,  at  Dresden  33 
Divito,  sale  of  his  goods,  celestial  and  terrestrial  42 
Ejected  from  his  palace  . . . 99 

Doctor,  dumb,  at  Kensington  . . 70 

Dodwell,  some  account  of  his  opinions  . 187 

Dogget,  a comedian,  commended  ...  7 

His  letter  to  Mr.  Bickerstaff  . . . 120 

His  civilities  to  Mr.  Bickerstaff  at  the  theatre, 

122,  193 

Dogs,  a kennel  of  them  to  be  disposed  of  . .62 

Account  of  the  loss  of  a lady’s  lap-dog  . . 47 

Recipe  for  a sick  dog  .....  121 
Donne,  Dr.  his  saying  of  Guicciardini  . . 264 

Dorchester  stage-coach  advertised  . . . 143 

Dover  Cliff  described  by  Shakspeare  . .117 

Downes  the  prompter  describes  the  state  of  the 

stage 193 

Dozers,  who 205 

Dramatists,  unskilful  remarks  on  them  . . 191 

Dream  of  the  band  of  lovers  ....  120 
Of  Jupiter  and  the  destinies  . . . 146 

Of  the  region  of  liberty 161 

Of  the  temple  of  Virtue  ...  123 

Dress,  plainqess  recommended  . . . 212 

Improprieties  therein  censured  . . . 270 

Of  rural  squires 96 

Head-dresses  of  the  ladies  ....  435 

Drinking,  essay  on 241 

The  vice  of  the  country  ...  169 


No 

Dromio,  the  character  of  a sharper  . . .56 

Drum,  who  may  be  called  so  in  conversa- 
tion . • . . . . 153,  157 

Drunkards  die  by  their  own  hands  . . . 241 

A warning  to  them 152 

Drunkenness,  the  ill  effects  of  it  . . . 205 

What  may  be  esteemed  a sort  of  incest  therein  252 
Dryden,  a saying  of  his  on  chastity  ...  5 

His  verses  on  empire  applied  . . .12 

Duel,  inquiry  into  the  genealogy  of  that  monster  29 
Duellers,  how  treated  after  death  . . .26 

Duelling  and  its  terms  explained  . . 25,  29 

Custom  the  source  of  it  . . . .29 

Stripped  of  its  pretensions  to  credit  and  repu- 
tation   25, 28 

How  used  by  different  nations  . . .28 

Dialogue  and  remarks  on  . , . 30, 39 

Dulcimer,  who  to  be  so  accounted  . . . 157 

Dulwich  College,  founded  by  a player  . . 20 

Dumb  doctor  at  Kensington  . . . 70 

Dumb  conjurer  . . . . . .14 

D’Urfy  the  lyric  poet,  account  of  his  abihties  . 11 

A panegyric  of  his 43 

His  Plotting  Sisters  commended  . . .82 

Writes  state  plays,  and  political  dances  . 11 

Mistaken  in  a dedication  ....  214 
D’Urfy’s  dedication  to  his  Modern  Prophets  . 43 

Dutch,  their  wit 129 

Duumvir,  his  way  of  life,  and  behaviour  to  his 
wife  and  mistress 54 

Earl  of  Essex,  character  of  that  play  . . 14 

Earthquake  pills 240 

Ease,  in  writing  ....  .9 

Eastcourt,  (Dick)  Mr.  Bickerstaff ’s  apothecary  130 

Eaters,  great,  sacrifice  sense  to  appetite  . . 205 

Eboracensis,  a good  governor  so  called  . . 69 

E)cstasy,  described  by  Drj'den  ....  6 

Education,  various  errors  of  ...  . 189 

Regulations  proposed  ....  189,  248 

Letter  on  the  subject 234 

Proposals  for  reforming  the  education  of  the 

female  sex 63,  248 

Elbow-chair,  where,  and  for  what  purpose  to  be 

provided 268 

Elizabeth,  (queen)  the  breakfast  of  her  maids  of 

honour, 148 

Elliott’s  project  of  a lottery  . . . 201 

Elmira,  character  and  manner  of  her  life  . 53 
Eloquence  described  . . . . 66, 70 

Elpenor,  a warning  to  drunkards  . . . 152 

Elysium,  joys  of,  by  the  author  of  Telemachus  156 

Wherein  its  happiness  may  be  supposed  to 

consist 94 

England,  the  figure  it  made  in  1709  . .130 

English,  when  they  begin  to  sing  . . . 222 

Engagements  betw'een  them  and  the  French 

15,  63,  64 

English  tongue  much  adulterated  . . . 230 

Enjoyment,  only,  to  be  accounted  true  posses- 
sion   63 

Envy  deforms  every  thing  ....  227 

Effects  of  it 174 

Often  occasioned  by  avarice  . . . 227 

Epicene,  an  author,  censured  . . . .63 

Epigram  on  marriage 40 

Epithets  of  Homer  and  Virgil  compared  . . 6 

Epsom,  diversions  there 30 

Adventures  of  a fortune-hunter  there  . . 47 

Epsom-Wells,  character  of  that  comedy  . . 7 

Equanimity  of  temper,  the  greatest  of  human 

perfections 176 

Equipage,  proper  to  be  sent  off  with  a rent-roll  66 

Esquires,  the  order  of 19 

Why  enemies  to  Mr.  Bickerstaff  . . .115 

Esteem,  distinguished  from  affection  . . 206 

How'  distinguished  from  credit  . . .176 

Eucrates,  effects  of  the  natural  softness  of  his 

temi>er 176 


INDEX. 


437 


No 

Evil,  the  greatest  under  the  sun  . . . 191 

Euphusius  a man  whose  good  nature  is  hurtful 

to  him 76 

Eustace,  (Mr.)  melancholy  instance  of  passion  . 172 
Eutrapelus,  mischievous  in  his  presents  . . 151 

Examiner,  animadversions  on  . . . . 239 

Exercise  of  arms  in  London  . . . .41 

Extortion,  office  of,  in  the  temple  of  Avarice  . 123 
Eye,  language  of  the  . . . .145 

Fame,  a universal  passion  . . . .23 

The  love  of  it  dwells  in  heroic  spirits  . . 92 

Inconveniences  attending  the  desire  of  it  . 255 

False  fame  can  only  please  the  vicious  . 92 
Difficult  to  obtain  or  preserve  . . . 255 

Bank  of 87 

Plan  of  the  chamber  of  ....  67 
Mountain  and  Temple  of  . . . .81 

Table  of  74, 81 

Familiarities,  how  distinguished  . . .225 

Family  scene 95,  114 

Fan,  its  motion  discovers  ladies’  thoughts  . 52 

Verses  on  a fan 239 

F ardingal,  (lady)  her  advertisement  . . . 245 

The  fardingal  allowed  for  a time  . . .121 

Fashion,  absurd  when  too  strictly  followed  . 212 
Favonius,  the  character  of  a good  clergyman  72,  114 

Feasts,  considered 205 

Felicia,  (England,)  happy  in  good  ministers  of 

state  4 

Fellows,  various  significations  of  that  term  . 52 

Female  Consort  of  music 157 

Fencing,  how  learned  by  Mr.  Bickerstaff  . 93 
Fidget,  a general  visitant,  the  occasion  of  her 

madness 174 

Fire-men  described 61 

Fits,  cured  by  a whisper 23 

Flagelet,  an  instrument  in  the  female  concert, 

how  esteemed  by  that  sect  . . . 157 

Flatterers,  true  meaning  of  the  word,  few  good 

ones 208 

f'lattery  grateful  to  human  nature  . . .69 

111  consequence  of  flattering  women  . . 139 

Force  of  it  in  Don  Quixote  . . . .69 

Flavia,  a truly  fine  woman  ....  212 
A coquette,  her  interview  with  Myrtillo  . 145 

A young  lady  rival  to  her  mother  . . 206 

Flavia,  an  imaginary  mistress  ....  196 
Flea,  skeleton  of  one  . . . .110 

Fleaming,  (Gen.)  design  of  his  visit  to  Berlin  . 2 

Florimel  and  Picket,  their  courtship  . . 7 

Florinda,  her  pretensions  to  life  . . 106 

Florio,  a gentleman  fitted  for  conversation  . 45 
Flute,  its  effects  in  a female  concert  . 157 

How  matched  ...  . . 157 

Fly-blow,  a fool,  who  deserves  to  be  treated  like 

a knave 38 

Folio,  (Tom)  a broker  in  learning,  his  visit  and 

criticism 158 

A letter  from  him 160 

Fondness  of  wife  and  children  . . 94,  114 

Fools,  how  they  differ  from  madmen  . . 40 

The  way  to  make  them  madmen  . . 208 

Footman,  without  avarice  ....  124 

Foot-race  by  damsels  at  Epsom  Wells  . . 36 

Fop,  Inventory  of  the  effects  of  a . . .113 

For  and  forasmuch  discussed  . . . .54 

Forbes,  (lord)  his  good  offices  to  Steele  . .271 

Forecast,  (Diana)  desires  to  be  quickly  provided 

for 200 

Fortitude,  described  by  Mr.  Collier  . . . 251 

When  most  conspicuous  ....  176 

A remarkable  instance  of  it  . . . .177 

Fortune,  the  way  to  be  above  her  . . . 170 

Emblem  of,  at  the  lottery  office  . . . 170 

Good,  the  ready  path  to  it  . . . . 202 

Fox,  policy  of  that  animal  ....  229 
Fox,  the,  a play,  applauded  • . . .21 

Fraud,  an  officer  in  the  temple  of  Avarice  . 125 


No. 

Freemen  have  no  superiors  but  benefactors  . 207 
Free  state,  represented  in  a dance  . . .11 

Freethinkers,  who  call  themselves  so  . .12 

Distinction  between  ancient  and  modern  . 135 

Considered  in  distress Ill 

French,  characterised  by  Bruy  ere  . . .57 

Defeated  by  the  allies 63 

Their  shifts  and  subterfuges  . . . .64 

Writers  of  memoirs  exploded  . . . 84 

Friendship,  founded  on  reason  and  choice  . 82 

Tenderness  and  friendship 172 

A necessary  ingredient  in  the  married  state  . 172 

Frogs,  method  used  to  import  and  propagate  in 

Ireland 236 

Frontlet,  an  awful  beauty,  characterised  . . 24 

Funerals,  behaviour  at  them  discover  the  state 

of  the  mind - . 184 

Future  state,  platonic  notions  concerning  the 
happiness  and  torments  of  ...  154 
Described  by  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Fenelon, 

152,  194,  156 

Futurity,  benefits  arising  from  the  prospects  of 

it 156 

Wherein  its  happiness  may  be  supposed  to 
consist 94,  154 

Gallantry,  low,  between  a footman  and  a 

maid-servant 7 

True,  wherein  it  ought  to  consist  . . .58 

The  heroic  virtue  of  private  life  . . .94 

What  effects  it  has  on  men,  instanced  in  a 

theatre  on  fire 94 

Galway,  (Galloway)  earl  of,  his  bravery  and 

conduct  in  Portugal  .....  17 
Gamesters,  their  motive  covetousness  . . 14 

Their  misery 13 

What  men  of  honour  and  wealth  play  against 

them 15 

A speech  concerning  them  . . . . 56 

Defended 57 

Represented  under  the  character  of  a pack  of 
hounds  . . 59,  62,  64,  65,  66,  68,  76 

Gaming,  its  original 14,  56< 

The  folly  of  it  ...  ,.  . 65 

Gascon,  adventure  of  one  wdth  a widow  . .126 

Gatty,  (Mrs.)  foremost  in  the  rank  of  toasts  . 24 

Jack  GainR’s  sister,  her  character  . . 206 

Genealogy  of  the  BickerstafTs  . . . .11 

Genii,  their  good  offices  to  men  . . .48 

Gentleman,  what  meant  by  the  term  . .21 

A character  difficult  to  support  with  propriety  66 
Ghost  of  Anticlea,  Ulysses’  mother  . . 152 

Ghosts  of  beauties 152 

Of  the  damned 152 

Of  heroes 152,  154 

Of  lovers  154 

Of  good  princes 156 

Of  tyrants 156 

Gimcrack,  (sir  Nicholas)  a virtuoso,  his  will  . 216 
His  widow  desires  Mr.  BickerstafTs  friend- 
ship   221 

Glass,  state-weather  ....  . 214 

Glory,  true,  inseparable  from  merit  . . . 177 

Gluttony,  modern 205 

Gotham  petition 141 

Goldsmiths  distinguished  from  coppersmiths  . 61 

Good  breeding 5,  30 

Good  fortune,  the  ready  path  to  it  . . . 202 

Goodly,  (lady)  her  fondness  for  her  children  . 235 
Good  nature,  an  essential  quality  in  a satirist  . 242 
Good  natured  old  man,  the  best  companion  . 45 
Good  will  and  charity,  the  basis  of  society  . 219 

The  quintessence  of  conversation  . . 45 

Grammar,  not  righly  taught  ....  234 
Grandeur  wherein  it  truly  consists  . . 170 

Great  Britain  particularly  fruitful  in  religion  . 257 
Great  men,  behaviour  of  some  of  them  to  their 

dependents 196 

Apology  for  their  manner  of  bestowing  favours  168 
37* 


438 


INDEX. 


i\u. 

Greatness  of  mind,  wherein  it  consists  . . 103 

Greenhat,  (Obadiah)  his  criticism  upon  Mr. 

Bickerstaff 59 

Sir  Humphrey,  a candidate  for  alderman,  his 
expedient  to  prevent  bribery  . . .74 

Character  of  the  Greenhats,  and  their  relation 

to  the  Staffs 59 

Greenhouse  described 179 

Grief,  the  benefit  of  it 181 

Grogram,  (Jeffery)  his  petition  for  interment  . 106 
Guardeloop,  (Mons.)  the  French  tailor,  married  7 
Guicciardini  the  historian,  a prolix  author  . 264 

Guilt  applies  the  satires 41 

Gunner  and  gunster  distinguished  . .88 

Gunster  in  conversation,  who  to  be  so  accounted  88 
Gyges,  his  invisible  ring  allegorically  applied 

138,  139 

The  use  Mr.  Bickerstaff  made  of  it  . . 243 

Hall,  (sergeant,)  his  letter  to  his  comrade  . 87 

Hamlet,  various  observations  and  criticisms  on 
that  character  ....  35,  71,  106 

Hammar,  disputes  between  Protestants  and 

Papists  there  ......  6 

Hammond,  (John)  recovery  of  his  watch  . . 124 

Handkerchief,  religious,  much  worn  in  England  187 
Hannibal,  the  Carthaginian,  his  speech  on  being 

recalled  from  Italy 187 

Hannibal,  (sir)  death  and  funeral  of  . . .115 

Hanover,  elector  of,  remonstrance  of  his  minis- 
ter to  the  council  at  Ratisbon  ...  2 

Signifies  his  intentions  to  the  imperial  court  . 4 

Happiness,  where  the  foundation  must  be  placed  251 

Hard  words  exploded 58 

Harpsichord,  its  music  applied  to  conversation  153 
With  what  instrument  joined  . . . 157 

Hart,  the  player,  an  ostentation  of  his  . .138 

Hassock,  dispute  concerning  one  . , . 259 

Hats,  makers  of  their  petition  against  laced  hats  270 
Hautboy,  in  a female  concert  ....  153 
Matched  with  the  harpsichord  . . . 157 

Hawksby,  his  raffling  shop  . . . .59 

Hercules,  Prodigus’,  allegory  concerning  him  . 97 
Hero,  how  distinguished  from  a plain  honest 

man 98 

Heroic  virtue,  wherein  it  consists  . . . 202 

Heydey,  (Jack)  whom  he  reduced  . . .56 

Hippocrates,  the  character  of  a generous  physi- 
cian   78 

Historians,  usefulness  and  variety  of  . 117,  130 

Historical  paintings,  the  great  advantage  of 

them 209 

Holt,  lord  chief  justice,  his  integrity  . . 14 

Homer,  his  description  of  a future  state  . . 152 

Indiscreet  in  his  epithets  ....  6 

His  Iliad,  in  a journal 6 

Honest  fellows  described 45 

Honesty  as  necessary  in  conversation  as  in  com- 
merce   219 

Honour,  the  seat  of  it 202 

Described 101 

Court  of  . . . 250,253,256,262,265 

Horace,  his  excellencies 173 

Some  account  of  him  and  his  writings  . . 242 

Hornpipe,  Lancashire,  its  part  in  a female 

concert 157 

Horror  described  by  Shakspeare  . . .90 

Humanity  inspired  by  the  muses  . . .98 

No  true  greatness  without  it  ...  98 
Human  nature  considered  in  its  true  dignity  . 87 

Humdrum,  v/ho 264 

Project  for  extirpating  such  . . . 268 

Humphrey,  (squire)  bubbled  at  Bath  . . 65 

Trelooby,  his  complaint  against  a sexton  at 

Saint  Paul’s 241 

Hunger,  how  to  be  satisfied  . . . . 205 

Hunters,  a meeting  of  them  described  . . 37 

Husbandman,  his  pleasures  next  to  those  of  a 

philosopher 233 


Husbands,  qualities  necessary  to  make  good  ones  104 
Miseries  of  a bad  husband  . . . 149 

What  makes  a man  an  ill  husband  . 149,  150 
Sullen  husband  as  bad  as  a foolish  one  . 149 

Hush-money  demanded 26 

Hussars,  civil  and  mild,  who  . . . .56 

Hymen,  the  god  of  marriage,  a guard  at  the 

temple  of  virtuous  love  . . . 120 

Hymn  to  the  Supreme  Being  . . .119 


Inconstancy  described  by 
Incumbent  distinguished  f 


Jack  Spruce  made  half  mad  with  a smile  . 56 
Jack  Such-a-one,  what  sort  of  men  pass  under 

that  title  . 206 

Jacks,  (Harry)  why  he  deserved  a statue  . 62 
Jambee  the  best  sort  of  canes  . . . .142 

.Janglings,  matrimonial  ....  149, 150 
Idiots,  an  inquiry  concerning  an  idiot  put  the 

city  of  London  in  great  consternation  . 40 
Distinguished  from  politicians  . . .40 

Idleness,  more  destructive  than  the  plague  . 97 
Idolatry,  in  what  manner  inverted  . . . 127 

Jealousy,  her  garments,  complexion,  and  office  120 
Jervase,  (Mr.)  a great  painter  . . . . 4,  7 

Jester  distinguished  from  a flatterer  . . 215 

The  richest  generally  the  best  jester  . . 225 

Jesuits,  account  of  their  discipline  . . . 168 

Iliad  put  into  an  exact  journal  ....  6 

Imagination,  the  most  active  principle  of  the 

mind 98 

Immortality,  two  kinds  of  it  . . . .81 

Imperceptibles,  natural  history  of  them  . 1 19 
Imperfection,  what  idea  that  word  should  convey  246 
Impudence,  compared  with  absurdity  . . 168 

Incest  in  drunkenness 252 

Incense,  (Mr.  Ralph) 270 

Hamlet  . . . 106 

from  a landlord  . 169 
Indenture  of  marriage  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Bicker- 

staff  ...  199 

Indian  kings,  their  return  to  the  civilities  of 
their  landlord  ......  171 

Indibilis’  wife  restored  by  Scipio  . . .58 

Indolence  turned  into  philosophy  . . .10 

Industry,  knights  of 73 

Infidels,  how  to  be  punished  . . . .138 

Initial  letters,  on  a tomb-stone  ....  201 
Injuries,  scales  for  weighing  them  . . . 250 

Innocence,  its  safest  guard  . . . 248 

Inquietude,  natural,  how  cured  . . . 202 

Insipids,  who  to  be  accounted  ....  166 
Instructions  to  Vanderbank,  remarks  on  that 

poem 3 

Insurrections  in  Poitou  and  Marseilles  . . 6 

Invention  to  have  one’s  name  concealed  . . 15 

Inventory  of  playhouse  goods  . . . .42 

Jointures,  the  mischievous  effects  of  . 199,  223 

Jonson,  (Ben)  his  manner  of  writing  . . 21 

Joseph  the  patriarch,  his  history  . . . 233 

Journal  of  Homer’s  Iliad  ....  6 

Journey  to  the  Land’s  End  . . . .192 

Ithuriel,  the  use  Mr.  Bickerstaff  made  of  his 

spear 237 

Juno  her  method  to  regain  Jupiter’s  affection  . 147 
Justice  of  Lewis  le  Grand  compared  to  that  of 

gamesters 26 

Juvenal,  account  of,  and  his  wTitings  . . 242 

Ix,  antiquity  of  that  family  . . . .35 


Kettledrum,  instrument  in  a female  concert, 

matched 157 

Kidney,  master  of  St.  James’  coffee-house  . 69 
Kings,  wicked,  how'  punished  in  a future  state  156 
Kit,  that  instrument  matched  ....  157 

Knaves  proved  fools 40 

Knights  of  the  industry,  their  designs  on  a young 

heir 73 

Knockers,  exercises  of  them  taught  . . . 105 


Labour  for  the  public  unsuccessful  . 67 


INDEX. 


439 


No. 

61 


Ladies,  treating  them  in  organ  lofts  censured  . 
Their  trifling  endearments  give  us  mean  ideas 

of  their  souls 

A lady  thankful  to  her  husband  for  curing 

her  fits 

A young  lady  enchanted  by  an  old  rake 

Lalo,  (colonel)  killed 

a modern  diet 

Landlord  distinguished  from  an  incumbent 
Landlord,  Alexander,  his  laconic  love-letter  . 
Langham,  (Dr.)  the  astrologer,  his  peculiar 
generosity  . ... 

Laughter,  what,  and  when  becoming 
A weighty  affair  . . . 

The  distinguishing  faculty  in  man 

Occasioned  by  scorn 

Immoderate,  a sign  of  pride  . . .47,  63 

Laura,  her  perfections  and  excellent  character  54 

Law,  case  of,  answered 

Lazy,  (lady)  described  . . . 

Learning,  what  it  is,  and  what  it  is  not 

Only  improves  nature 

Le  Brim’s  battle  of  Porus,  its  effects 
Legacy,  Noy’s,  to  reclaim  his  son 
Leisure,  how  to  employ  it  innocently  . . 

Letters,  directions  for  writing  them  . . 

Should  he  the  produce  of  the  place,  instanced 
in  one  from  Swi’zerland 
Penny-post,  sent  as  reprimands 
Levity,  her  post  in  the  temple  of  Hymen  . 

Lewis  XIV.  answer  of  his  subjects  to  his  letter 
Libels,  panegyrics  may  be  turned  into  them 
Libellers  censured 
Distinguished  from  satirists  . 

Liberty,  its  region  described 
Library,  female  .... 

Lie,  a pernicious  monosyllable  . 

Life,  how  to  be  considered 
Lightning  in  operas,  of  what  it  must  be  made 
True  perfumed,  where  sold  . 

Lights  well  disposed  enlarge  the  thoughts 
Lillie,  Charles,  his  letter  and  petition 

Recommended 

Catalogue  of  his  wares  . 

His  presents  and  licence 

His  reports 

Ordered  to  prepare  blank  licences 

Limberham,  the  keeper 

Linendrapers,  tried  in  the  court  of  honour 
Of  Westminster,  their  petition 
Lisander  and  Corinna,  a married  couple,  reckon- 
ed dead 

Literature,  the  proper  effects  of  it 
Living  men,  who  . . . . • . 

Lizard,  that  friendly  animal  compared  to  a 
satirist  ....  . . 

Lloyd’s  Coffee-house,  proposals  thence 
London  in  a great  consternation 
Cries  of  compared  with  Italian  operas  . 

London  Cuckolds,  a comedy,  a heap  of  vice  and 

absurdity 

Long,  (major)  advertisement  from  his  wine 

vaults 147 

Long  heads,  who 191 

Lordship,  on  what  occasion  that  appellation 

proper 

Lorio,  a lover,  character  of  ...  . 

Lotius  had  rather  be  esteemed  religious  than 

devout  

Lottery,  reflections  on  . . . 

A bass  viol  to  be  disposed  of  by  way  of 
Love,  founded  on  reason  and  choice 
A general  concern 
The  most  effectual  cure  for  it 
Sentiments  of  it  the  same  in  all  ages 
Inseparable  from  esteem 
How  to  judge  aright  in  it 
Has  nothing  to  do  with  state 
Distinguished  from  lust  . 


40 

23 

22 

64 

148 

169 

74 

174 

43 

63 

63 

63 


190 

248 

58 

58 

8 

9 

112 

30 


93 
67 
120 
29 
177 
92 
92 
161 
248 
256 
120 
137 
137 
. 108 
. 92 
92,  94 
94,  101 
. 94 
. 2.50 
. 103 
. 49 
. 259 
. 215 


54 

197 

96 

84 

268 

40 

4 

8 


211 

91 


124, 


211 

174 

166 

82 

5 

47 

90 

206 

247 

149 

49 


No. 

Love,  its  effects  and  cure  . . . . 47,  107 

The  effect  of  disappointments  therein  . .185 

Changes  the  natural  man  . . . 4,  10 

Life  insipid  without  it 90 

A mixture  of  pleasure  and  pain  . . 90,  95 

Allegory  of  its  history,  by  Plato  . . .90 

Complained  of  by  Diana  Doubtful  . . 98 

Illustrated 95,  150 

Criminal,  some  account  of  the  state  of  it  . 49 

Letters,  by  Cynthio 35 

Directions  for  writing  them  . . . 30,  139 

Between  Mr.  Bickerstaff  and  Maria  . . 83 

Found  in  a grave 104 

Lovemore,  a happy  husband  ....  150 

Lovers,  the  band  of 120 

Lucia,  a rival  to  her  mother  ....  200 
Lucretia,  her  story,  merit,  and  character  . 84,  117 

Why  excluded  the  temple  of  Fame  . . 84 

Lucubrations  of  Mr.  Bickerstaff,  design  of  them  50 
Lust,  in  whom  virtuous  love  ....  120 

Temple  of 120 

Lute,  the  part  it  bears  in  a concert  or  conversa- 
tion   . 153,157 

Lydia,  the  character  of,  a coquette  . .126 

Lysander,  disturbed  in  his  solitude  . . 215 


M.iCBETii,  a scene  in 68 

Machiavel,  author  of  a mischievous  sect  . . 186 

An  office  suited  to  him  in  a vision  . . 123 

Madmen,  w ho,  w hither  sent  by  the  Romans  . 125 
Difference  between  them  and  fools  . . 40 

An  edifice  intended  for  their  reception  and 

cure 125,  174 

Madness,  the  first  symptoms  thereof  . . 174 

Chiefly  occasioned  by  pride  ....  127 

Madonella,  her  scheme 63 

Account  of  a revolution  in  her  platonic  nun- 
nery ...  ...  32 

Maevius  writes  verses  in  commendation  of  his 

own  works 91 

Maids  of  honour,  their  breakfast  in  queen  Eliza- 
beth’s time 148 

Maintenon,  (madam)  her  letter  to  Mons.  Torcy 

on  the  peace  ....  .19 

Makebale,  (Elizabeth)  trial  of  . . . . 259 

Male  coquette,  his  bed-equipage  described  . 243 
Widow'hood  considered  . . . .114 

Man,  the  middle  link  between  angels  and  brutes  134 
A creature  made  up  of  different  extremes  . 108 
The  only  imperfect  creature  in  the  universe  246 
Mandeville,  (sir  John)  some  of  his  remains  . 254 
Maria,  account  of  the  loss  of  her  lap-dog  . . 47 

Maria,  distracted  in  her  choice  between  a man 
of  merit,  and  a man  of  fortune  . . .91 

Marinus,  a good  sea  officer,  exposed  to  a fellow  of 

fire 61 

Marlborough,  (John)  duke  of,  his  merit 

5,  8,  18,  46,  55,  64,  66,  130,  137 

Marriage  described 7 

The  safest  and  happiest  stayte  this  world  affords  49 
An  account  of  marriage  from  experience  . 150 
The  caprices  and  hazards  attending  a married 

state 192,  199 

Marriages,  from  what  proceeding  79,  188,  192,  223 
How'  men’s  minds  and  humours  may  be 


changed  thereby 75 

Table  of  marriage 157 

Epigram  on 40 

Verses  on,  from  Milton  . . .79 

Two  ladies  desire  to  marry  the  same  man  to 

prevent  parting 69 

Settlements,  by  whom  introduced  . . 199 

111  consequences  attending  them  . . . 233 

A proposal  for  regulating  them  . . . 233 

A settlement  drawn  np  by  Mr.  Bickerstaff  . 199 

Often  overlook  their  enjoyments  . . 95 

Rendering  it  cheap  discourages  vice  . . 223 

Marrow-bone  and  cleaver,  modem  instruments 
of  music  .......  153 


440 


INDEX. 


No. 

Marseilles,  account  of  an  insurrection  there  . 13 
Martins’  character  of  an  unlearned  wit  . . 58 

Masquerade,  a lady  in  danger  of  her  life  for 

being  left  out  of  one 146 

Matchlock,  (major)  a member  of  the  Trumpet 

Club 132 

Mathematical  sieve  to  sift  impertinencies  . 51 
May-fair,  the  downfall  of,  reduced  the  price  of 

curiosities 20 

Mechanics  in  learning  . . . • .173 

Melancholy,  the  delight  of  men  of  knowledge 

and  virtue 89 

Men,  wherein  they  may  distinguish  themselves  97 
In  love,  always  poetical  . . . .27 

Of  sense  the  women’s  humble  servants  . 37 
Mercer,  who  could  not  enjoy  a thousand  pounds 

a year 66 

Merit,  obscure  should  be  produced  to  public 

view 84,  87 

Merry  fellows  described 45 

Messalina,  a professed  mistress  of  mankind  . 49 

Microscopes,  their  use 119 

Military  achievements  of  London  . . .28 

Millennium,  when  to  commence  . • .43 

Milton  and  Suckling,  in  a parallel  case,  show 
the  duty  of  man  in  love  . . . .40 

Of  Eve’s  pleasure  in  the  society  of  Adam  .114 
Miners,  who  so  in  conversation  . . .88 

Minucio’s  spirit  of  contradiction  . . . 171 

Minor,  (Tom)  the  pantomime  . . . .51 

Mirtillo,  the  ogler,  interview  with  Flavia  . 145 
Misery  in  families,  whence  it  mostly  arises  . 109 

Mite,  dissection  of  one 119 

Modely,  (Tom)  his  knowledge  of  the  fashion  . 166 
Head  of  the  order  of  insipids  ....  166 
Modest  men  distinguished  from  modest  fellows  52 

Modesty  described 52 

Different  in  men  and  women  . . .52 

The  chief  ornament  of  the  fair  sex  . . 84 

Its  advantages  in  men 86 

Monarchy,  the  genius  thereof  described  . . 161 

Monoculous,  a sharper 56 

His  reflections  on  Africanus  , . . .36 

Monosyllables,  a disgrace  to  the  English  language  230 

Mons  invested 62,  76 

Taken 83 

Montpelier  compared  to  Anticyra  . . . 125 

Mopsa,  her  good  fortune  in  the  lottery  prognos- 
ticated   .124 

Letter  to  her 124 

In  great  danger  of  her  life  for  being  left  out 

of  the  masquerade 146 

Morphew,  (John)  appointed  Mr.  Bickerstaff’s 

chamber-keeper 103 

General  of  the  dead  men  ....  103 

Morning  described  by  Milton  ....  163 

The  beauties  of 263 

In  town,  described 9 

Moveables  of  the  play-house,  sale  of  them  frus- 
trated   44 

Mountebanks,  their  artifices  to  ensnare  the 

vulgar 2 10 

Mourning,  a proper  dress  for  a beautiful  lady  . 151 

Music  cures  the  spleen 47 

Mutton,  the  food  of  our  hardy  ancestors  . . 148 

Myrmidons,  their  history 56 

Nab,  (Ralph)  haberdasher  of  hats,  his  petition  . 270 

Naked  Truth,  a dangerous  pamphlet . . . 17 

Nassau,  Count  Maurice  of,  killed  . . . 210 

Prince  of  his  gallantry 69 

Naturalization  act,  its  advantages  . . .13 

Nature,  its  prevalency 172 

Nestor,  a great  but  too  modest  architect  . . 52 

Newman,  (Richard)  indicted  by  major  Punto  in 

the  court  of  honour 256 

Newspapers  hurtful  to  weak  heads  . . , 178 

Writers  in  a panic 18 

The  shifts  they  are  put  to  . . 19, 42 


No. 

Newspaper  writers,  Chelsea  College  proposed 

for  them 18 

Nice,  (Will)  a fop 14 

Nicolini,  (Signor)  his  excellencies  on  the  stage  115 
Night,  longer  formerly  in  this  island  than  at 

present 463 

No,  when  to  be  used  by  young  people  . . 83 

Nobilis  declared  to  be  no  rake  . . . .27 

Nonsense,  a prevailing  part  of  eloquence  among 

ladies 60 

Northern  parts,  fruitful  in  bag-pipes  . . . 153 

Noses,  a dissertation  on 260 

Notch,  (sir  Jeffry)  a member  of  the  Trumpet 
Club  ....  ...  132 

Nottingham,  why  young  ladies  cannot  sleep  there  222 

Nova  Zembla,  accoimt  of 254 

Novelists,  effects  of  their  writings  . . . 178 

Noy,  his  expedient  to  reclaim  his  son  by  a legacy  9 
Nurses,  their  abuses  of  infants  exposed  . , 15 

Nunnery,  by  a platonic  lady  . . .32,  63 

The  manner  of  receiving  young  ladies  into 
nunneries 96 


Oglers  complained  of  by  the  ladies  . 

Dangerous 

Ogling  gains  women 

Old  age,  wherein  delighted 

Old  Bachelor,  account  of  that  comedy 

Opera,  in  female  conversation  . 

Italian,  considered 

The  understanding  has  no  part  in  it 
Oppression,  an  attendant  on  Tyranny 

Orangerie  described 

Orator  in  a night-gown  and  laced  cap 
Orlando  the  fair,  his  histoiy 
Organ-loft,  ladies  treated  in  one 
Orson,  (Thicket)  his  character  and  passimi 

Cleora  

Osmyn,  the  civil  husband  .... 

Oxford  described 

Almanack  considered  .... 
Discipline  applauded  .... 
Puppet-show  there  .... 


. 145 
. 145 
. 22 
. 207 
8,  195 
. 157 
. 4 

. 4 

. 161 
. 179 
. 186 
50,51 
. 61 
for 
. 98 
53 
. 39 
. 39 
30,  39 
. 45 


Pacolet,  a guardian  angel,  his  first  appearance 

to  Mr.  Bickerstaff 13 

Account  of  his  former  wards  . . . .13 

His  life  of  a month 15 

His  checks  and  admonitions  . . . .14 

Observations  on  gamesters  and  sharpers  . 15 
Paetus,  manner  of  his  death  and  the  magnanimity 

of  his  wife 72 

Painting  the  face  censured  . . . .61 

Palamede  his  infamous  adventure  . . . 198 

Panegyric,  the  nature  of  it  . . . .17 

A theme  for  Mr.  Bickerstaff  . . . .72 

On  Mr.  Bickerstaff  for  confessing  his  faults  . 63 

May  be  turned  into  libel  ....  177 
Pantomimes,  what  sort  of  persons  in  conversa- 
tion   268 

Paradise  Lost  fills  the  mind  with  good  thoughts 

and  pleasing  ideas 237 

Parents,  the  folly  of  partiality  to  their  children  235 

Generally  err  in  marrying  their  children  . 199 
Parisatis,  her  manner  of  converting  her  neice 

from  coquetry  . ...  9 

Paris  Gazette  burlesqued 2 

Parrot,  verses  on  one  . . • . .27 

Parsimony,  a favourite  in  the  temple  of  A.varice  123 
Party,  all  parties  composed  of  the  rigid  and 

supple 214 

The  prevalence  of  parties,  and  party  prejudice 

in  England 232 

Partridge,  (Mr.  John)  his  manner  of  surprising 

sharpers 56 

His  death  demonstrated  . . . .1 

Account  of  his  funeral  . . . .99 

A letter  from  him,  intimating  some  signs  of 
resuscitation 118 


Partridge,  (Mr.  John)  walks,  and  denies  his 

death 

Advertisement  in  his  almanack,  calling  Mr. 

Bickerstaff  a knave 

Certificate  of  his  death  to  prevent  counterfeits 
Pasquin,  account  of  him  to  prevent  mistakes  . 

His  letters  to  Mr.  Bickerstaff . . .129, 

Passing-bell,  who  to  be  accounted  such  in  con- 
versation . • 

Passion,  a tragical  instance  of  . 

Pastorella,  her  conversion  from  coquetry  . 
Patience  Gentle,  her  letter  to  Mr.  Incense 
Patrick,  (St.)  a great  destroyer  of  frogs 
Patrons,  general  behaviour  to  their  dependents 
Paulo,  the  character  of  an  eminent  merchant  . 
Peace,  the  most  odious  way  of  making  it  . 
Peasant,  who  properly  to  be  so  termed 
Pedants,  of  several  classes  .... 

In  what  light  to  be  considered 
Pedantry  compared  to  hypocrisy 
Pendergrass,  (sir  Thomas)  killed 
Penkethman,  the  comedian,  compared  with  Mr. 

Bullock 

Relation  of  the  progress  of  his  company  to 

Greenwich 

Sale  of  his  animals  at  May  Fair  . 
Penny-post  letters  sent  as  private  reprimands  . 
Perhaps,  when  that  word  betrays  decay  of  affec- 
tion   

Persecution,  an  attendant  on  Tyranny 
Peter  Plumb,  merchant,  indicted  in  the  court 

of honour  

Petticoat,  great,  the  grievance  of  . . . 

Its  cause  tried 

How  long  to  be  worn 

Philander,  the  most  skilful  in  addressing  the  fair 

sex 

Philosopher,  minute,  some  account  of 

Philosophy,  the  use  of 

Plan  of  it,  with  an  appendix  . ' . 

Not  inconsistent  with  courts  and  riches 
Physicians,  good,  of  great  use  to  a commonwealth 
Ordered  from  Bath  ...... 

Character  of  a generous  physician 

Ph;  yrsic,  often  abused 

Observed  by  Mr.  Bickerstaff  .... 
Proper  for  a distracted  nation 
Picket,  (colonel)  his  character  and  manner  of 

courtship 

Pictures,  the  impressions  they  make  on  us 

The  true  use  of  them 

Walking,  at  an  auction  . • . . . 

An  ancient  picture  of  a wedding  described  . 
Piety,  perfect  pleasure  arising  from  it 
Meanness  to  endeavour  to  conceal  it  . 

Pinners,  a treatise  on 

Piper,  (count)  taken  prisoner  .... 
Pirates  in  printing  and  bookselUng  complained 

of  and  censured 

Pistols,  a fatal  accident  occasioned  by  loaded  . 
Places  of  trust  pretended  to,  not  out  of  merit 
but  because  they  are  convenient 
Plagius,  (parson)  cuuiplaint  of  the  bookseller 

against  him 

Plainness  in  dress  recommended 
Plato’s  notion  of  the  human  soul 

History  of  love 

Platonists,  their  opinions 

A Platonist  forewoman  of  the  jury  of  the  court 

of  honour 

Platonne  described 

Nunneries  established  by  ...  . 

Players,  why  they  should  be  esteemed 
Must  forget  they  are  before  an  audience 
Instructed  by  Shakspeare  . . . 

Blamed  for  inserting  words  .... 
Parallels  between  them  .... 
Playhouse,  one  only  should  be  supported  . 

At  Amsterdam  supports  an  almshouse  . 

3 K 


INDEX.  441 

No. 

Playhouse  on  fire  in  Denmark  . . . .94 

Plays,  proper  incitements  to  good  behaviour  . 3 

Modern,  described 3,  21 

Pleasing,  in  conversation,  a happy  talent  . . 61 

Pleasure,  deceitful 91 

Plenty,  a goddess  in  the  region  of  liberty  . . 161 

Pliny,  his  letters  to  his  wife  ....  149 
His  compliment  and  advice  to  Trajan  . .130 

Pluto,  his  palace  and  throne  described  . . 156 

Poetasters  ridiculed 106 

Catalogue  cf  the  labours  of  one  . . 106 

Poetry,  the  foundation  of 240 

Efficacy  of  it  on  the  mind  . . . .98 

A remedy  for  the  spleen  . . . .47 

Sir  Francis  Bacon’s  account  of  it  . . .98 

Poictou,  insurrection  at 6 

Politeness,  affectation  of 230 

Politicians,  the  distinction  scarce  discernible 
between  them  and  idiots  .... 

City  reprover 

Politics  universally  prevail  .... 
Polypragmon,  character  of  a cunning  fellow  . 

Pompey,  a black  boy,  his  complaint  . 

Pope,  the,  sick  of  the  tooth-ache 

In  distress 

His  modesty  overcome  with  regard  to  the 

Neapolitan  horses 

Postman,  the  extraordinary  talent  of  the  author 

of  the 

Posture-master,  his  beholders  censured 
Potatrix,  (Elizabeth)  catalogue  of  her  ancestors 
Poverty,  an  attendant  on  I’yranny  . 

Powell  (junior)  a famous  actor  .... 
Disputes  between  liim  and  Mr.  Bickerstaff 

44,  60,  115 

Why  he  locked  up  the  legs  of  his  company  . 143 
An  excuse  for  writing  against  him 

Letter  from  Bath 

Power,  absolute,  represented  in  a dance  . 

Praise,  true,  generous  and  heroic  spirits  most 

sensible  of  it 

How  coveted  by  great  men  .... 

To  be  regarded  only  as  relating  to  things 

strictly  true 92 

None  valuable  but  from  the  praise-worthy  . 177 
Prayer  of  lord  chancellor  Bacon  . . . 267 

Prae-Adamites  threatened 69 

Precedence,  a quarrel  concerning,  at  the  opera  16 


No. 

59 

96 

216 

130 

187 

153 

172 

9 

271 

236 

196 

25 

176 

169 

158 

158 

165 

64 

188 


4 

20 

67 

53 

161 

256 

no 

116 

121 

13 

135 

170 

43 

170 

78 

77 

78 
240 
240 
240 

7 

8 
209 
167 
184 
211 
214 
212 

49 

101 

82 

41 

269 

212 

154 

90 

154 

253 

32 

63 

182 

138 

35 

89 

182 

99 

20 


40 
. 155 
. 232 
. 191 
. 245 
. 129 
5,  6,7 

129 

178 
108 
35 
161 
16 


At  Epsom .36 

Preliminaries  of  peace 20 

Refused  by  the  F rench  king  . . .23,  24 

Pretenders  to  poetr}q  a kind  of  madmen  . . 147 

Pretty  fellow,  who 21 

What  persons  excluded  that  order  . . 22 

Very  pretty  fellow,  a woman’s  man  in  the 

first  degree 24 

Pride,  the  cause  and  consequences  of  . . 127 

Makes  men  odious,  and  creates  envy  , . 186 

A remarkable  instance  of  it  in  a cobbler  . 127 

The  chief  introduction  to  madness  . . 127 

Priesthood,  when  the  highest  honour  . . 68 

Prim,  (Penelope)  the  clear-starcher,  her  petition  118 
Prize-fighting,  a reproach  to  the  English  na- 
tion   134 

Proctorstaff  (Mr.)  admitted  Mr.  BickerstafTs 

kinsman 270 

Prodicus,  an  allegory  by 97 

Prophets,  modern,  reflections  on  their  character  11 
Account  of  a comedy  so  called  . . .11 

Propriety  in  words  and  thoughts  explained  . 62 

Protestants,  wherein  superior  to  Papists  . . 155 

Prudence  in  women  the  same  as  wisdom  in  men  172 

Prudes,  a name  for  courtly  hypocrites  . . 102 

Distinguished  from  coquettes  . . . 126 

What  part  they  bear  in  a female  consort  157 

Public  spirit,  the  most  essential  quality  in  a 

statesman 194 

The  first  motive  to  all  actions  . . . 183 

A great  instance  of  it  in  Regulus  . . . 183 


442 


INDEX. 


No. 

Punchinello,  his  origin,  character,  and  ill-man- 
ners   45,  115 

Rival  to  Nicolini 115 

Disposed  of 20 

Terrae  Filius  at  Oxford 45 

Punctuality  a suspicious  circumstance  in  visiting  109 

Punning,  an  enormity 32 

An  instance  of 35 

Puppets,  Mr.  Powel’s,  whence  taken  . .115 

Puppet-show  supplies  the  want  of  an  act  at 

Oxford 45 

Mrs.  Saraband’s  in  the  Exchange  . . .20 

Purgatory  believed  by  the  Platonists  . . 154 

Puzzlepost,  (Ned)  how  improved  in  writing  . 142 
Pyrrhus,  (king)  reproved  by  a philosopher  . 202 

Pythagoras,  apophthegm  of  ...  . 214 

One  of  his  golden  sayings  ....  108 

Quack  doctors,  their  artifices  ....  240 

Great  friends  to  upholders  ....  261 

Quality,  the  weakness  of  persons  of  . .180 

Should  always  pay  the  reckoning  . . .45 

Quarrel  at  Epsom  about  precedence  . . .36 

Matrimonial,  prevented 85 

Questioners  described 41 

Quidnunc,  his  character  of  laziness  . . .10 

Quixote,  (Don)  the  first  symptoms  of  his  mad- 
ness   178 


Raffling-shop  kept  by  a lawyer  at  Hampstead  59 
Ragouts  prejudicial  to  the  stomach  . . . 148 

Rakes  characterised  ......  27 

Midnight,  advice  to 143 

Ralph  Shallow'  the  fine  speaker  . . . 197 

Ranter,  (colonel)  civilized  at  the  sight  of  lady 

Betty  Modish 10 

Rape,  trials  for,  mostly  attended  by  women  . 84 
Rapin,  his  observations  on  the  English  theatre  . 134 
Rapine,  an  attendant  on  licentiousness  . . 161 

Rattlesnake,  artifice  of 145 

Read,  (sir  William)  an  eminent  oculist  . . 145 

Reading,  the  exercise  of  the  mind  . . - 147 

Recipe  of  Mr.  Bickerstaff 240 

Reconsiderations  on  Instructions  to  Vanderbank, 

a poem 3 

Recreations,  the  advantage  of  . . , . 248 

Recruiting  Officer,  a comedy,  character  of  . 20 

Regulus,  a great  instance  of  public  spirit  . . 183 

Religion,  a prayer  for  the  advancement  of  . 5 

Great  Britain  particularly  fruitful  in  religions  257 

Religious  war  discussed 155 

Reptile,  (Dick)  a member  of  the  Sheer-lane  Club, 
his  character  . . . . . .132 

His  reflections  on  the  abuse  of  speech  . . 137 

Reputation,  the  only  just  means  of  obtaining  and 

establishing  it 186,  191 

Respect  only  to  be  procured  by  obligations  . 180 
Retirement  requires  greater  talents  than  busi- 
ness   

Revenge  of  two  French  ladies  on  a Gascon 
Richard  III.  effects  of  reading  that  tragedy 
Richards,  (major-general)  blown  up  by  a mine 

at  Alicant 

Riches,  the  use  and  abuse  of  them  . 

Ridicule,  the  ill  effects  of  . 

How'  to  be  used  .... 

When  the  effect  of  reason 
Riding,  a healthy  exercise 
Contributes  to  beauty  . 

Rigid,  the,  an  untractable  race  of  mortals 
found  in  all  parties 

Ring,  invisible 

Risibility  the  effect  of  reason  , 

Rochefoucault,  his  writings  censured 
Rochford,  (earl  of,)  killed  . 

Roman  ladies,  of  their  general  virtue 
Romps,  how  cured  .... 

Rosin,  (Will)  the  Wapping  fiddler,  history  of 
Royal  ^ciety,  actions  censured 


249 
126 
90 

21 
. 57 
. 219 
. 63 
. 63 
. 248 
. 248 
to  be 
. 214 
138,  139 
. 63 
. 108 
. 210 
. 122 
. 269 
108 
236 


Rufis,  wherein  necessary  . 

To  be  worn  with  the  fardingale 
Rural  wits 


No. 
. 118 
. 118 
. 153 


Sacharissa,  an  excellent  young  lady,  why  not 

courted 5 

Sagissa,  her  intrigue  discovered  by  a pinch  of 


snuff 


35 


Sallust,  wherein  partial  . . . . 62, 81 

Saltero,  (Don)  at  Chelsea,  his  descent,  quahfica- 

tions,  and  relics 34 

Cases  referred  to  him 195 

A curiosity  in  his  museum  ....  226 
Sandford  the  player,  what  parts  he  acted  well . 134 
Sappho,  a fine  lady,  her  discourse  with  Mr. 

Bickerstaff 5 

Saraband,  (Mrs.)  her  puppet-show  in  the  Ex- 
change   20 

Satire,  in  what  cases  useful  . . . .61 

When  just  must  be  dictated  by  good  nature  . 242 
The  ordinary  subjects  for  ...  . 242 

Apology  for  it  by  Shakspeare  ...  4 

Satirists  censured  when  they  depreciate  human 

nature 108 

Censures  on  the  vain  pretenders  to  that  title  . 242 
Satisfaction,  a term  in  duelling,  explained  . 25 
Scaevola,  his  fortitude  imitated  by  a slave  on 

the  stage 177 

Scales  for  weighing  injuries  ....  250 
Scandal,  a universal  thirst  after  . . .164 

Scholar,  many  pretenders  to  that  title  . . 197 

Scipio,  his  generous  treatment  of  a captive  lady  158 
Scoggin,  (Mr.)  what  Mr.  Bickerstaff  claims 

through  him 9 

Scold  described 217 

What  usually  makes  women  scolds  . .217 

Defence  of  one  at  Billingsgate  . . . 204 

Scolding,  a great  enemy  to  women’s  features  . 217 

Remedies  for 2,  217,  221 

Scorn,  the  cause  of  laughter  . . . .63 

Scotland,  simplicity  declining  there  . . . 144 

Scotus,  his  way  of  distinguishing  mankind  . 174 

Screens,  who 171 

Scriptures,  the  style  of  them  more  than  human  233 
Reading  them  attended  with  great  pleasure  . 233 
Scudamore,  (sir)  in  Spenser,  his  adventures  trans- 
posed   194 

Seignior,  (grand)  sets  all  his  Christian  slaves  at 

liberty 6 

Seity,  what 174 

Self-regard,  w'hen  most  contemptible  . . 190 

Sempronia,  (lady)  her  scheme  to  betray  Jenny 

Distaff.  . 33 

Seneca,  moderate  in  great  fortune  . . . 170 

Senecio,  the  character  of  a good-natured  old 

man 45 

Serenade,  condemned 222 

Serpents,  yvho  to  be  accounted  such  in  conversa- 
tion   88 

Settlements,  marriage,  their  ill  effects  . . 223 

Rules  for  drawing  them  up  . . . . 223 

A settlement  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Bickerstaff  . 199 
Sexes,  comparative  perfections  of  . . . 172 

In  souls 172 

Shakspeare,  his  excellencies  . . . 8, 68 

His  mind  seasoned  with  religion  . . .Ill 

His  apology  for  satire 41 

Why  his  plays  should  be  encouraged  . ; 8 

Shallow,  (Ralph)  the  fine  speaker  . . . 197 

Sir  Timothy,  a customer  to  the  tojunan  . 142 
Sharpers  represented  by  a parcel  of  dogs  . . 59 

Their  character  and  reception  . . .56 

Their  practices  at  Bath 65 

Defended  ...  ...  57 

Sheep-biter,  w hy  a term  of  reproach  . . 148 

Shield  of  love 194 

Shilling,  adventures  of  a . . . . . 249 

Show  in  Germany  described,  representing  tlie 

relisrions  of  Great  Britain  ....  257 


No. 


Shrove-Tnesday,  persecution  of  cocks  con- 
demned   

Sibourg,  (colonel)  death  of  .... 
Sieve,  mathematical,  to  sift  impertinences 

Signs,  remarks  on 

Silence,  instances  of  its  insignificancy 
Simplex  munditiis,  the  meaning  of  those  terms  . 
Simulation  distinguished  from  dissimulation 
Sippet,  (Harry)  an  expert  wine-brewer 
Slattern  described  in  bed  . 

Smart  fellow  described 

Whether  an  affront  to  be  called  so 
Smile,  a man  made  mad  with  half  a-one 
Smith,  (Dr.)  Mr.  BickerstafTs  corn-cutter 
Cases  referred  to  him  . 

Smyrna  coffee-house  recommended  for  music, 
poetry,  and  politics 
Snapdragon  illustrated 
Snuff,  how  and  when  to  be  offered  . 

Taking  of,  censured 
Boxes,  a new  edition  of  . 

Society,  the  pleasure  of,  described  by  Milton 
Socrates,  his  allegory  of  the  origin  of  love 
His  behaviour  at  the  Athenian  theatre  . 

His  doctrines 

Softly,  (Ned)  a pretty  poet,  sonnet  by 
Sorrow,  expressed  by  Shakspeare 
A saying  of  Epictetus  concerning  it 
Soul,  human,  considered  . , . . 

South,  (Dr.)  character  of  his  sermons 
Quotations  from  .... 

Spa  water,  design  of  the  coquettes  to  bring  it  up  107 
Speaking,  what  manner  most  offensive  . . 92 

Speech  in  its  greatest  perfection  in  an  accom- 
plished woman 62 

Reflections  on  the  abuse  of  it  . . 92,  137 

Speaser,  the  tenth  canto  of  his  fourth  book  trans- 
posed   194 

Spindle,  (Tom)  how  cured  of  the  spleen  . . 47 

Spleen,  its  effects 180 

A never-failing  remedy  for  it  . . 47,  80 

Squibs,  a branch  of  gunners,  who  to  be  so  ac- 
counted ..... 

Squires,  country,  described  .... 
Staff  of  Life,  his  poem  on  the  French  king 
Stage  or  theatre,  the  use  of  ...  . 

Stanhope,  (general)  wounded  . 

A query  concerning 

Stanwix,  (general)  his  behaviour  at  Badajos 
Staremberg,  (general)  beats  the  army  of  the  duke 

of  Anjou  . ^ 

Takes  Balaguier  ...... 

Statesman,  what  quality  most  essential  to  one  . 
State  weather-glass,  description  and  use  of 
Statira,  account  of  her  distress  . 

Steele,  (Mr.)  his  acknowledgement  . 

Stentor,  a singer  at  St.  Paul’s  reproved 
Injuries  done  by  his  bawling. 

Admonished  by  one  at  St.  Peter’s  . 

Stocking,  the  custom  of  throwing  it  at  weddings  184 
Stone-walls,  comment  on  them  . . .17 


134 
. 21 
. 51 
. 8 
. 133 
. 212 
. 213 
. 134 
. 243 
. 26 
. 28 
. 50 
. 103 
. 195 


78 
85 
. 197 
. 35 
. 142 
. 114 
. 90 
. 122 
. 135 
. 163 
. 47 
. 397 
. 87 
. 205 
205,  214 


88 
. 96 
. 24 
. 182 
210,  212 
. 212 
. 17 


Story-tellers,  bagpipes  in  conversation 

Tedious 

A project  for  suppressing  them 
Their  employment  in  Mr.  Bickerstaff ’s 

lam 

Style  depraved  by  modern  writers  . 

Of  the  scriptures  more  than  human 


Sublime  in  waiting,  instanced  in  a simile  in  the 


Campaign 

. 43 

Summer-house  described  . 

. 179,  189 

The  plan  of  one  defended 

. 203 

Supper,  encroachments  on 

. 263 

Supple,  the,  a compound  in  all  parties 

. 214 

Swearers,  how’  reformed  . 

. 13 

Swearing,  a folly  without  temptation 

. 137 

Sweden,  king  of  passes  the  Nieper  . 

. 24 

Success  against  the  Muscovites 

. 25,28 

Defeated  ... 

49,  55,  58 

. 153 
132,  264 
. 268 
Bed- 
. 174 
. 230 
. 233 


EX. 

443 

No. 

Switzerland,  prospect  of  . 

. 93 

Table,  who  keeps  the  best 

. 148 

Of  respect  and  intimacy 

. 175 

Tale-bearers,  the  use  of  them  in  Mr. 

Bicker- 

staff’s  Bedlam  .... 

. 215 

Taliacotius,  account  of  his  cures 

. 260 

Talkativeness,  a sign  of  folly  and  ill-breeding  . 244 
Taste  of  an  age  known  by  plays  . . .42 

Tea  not  used  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth  . . 148 

Telemachus,  his  discoveries  in  the  regions  of 

the  dead 156 

Temper,  command  of  it  the  greatest  human  per- 
fection   176 

Temperance,  preservative  of  health  . . . 240 

Temple  of  Avarice 123 

Of  Honour . 123 

Of  Hymen  ...  ...  120 

Of  Love,  by  Spenser  ...  . 194 

Of  Lust 120 

Of  Vanity 123 

Of  Virtue 123 

Tenderness  inspired  by  the  muses  . . .98 

No  true  greatness  of  mind  w ithout  it  . .98 

Teraminta,  the  unhappy,  her  story  . . .45 

Terrse  Filius,  his  place  supplied  by  Pimch  . 45 

Theatres,  useful 7, 99 

Make  a polite  and  moral  gentry  ...  8 

English,  censured 134 

Thorold,  (sir  George)  declared  alderman  . .11 

Timoleon,  on  honour  and  title  . . . .171 

Tintoret,  (Tom)  the  vintner,  instances  of  his  art 


131 


in  colouring  liquors 

Tiptoe,  (Tom)  a stage-coach  to  his  dancing- 

school  advertised 

Tiresias,  advice  of,  to  Ulysses  .... 
Tirewomen,  their  ignorance  .... 
Titles,  the  significancy  and  abuse  of. 

The  impertinent  use  of 

Title,  (sir  Timothy)  a profound  critic,  quarrels 

with  his  mistress 165 

Toasts,  a new  religious  order  in  England  . • 129 

Origin  of  that  institution  ....  24 
By  whom  the  name  found  out  . . .31 

Torcy,  (Mons.)  French  plenipotentiary  9,  13, 19, 

21,  23 

Letter  to  him  from  madam  Maintenon 
His  sense  of  the  greatness  of  France 
Tories,  a new’  religious  order  in  England 
Tournay  invested 
Bravery  of  the  besiegers  there 
Surrendered  . 

Tow'n,  observations  on 
Ladies  reproved 
Orators  described  . 

Poets,  full  of  rules  . 

Townsend,  (lord)  the  English  plenipotentiary  . 
Toys,  by  whom  brought  into  fashion 
Tradesmen,  when  they  deserve  the  title  of 

gentlemen 

Tragedy,  materials  for  making  one  . 

Passion  of,  how  to  be  expressed 

Transitions  illustrated 

Travel,  useless  to  many 

Will  not  make  a fool  a w'ise  man  . 

Treaty  of  peace  broken  off  ...  . 

Trippet,  (sir  Taffety’s)  his  amour  at  Epsom  and 

Tonbridge 

Trip  to  the  Jubilee,  a comedy  .... 

Tristram,  (sir)  the  banker,  character  of 
Triumphs  abused  by  the  Romans  with  regard  to 
captives  ....... 

Trubies,  character  of  that  family 
Trueman,  (Tom)  a hero  in  domestic  life  . . 213 

Trump’s,  (Tom)  defence  of  gamesters  and 

sharpers 57 

Trumpet,  a species  of  men  in  conversation  . 153 

Club  in  Sheer-lane 132 

Trusty,  (Sam)  his  visits  to  two  old  widows  . 266 


152 

212 

171 

204 


19 
16 
. 129 
. 35 
. 59 
44,62 
. 83 
. 210 
. 244 
. 244 
. 18 
. 142 

207 

22 

47 

67 

93 

93 

23 

47 

19 

57 

63 

63 


444 


INDEX. 


No. 

Tulips,  variety  of  names  to  . . . .218 

Tunbridge  Wells,  adventures  and  diversions  at  47 
Tweezer-cases,  incomparable,  where  sold  . 142 
Tyranny,  commands  an  army  against  the  region 
of  Liberty  . . ....  161 

Vafer,  (Will)  his  speech  concerning  sharpers  . 56 
Valentine,  a soldier,  story  of  . . . .5 

Valetudinarians,  the  order  of  . . . - . 77 

Vanity  of  birth,  the  greatest  under  the  sun  . 11 

Varilas,  happy  in  the  possession  of  modesty  . 52 
Varnish,  (Tom)  his  adventure  with  a merchant’s 

wife  . 136 

Veal  a modern  diet 148 

Verus,  the  character  of  an  impartial  chiefjustice 

. (Holt) 14 

Vicissitudes  of  human  life  considered  . .170 

Vignolles,  (major)  death  of  ....  21 
Villaria,  the  beauteous  object  of  Orlando’s  affec- 
tions   50 

Violins,  a species  of  men  in  conversation  . 153,  157 
Virgil  compared  with  Homer  ....  6 

More  juaicious  in  his  epithets  ...  6 

His  allegories 154 

His  writings  leave  the  mind  composed  . . 8 

Virginal,  w'ho  so  accounted  in  female  conversa- 
tion   157 

Virginity,  how  properly  to  be  dated  . . . 210 

Virtue  of  a beautiful  nature  . . . .97 

Heroic,  wherein  it  consists  ....  202 

In  common  life 87,  213 

Virtuosi,  ridiculous  studies  of  . . .216,  236 

A virtuoso’s  will 216 

Vision,  of  the  mountain  and  temple  of  Fame  . 81 

Of  justice 100,  102 

Visits  ridiculed 100 

Fashionable  . 208 

When  unseasonable  . . . . 89,  166 

A day-book  kept  of  them  ....  109 

f ulgar,  who  to  be  accounted  so  . . .69 

Ulysses,  adventures  of,  in  the  regions  of  the 

dead 152 

Umbratilis,  the  imitator  of  Urbanus  . . . 244 

Underhill,  (Cave)  a comedian  . . . .22 

Understanding,  good,  necessary  in  a scholar  197,  244 
Unnion  and  Valentine,  story  of.  . . .5 

Upholders,  company  of,  their  civility  to  Mr. 

Bickerstaff 122 

Petition  and  proposals  of  . . . .99 

Permitted  to  bury  their  dead  . . . .99 

Advertisement  for  the  funeral  of  Dr.  Partridge  99 
Upholsterer,  the  great  newsmonger  . . . 155 

His  early  visit 160 

Much  esteemed  in  alley  coffee-houses  . . 178 

Carried  to  Bedlam 178 

Letters  of  news  from  him  . . . 160,  232 

Urbanus,  his  modesty  and  condescension  . . 244 

Wags,  the  lowest  pretenders  to  wit  . . .184 

Waiting  maids,  a petition  from  them . . . 136 

War,  religious,  discussed 155 


War-horse  to  be  let  . 

Watch  invented  for  the  use  of  clubs 
Water,  circumspection  . . .* 

Wax-work  in  Germany 
Wealth,  a distinction  only  in  traffic  . 

Wealthy  persons  fix  characters  and  wit  to  cir- 


cumstances 
Weather-gla.ss,  state  . 

Wedlock,  picture  of  . 

Welch  a nation  of  gentlemen 
Harp,  an  instrument  in  a female  concert 
Whetters  reproved 
Whigs,  a religious  order  in  England 
Whisperers,  censured 
Whitaker’s,  (admiral)  arrival  at  Barcelona 
Widowhood,  male,  considered  . 


No. 
. 64 
. 264 
2,  34 
. 257 
. 203 


. 57 
. 214 
. 7 

. 31 
. 157 
138,  141 
. 129 
. 38 
. 5 

. 114 


Wife,  the  most  amiable  term  in  life,  and  derided 

only  by  fools 33 

Scheme  to  govern  one 10 

Infallible  sign  of  wives  loving  their  husbands  104 

Wildair,  (Tom)  how  reformed  by  his  father  . 60 

Wilks,  the  comedian,  his  excellencies  . . 112 

William  III.  of  England,  eulogium  on  . .90 

Will’s  Coffee-house 1 

Window-breakers  with  half-pence  . . .77 

Wine,  to  whom  and  when  to  be  allowed  . . 252 

Present  of,  to  Mr.  Bickerstaff  . . 147,  181 

Adulteration  of 131 

Brewers,  the  fraternity  of  tried  . . .131 

A request  to  them 131 

Winter-gardens  described  and  recommended  . 179 

Winter-piece,  by  Mr.  Philips  . . . .12 

Wisdom,  (Walter)  character  of,  and  manner  of 

courtship 98 

Wit,  definitions  of 62 

Local 57 

Adventitious 251 

Judged  by  men’s  purses 57 

Wits  opposed  to  critics 29 

Bodily  wits 45 

Professed  wits,  silly  and  troublesome  . .213 

Withers,  (general)  character  of . . . .46 

Witchcraft  described  and  explained  . . .21 

Women  have  not  the  allowances  men  make  for 

themselves 201 

The  villany  of  deluding  them  exposed  . . 201 

The  happiness  of  manlund  depends  on  their 

education 141 

Want  regular  education  . . . .61 

Natural  to  them  to  talk  of  themselves  . . 10 

Of  the  present  age,  comparq^  with  those  of 
the  last  ....  . . 61 

More  subtle  than  men  in  their  own  affairs  . 30 

Their  common  failing 247 

Bad  taste  in  dress 151 

Unmarried,  instructions  to  them  . . . 184 

Wren,  (sir  Christopher)  described  under  the 
name  of  Nestor 52 

Xerxes,  why  he  burst  into  teare  . . .97 

Young,  (Margery)  life  and  adventures  of . . 226- 


THE  END. 


(^Jtul  pUt^ 


Guaktia>;.J\  ^/{fS. 


©If  JkM-iofms  §&  AM^.mrriL'jLiiBo 


GrARDiAN.  JV?52. 


